Page 22 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
“Yes. Your eyes sparkle when you talk about her. And, indeed, she is a beautiful woman with charm, grace, and wit. People have been talking about her, but fondly.”
“Enough of this,” Oliver said a little roughly. “Let us box again.”
Philip’s eyes softened. It seemed that he could tell his friend wanted an escape. Alexandra was still a difficult topic for him.
Oliver took off his shirt, showing that he meant business. He needed to exorcise his wife from his thoughts, even if it meant more physical pain.
Philip nodded in understanding and readily faced him.
It was a friendly spar, but it was no less intense. The Duke of Westgrave enjoyed using his body instead of his head.
The body could handle the pain, but the mind could only take so much.
After Philip had left, Oliver thought of getting some refreshments from the kitchen. He had narrowly avoided drinking gin with his friend, who had managed to make one buried thought blossom—making his forced marriage a real one. However, Oliver might need lemonade or simply a glass of water, instead.
Deep in thought, he walked out of the training room and into the hallway, and he felt something—or rather, someone—collide with him.
“Oh. My apologies, Your Grace.”
It was Alexandra, holding a book open.
The book wasFanny Hill: Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure.
Oliver could not stop a smirk from forming on his lips.
Chapter Nine
There were three things that made Alexandra gasp when she ran into her husband in the hallway.
One, she collided with something solid. She had never been that close to a man before, and her breasts seemed to bounce off Oliver’s hard chest.
Two, he was shirtless. The sheen of perspiration seemed to emphasize his maleness, his musky scent teasing her senses. She would never forget it ever again.
Three, she was holding a licentious novel that a countess a decade older than her had gifted her.
“We can’t wait to see your children, Your Grace. You and the Duke make a lovely couple. Perhaps you need a little nudge,”Lady Laverton had said, her serious voice contrasting with the smirk on her face.“Though I’ve heard he doesn’t need it.”
It was a… very good read, indeed. She’d read it by the candlelight at night, when it felt appropriate to be consumed. And, well, it did consume her.
Now, she was even reading it in broad daylight. The look on her husband’s face suggested that he was well acquainted with the novel.
It was humiliating, to say the least.
Alexandra had been living with her husband for ten days. So far, they had managed to cohabitate with quiet harmony. Each of them had an activity of their own, except for the times Oliver listened to her play the piano or accompanied her to the market to buy bread. The latter had become a means to solidify her earlier pretense.
Calling on members of thetonfelt more like an activity Oliver would arrange. Although Alexandra was beginning to enjoy it, she would not dare say that to her husband.
However, it almost felt like her husband found reasons to be around her. He had to be suspicious.
At the very moment, he did not look suspicious. Instead, he gazed at her with blatant interest.
Flames seemed to lick Alexandra’s skin even though they were too far away from the nearest fireplace. She could not look away.
How could she? The Duke of Westgrave had a body honed to perfection. He was not bulky like the pugilists she saw in the papers, but lean and muscular. The taut muscles of his lower abdomen drew her eyes toward his breeches.
She swallowed.
“Do you like what you see, Duchess?” he asked, his tone formal but his eyes twinkling, reminding her of the naughty countess who gave her the book she was holding in her hands.
