Page 56 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
She squeezed her eyes shut as if trying to forget where she was. “Everything. Our marriage, your return to Devil’s Draw, the pressure from theton… Everything.”
Oliver knew she was still holding back. His grip on her hand tightened. “Our marriage is our own, and nobody else’s. They can say whatever they want. Isn’t that what you told Lady Harriet when you put her in her place?”
“We’ve begun pretending again. It makes me wonder if everything that happened between us was just part of the pretense.”
Her eyes sought his. However, when he looked at her intensely enough, she bowed her head.
Oliver’s throat felt dry. He swallowed hard, be he persisted—he would solve the puzzle that was his wife.
“We’re not strangers, Alexandra. We have managed to build a life together, though it may not seem like it yet. I am willing to raise a family with you if you would like that.”
She gasped at that. For a moment, he thought that he had shattered the last of her defenses, but he was wrong.
“A life built on lies and secrets,” she murmured sadly.
There was no resentment in her eyes, though. It occurred to him that it was herself that she blamed, or was that simply his imagination?
“You’re still trying to discover who I really am, and I have not let you.”
“It is how marriage is meant to be. I was not married before. I have never courted a woman either, but I know that the discovery is a process. Gradual but ultimately satisfying.”
“No, stop this. Just hold me.”
For a moment, Oliver hesitated. He was venturing into uncharted territory. It was a request that seemed both strange and familiar. Still, he was afraid to give it another thought, fearing she might slip away forever.
When she leaned into him, he wrapped his arms around her. She fit in his arms well, and at that moment, he felt something. Something he had been missing for weeks—a connection.
“Just like that,” she murmured against his chest, her tears staining his shirt.
They stayed like that for a while. Then, naturally, when Alexandra tilted her head up, Oliver’s lips descended on hers.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alexandra had missed Oliver, but she could not fault him for staying away from her and looking for fresh diversions.
She had not been a welcoming wife, facing him with a dour face almost every day. She could not help it. She needed to form and keep a shield between them—to protect herself.
To protect him.
She had been risking her reputation and marriage, publishing compositions as J. Lewis. All the proceeds thus far went to paying off her father’s debts, and it seemed that he had the talent for piling more debt onto them.
He was a greedy bastard; it was time to admit it. There were times when she wondered if staying with Oliver was worth it. Perhaps it was time to retreat to the countryside—time to admitdefeat. She felt like drowning in her father’s debts, and she could only imagine that he did not care at all.
“That is all you can do, you little chit? I’ve warned you. I don’t know where you get your money from, but it can’t be from your dear husband. Do you want me to go to him and ask him if he knows what you have been doing?”
A man had stopped by the townhouse to slip the letter into Ellen’s hands. Her father and the terrible men surrounding him knew where she lived, naturally. Her husband was a duke and a prominent member of theton. It was difficult to hide, and she was afraid that Oliver would become embroiled in her troubles.
There were times, though, when she still hoped for a better life with him. When he went back to gambling and drinking, she thought that she had lost everything and did not believe that she could get them back.
“I’ve missed this, Oliver,” she confessed between kisses. She was shivering now, even though her skin was hot from the sherry.
“I know, my love,” he murmured into her neck.
It was the second time he’d used the term of endearment, but Alexandra dared not hope that it meant more than just that—a term of endearment. A way to call someone.
“Come here and kiss me some more, Your Grace,” she urged, giggling at the surprised look on his face.
“Your wish is my command, Duchess,” he murmured as his hands tore her gown off her body.
