Page 102 of Dukes Are Forever
He couldn'tallowanything to happen.
Malloryn found himself in the training room, staring at the enormous padded automaton some of the Rogues occasionally fought. Stripping down to bare feet and trousers, he set the machine running and started warming up tight muscles as he ducked and dodged its swings.
He wasn't a complete bastard, but he'd always presumed the arrangement he and Adele shared suited them both. And if it didn't, then it didn't truly matter for they'd both been at odds. A cold war of words begun the day he slipped the engagement ring on her finger, which had only escalated the closer their wedding day loomed. While he certainly hadn't been entirely innocent, neither had she.
Yet....
It was almost as if he'd come to enjoy the daily trading of barbs, the swift uppercut he received in return. The second her face lit up with the intense flash of emotion when they sparred, he'd known he'd won, but there were moments when his jaw would clench and he'd be forced to concede the floor to her.
Their marriage was a battleground, a constant lingering tension, and yet he couldn't deny that Adele was the only woman of his acquaintance who wasn't afraid to go toe-to-toe with him. He'd even secretly respected her for it.
Everything had changed in the blink of an eye.
A single photograph.
His wife in another man's arms.
Or.... If he was being honest with himself, this shifting of axis—the complete skewing of his life with Adele—had begun the day she'd given him blood in the Tower.
Attraction simmered between them.
It always had, though he'd been forced to confront the truth of it that day.
To admit to himself that he desired his wife.
Try as he might, he'd never been able to stop his eye from lingering on her nape as he came across her dashing out some sort of correspondence in the library. Toying absently with her pearls, her fingers drawing his attention to the smooth curve of her breasts. Nibbling on the end of her pen, those soft full lips parted slightly. Sometimes he'd pause, and take the moment to peruse her while she was unaware of him.
In those moments, she seemed a different woman entirely, and it hadn't escaped his attention that he was curious about that woman.
Curious about the swift wit that flashed behind those expressive eyes. Curious about the soft gasp she'd made when he came back to himself in the tower, and found himself clasped between her thighs, her blood wet across his lips.
Curious about the whisper of silk behind the locked bedroom door that marked the edges of their respective territory.
The sound of her sheets rustling as she slipped between them chastised him each and every night. When he did sleep, he woke hard and aching, with her perfume in his nose.
And somehow, somewhere along the line, the bloody woman had begun to slip under his skin. No longer an enemy. Not quite a wife. Where then, could he place her?
Malloryn drew to a halt as the automaton ran through its cycles, his bruised knuckles slamming one last blow into its poor defenseless midriff. Who was he fooling? Certainly not Gemma.
And certainly not yourself.
Adele was proving dangerous.
He... liked her.
Quite a lot.
"Want something to hit that's a bit more lively?" drawled a quiet voice behind him.
Malloryn merely stared at the automaton. The former assassin made a cat seem sloppy, but he'd heard the faint creak of the door. Bloody Gemma. Sending Obsidian up here to nursemaid him, no doubt. "I think I'm still recovering from our last bout."
"You gave as good as you got."
Malloryn sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he turned to confront his protégé's lover. "Did Gemma set you upon me?"
"No. She's distracted. She's been teaching your wife some self defense techniques and now she's trying to convince the duchess to wear something red tomorrow night."
"What is it with Gemma and red dresses?"
