Page 18 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
Then again, she was still his wife. Alexandra washis. She should not be sneaking out, doing only God knew what.
She was wearing a heavy cloak over her dress, the lace peeking as if attempting to tell everyone that a duchess was pretending to be a commoner returning from her morning walk.
There was nothing ordinary about Alexandra. Her face had no artifice, but her emerald-green eyes were enough to catch people’s attention.
Oliver wondered who had been gazing into them this morning. He shuddered at the thought and clenched his hands into fists. He suddenly felt the urge to punch the wall.
Perhaps he could visit the Duke of Oakdale, his friend and boxing partner. He needed to release the pent-up frustration.
Oliver let his wife in. It was not customary, but he’d been waiting for her for more than an hour. He also did not want a servant to see her in her current state.
“Daisy is the one tasked with buying bread at the market, Duchess. There is no need for you to concern yourself with that,” he informed her, his voice sharp.
When he closed the front door, the hall seemed dimmer than usual, even though his townhouse was often described as brightly lit by his friends.
Suddenly, he was taken aback by the way the decor looked ostentatious with his wife standing in the middle, wrapped in her shabby cloak, her curls unraveling.
What could have made her locks tumble down and her cheeks flush? He did not want to consider the possibilities, and yet they were ramming into his head.
“Oh. I did not know that, Your Grace,” she responded. He saw her lower lip tremble ever so slightly. She chewed on it. “However, I am used to going for walks in the early morning.”
“Take Ellen with you next time. She seems loyal to you and will take your side no matter what.”
Oliver surprised himself by saying those words—full of suspicion—in a monotone that somehow made the accusation stronger.
“What do you mean by that?” Alexandra asked as she fumbled with her cloak. Her voice had risen, and her fingers trembled.
None of it painted a good picture, and Oliver felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach.
He reasoned that he was merely concerned about his reputation. He had nearly ruined it once. His wife did not have to add fuel to the fire.
“She told the other servants that you were indisposed when—let me help you with that.” Oliver stepped closer to her and helped loosen the tight knot around her neck.
He was so distracted by her fumbling that he had to stop his questioning.
“I-I can do it,” she stammered, even as his fingers deftly loosened the knot.
Suddenly, his fingers grazed the swell of her breasts. Her skin was soft beneath the rough calluses. She gasped softly.
Oliver stiffened, his fingers still on the cord, but at least the knot had loosened. The knot in his stomach, however, lingered. It tightened, painful but almost pleasurable.
He looked down at the soft skin that he had just touched. The mounds were turning a rosy pink. But,oh, she was so sensitive that the color spread so quickly beneath her bodice.
Yet, here she was, stubbornly refusing to tell him what she was really doing. Gamblers knew when they were being lied to or when something was being hidden from them—at least most of the time.
“As I was saying, your maid lied to my servants for you.”
“I was not well this morning,” she replied stubbornly, meeting his intense gaze.
There was a flicker of fear in her eyes—one that he didn’t expect. One that he didn’t want to see. If only he saw defiance in her eyes, for it would mean she was telling the truth—that she was merely buying bread.
“You look well enough, Duchess,” he responded, pointedly looking at her pinkening décolletage.
Oliver wondered if the woman he married was capable of infidelity. She did not seem too interested in anyone else, and he believed her when she said that she was not in love with another. For her, independence was what she desired. Freedom.
He tucked an errant curl behind her ear. Her eyes widened, as if she was just realizing what she looked like after allegedly buying bread—rumpled and slightly perspiring.
So, yes, seeing her blushing and flustered, it was easy to imagine that she had a tryst before coming back home.
