Page 9 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
It was a disaster waiting to happen.
“This is wrong,” she added.
“Alexandra…”
Her name on his lips felt too intimate. What could she hear in his voice? Desire? Frustration? She was perhaps doubly frustrated that he did not argue… that he did not persist.
“Oliver.”
Damn it.
Why did she have to say his name like that? Why did it roll on her tongue so easily? Her mind wandered to forbidden territories—to other things her tongue could do…
Interest flickered in his eyes, as though he could read her mind. They locked gazes again. Their bodies were still too close for comfort, and her breathing became labored.
What was going on with her? This was not in her plans. She was there to pay off her father’s debts and leave. She was not there to lust after her husband.
So, she turned around, almost bolting away from him and up the stairs, putting as much distance between them as possible. Yet,as she fled, her pulse racing, she couldn’t shake the haunting truth.
The greatest danger wasn’t Oliver’s touch, but how badly she had wanted it.
Chapter Four
“The breakfast is delicious, Your Grace,” Alexandra murmured, looking refreshed even after the late night. “My compliments to your cook.”
Oliver noted the pink hue on her cheeks, unburdened by rouge. He realized he had not previously looked at her up close with the morning light caressing her errant freckles and bow-shaped lips.
He couldn’t believe how much had changed between yesterday and today.
This morning, he woke up with his wife in his house.
She had even almost ended upin his beda few hours ago.
Perhaps she had made the right decision by pushing him away, but it left him with a lingering disappointment that still fogged his brain.
With any other woman, he would have been more forward. The chit’s gown would have been stripped off in minutes—stockings, stays, and all. With Alexandra, he had to be careful, as well as patient.
He knew she was an innocent, and she could only respond to something physical. Oliver did not want her to do something she would later regret.
At least she was staying in London with him. She understood the folly of finding other accommodations when her husband was right there, and that was a start.
A start to what?
Oliver groaned when he realized the big step he had taken. That was not how things were supposed to be. He was living a solitary life—married but with a bachelor’s privileges.
Alexandra could barely meet his eyes across the breakfast table. Instead, she seemed to find her teacup fascinating.
“Well, Remy likes being calledchef de cuisine, partly to remind everyone that he was trained in France. He is also your chef, Duchess. You are, after all, my wife,” he finally responded.
From the way she glanced left and right at the servants standing and waiting for their orders, and flattened her lips, she seemed to be holding back her words. Her back had become even more rigid if that was even possible.
She took a deep breath, and Oliver noticed how her bosom rose. He reminded himself to send a carriage to Lady Barrington’s townhouse to bring her lady’s maid. Someone would have to restrain Alexandra’s generous,ahem, curves.
For his sake.
He was tempted enough just hours ago, and he couldn’t imagine anyone else lewdly eyeing his wife. That might cause another fight, and the one with Percy had to be enough for now.
“For about a month, Your Grace,” she said in an uncharacteristically low voice. “Then, I will retreat to the countryside. Or, perhaps our arrangement has a closer expiration date…” she trailed off, her eyes wide and expectant.
