Page 41 of A Deal with her Forbidden Duke
“Perhaps,” Madeleine answered, a small smile playing on her lips. “Or perhaps I am simply not in the mood for such indulgence.”
Alexander laughed quietly, sipping his wine as he watched her.
He had chosen the dinner—according to her own tastes, and that had something flushing in her.
He did not let up with his eyes, even when he lowered his wine. That look pierced her, pinning her to her chair.
Her face heated up.
She was not used to it—she was rather used to Donald either being absent or simply looking through her. She could have danced around Kinsfeld House, her body completely bare, and he would not have looked in even a second’s worth of interest.
“As much as I like it when you speak back, your tendency to blush is quite intoxicating.”
Alexander had her startling for a minute.
Madeleine found her footing, finally. Sarcasm slipped into her voice. “Ah. Is that not what you expect from now on? Mostwomen would be falling all over themselves by now, would they not?”
Alexander gazed back at Madeleine across the dinner table. The wine was already staining her lips, and there was a faintly sarcastic note to her voice that he enjoyed.
Speak back always,he thought.Let me see how fierce you might become.
He smirked at her little retort. She thought she was winning their dinner game. He could not help but study her, liking it when she squirmed. Oh, she was clever, but he knew how to strip a woman back to find what made that pretty blush cover her cheeks.
Her blonde hair spiraled down over her shoulder, brushing the neckline of her deep blue dress. It framed her chest beautifully in a way his gaze fought not to stray to.
Her eyes, so intelligent, gazed back at him.
He was right about the wine choice—and he did believe it reflected her. It was bold yet with something reserved to it, as if the wine could have been more, but had been made lighter by the hand which crafted it.
The dinner table was entirely too long, separating them. Still, he leaned closer.
“Tell me, Duchess,” he purred, “what was it like for you on your wedding night? Surely your husband showed you what a marriage can be like.” He paused, watching her reaction—she bit her lip. “Passion… Desire… It can wreath a marriage, wreak havoc in a bedchamber.”
His wife—hisnow, he reminded himself indulgently—paled, freezing.
He stopped, surprised. He had thought she would laugh off his words, or perhaps blush at them. He had thought even a clever retort might spill from those full lips.
Yet she was visibly uncomfortable, and he fought back a frown as she lost her grip on her wine glass, almost. She regained her composure, clearing her throat. A smile was fixed back in place but he did not look at it directly.
That pretense made him think.
Was his wife… a virgin?
That could not make sense.
She was not a debutante. She’d had a husband. Surely Lord Kinsfeld, as awful as he was, had indulged his wife in a fine wedding night to consummate their marriage? He had beenserviced by plenty of women in London—why not his own wife, if Alexander’s assumption was true?
“Are you all right?” His question wasn’t one he planned to ask.
He had thought they would continue their teasing but that discomfort, that new rigidness to her shoulders…
It threw him off.
Madeleine nodded quickly, sipping her wine. “Yes. I believe you already know plenty about my previous marriage, Your Grace. Do we truly need to keep circling back to it?”
He scanned her face. He was not convinced that her reasoning was that at all.
“Of course,” he said, playing along. “It is none of my business, wife. But it is still interesting, do you not think?”
