Page 7 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
“A woman with her husband may as well be caged,” she boldly responded.
She bit back a reply about not knowing why she would need to scream. She knew full well why, and it made her heart pound in her chest.
“Ah. As a man with his wife.”
Alexandra did not know the Duke of Westgrave could be this infuriating, but he was right.
They were both trapped in this marriage.
She also had not noticed some details before, like how his brown hair curled around his collar and how his green eyes appeared grey in the dim light.
She wanted to follow his gaze, only to see how the colors would dance and shift. At least, that was what she told herself. The cold room suddenly felt stuffy and warm, and she wanted to fan herself, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
His voice was deeper than she remembered, though they did not talk much after the wedding. There were only small nods of acknowledgment and fleeting touches as he held her hands in front of the congregation.
A year ago, he was a nuisance her father flung at her. Right now, he seemed like he took all the space in the townhouse with his height, broad shoulders, and imposing presence. He was a gentleman willing to fight for her.
Alexandra sighed and shook her head, trying to rid herself of this new image. She reminded herself that her husband was just like her father.
“You think too much,” Oliver said.
It was not a question, but a statement.
“What is it to you?” she asked.
“Well, you’re my wife, and I want to know your thoughts. You were also lost in thought for about an hour,” he teased.
“I was not!”
“Yes, you were.”
His tone was more reflective of the stories she heard about him. He seemed to have been more carefree at a particular time. He also did not give a damn about her.
“What changed? Devil’s Draw? You like saving me from thugs you’ve been well-acquainted with these past months or even years?”
He winced and rubbed his jaw. His cravat hung loosely around his neck, while his tailcoat lay on the sofa. She must have been so dazed that she did not notice him neatly folding his coat. She didn’t like that he was right.
“No, Duchess. It’s not that. I did not like how Percy manhandled you. He had no right,” he muttered, looking away.
For a moment, he sounded like he cared about her even though it could be simply him protecting his property—his wife. She had craved to feel cared for so long, even now that Julian was forever gone.
“Oh.”
She had heard of how the Duke of Newden, Oliver’s brother-in-law, had paid for his gambling debts. He had saved him because he was in love with his sister.
“I am not proud that we started off on the wrong foot—with you being forced to marry me.” Oliver raked his fingers through his hair as he paced the room.
The words that came out seemed difficult for him to say.
“To be fair, you married me because you lost a game,” Alexandra pointed out bitterly.
“Precisely what I was getting at. It is not fair to you, a woman who—” Again, Oliver stopped himself.
Alexandra only then noticed that they were only inches apart. Even beneath the faint scent of sweat, she could detect the scent of soap and cologne. He smelled manly, but not in an overpowering way.
“Who what, Your Grace?” she prompted.
“Who is my wife. I am your husband,” he answered.
