Page 55 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
As they were a safe distance away, Alexandra tugged at her husband’s arm.
“There is nobody to introduce me to. Am I right, Your Grace?” she asked, her eyes twinkling mischievously.
Oliver preferred her this way, not the melancholy, secretive woman she had been as of late.
“No. I was merely saving you from that woman,” he said, not hiding his contempt and amusement. “But what do you think of what she asked you? Do you believe all the stories about me?”
“I am curious, but I will wait for you to tell me, Your Grace. We have not made promises to each other. You do not owe me anything,” she said lightly.
Oliver swallowed. It was not what he wanted her to say.
He had felt some kind of triumph and accomplishment for sharing her bed and enjoying her friendship. However, he realized he wanted more. Not this. Not her uncertainty. Not her emotional distance. Yet, he also knew he could not force the same feelings on her. She had been trapped enough. He had to make her see that they could make their marriage real, not just the physical part.
But how?
His shoulders felt heavy as they continued mingling with theton.
The Devil’s Draw was calling him again. In the gambling hell, there were no expectations beyond the pain.
The fire in his throat. The bruises on his jaw. Broken bones and broken dreams.
When she shut him out, Oliver felt like he lost something he never had.
“Your father-in-law’s debts are being settled. Might be discharged soon if only he doesn’t come to gamble again,” someone at Devil’s Draw had commented one night.
Oliver did not respond, but the information lingered.
So, Alexandra wouldn’t stop until she could pay all her father’s debts.
Ever since that interaction with Lady Harriet, Alexandra had withdrawn. He had knocked on the door connecting their rooms several times, and each time she’d given him an excuse.
She was pulling away.
Life with her was back to how it was. An arrangement. A transaction. Thetonseemed to feel the change in them. Whispers about trouble in paradise were getting louder. Neither commented on nor denied the rumors.
One night when they went back home, they found themselves in the drawing room drinking sherry. It was a rare warm moment.
“Why have you shut me out? You’ve done this before. Then, you came back. Now, you’re somewhere else again,” he said, no longer able to take the silence and distance between them.
He stood by the drinks cart while she half-reclined on the sofa. She had just finished her drink.
“Me? I shut you out? After I reminded you what our marriage really is, you stopped talking to me. You went back to taking your pleasures at Devil’s Draw.”
“Alexandra, I may have been a rake once, but I would never force women, even to talk to me or enjoy my company. I have seen you happy during the balls and soirées, but the same cannot be said of late. It’s like you are fading away.”
“I’m not. I’m simply?—”
The pause that followed frightened Oliver for some reason. It seemed she was close to revealing her true fears.
“Simply what?” he still prodded even as the hand that gripped the glass of sherry became clammy.
“Adjusting. I pretended to have settled in, but all of this…” she trailed off, turning away.
Oliver knew that there was more to her emotional distance than not having settled into her new position as a wife and duchess.
He set his glass down on the drinks cart with a clink, then strode toward the sofa and knelt beside her, taking her hand in his. Her skin was warm against his, but he could still sense her holding back.
“Tell me,” he whispered. “What are you trying to make sense of, Alexandra?”
