Page 50 of His Duchess of Scandal
He should have looked away.
Heavens, he should have looked away, but those ocean-blue eyes met his, and he felt the floor move beneath his feet.
Something that should have been poured on canvas through paint and gritted teeth and all the hours he had spent locked in his studio, hoping nobody intruded.
Yet there she was, infuriating, beautiful, giving him a look that made him want to go down on his knees as he had the night they met.
Charles tamped down every lustful urge and straightened up. Composure was a performance he knew like the back of his hand, and he would be damned if he did not use it now.
“I was out,” he said calmly.
“I would rather you had been here.”
“And I would rather you stop presuming you can give me orders.”
“I did not give you an order,” she countered. “Although if I had, perhaps you would have returned for dinner.”
Her audacity caught him off guard, and he gritted his teeth.
How was it that this woman had every tool in her arsenal to upend him?
Hedespisedit.
He despised how her brown curls tumbled over her shoulders, as elegant as during the day, yet somehow more relaxed and prettier for it.
He despised how some of her curls rested so perfectly on her chest, as if purposefully drawing his attention there.
He fought to keep himself in check.
Hermia gazed back at him. “I do not give you orders because Iknowyou will not follow them, and who am I to command you?”
“Who, indeed,” he agreed tightly. “I am the master of this house.”
“And I am the Duchess,” she said, rising to her feet. Her book was very smoothly closed and put aside. “One of my duties is to have a nice dinner prepared for us as a family.”
“A family.” He almost spat out the word. He hated himself for the bitterness, so he swallowed the venom that threatened to bleed into his voice. “Is that what we are?”
“I am your wife,” she answered harshly, “and you brought me here to mother your child. Soyes. To me, that does make us a family. I miss my own—the very least you can do is turn up for dinner.”
Charles clenched his jaw. “I was out with Lord Trewford, if you must know. He can speak for hours on end at the best of times. Give him brandy, and it is nearly impossible to get him to shut up. How was I supposed to know you had planned another family dinner?”
“Because that is how it should be!” Hermia snapped, drawing too near.
Charles took a step back, but she followed him.
“Because we area family,” she added, her voice quieter. “Because I was brought here to be your wife, and a wife should not be served dinner alone in her chamber.”
“Excuse me for saving you from exile,” Charles snapped back. “I work long hours, Duchess. You know this.”
“Except I do not! I know so little about you, yet you expect me to know it all. You expect Phoebe and I to understand and have patience, but you show us so little of it in return, and it is—it isinfuriating!”
Suddenly, the parlor door slammed shut.
Charles whirled around, their argument momentarily forgotten, as he went to open it.
Had a draft somehow?—
“I will not open this door until the two of you become friends,” Phoebe shouted from the other side of the door.
