Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

“ I confess I did not think you would know how to prepare your own tea,” Madeleine said as Alexander set down two cups of tea in the parlor.

He frowned. “If I cannot serve my wife as I please, then I do not know what I can do.”

“And before you had a wife?” she asked playfully.

“I learned in preparation.”

“Although you did not wish to marry,” she said, not quite a question, nor a statement.

Alexander settled onto the armchair next to hers, their respective cups of tea between them. He had put some squares of chocolate on a saucer for them to share.

It was not proper, he knew, but he had felt an unexpected closeness to her since their coupling barely an hour ago.

It was as though being rough with her had made a part of him feel softer, and he was not sure how to untangle that.

“I did not,” he agreed slowly, hoping it would not take away the glow on his wife’s face. “However, I learned regardless. I have… an associate.”

“The one you refuse to talk about from our wedding?”

“Yes. And when I first… went into business with him, we met frequently, of course.” He paused, trying not to speak too openly about the gambling hall or Horace. “And sometimes my associate?—”

“You can tell me his name, you know,” she laughed. “I have seen him.”

“I do not wish to at the moment.” He tried to soften the refusal with a smile but he could tell it was tightened by his deception.

“He suffered frequent headaches and oftentimes meeting over a glass of wine made those headaches worse. So, he called for tea. And although it was not entirely correct to do so, I offered to make him tea one time. I felt as though…” he struggled to patch over this part of his story.

“I felt indebted to him. Our business was an advantage to me, and I felt that preparing him tea was the least I could do.”

“I am sure you gave much more than that with your business.”

He thought of Horace and the new life the Raven’s Den had given him, and Alexander nodded. “Quite. But I also wished to learn.”

“I think it says a lot about you, Alexander,” Madeleine confessed. “It is a trait not many men have. I like that you have it.”

“What trait?”

“It is a selflessness, of sorts,” she said without hesitating, as if she knew it already. “I admire it.”

His wife paused to adjust her robe. They had barely been intimate an hour ago and he already wished to scandalously take her again right there, in his chair, have her astride his lap.

Perhaps I just might .

She plucked a chocolate from the tray. He had his own stock, of course, but there was something quite thrilling about making her tea and stealing chocolate, sitting down in the parlor with his wife at such an hour.

“Did you think me selfish?” he asked.

“I thought of men as selfish,” she corrected. “But I had to tell myself that a selfish man would not have done what you have done for me.”

“Believe me, Duchess, some choices were entirely selfish.”

He looked her over slowly, a slow, wicked smile on his face. She blushed—something he loved causing her to do—and distracted herself with biting into the decadent chocolate. He watched her face soften in pleasure at the taste.

“I have not thanked you properly for helping me at the events we have attended.” Her voice was quiet, and she didn’t quite meet his gaze. “Your words and actions kept me afloat while I drowned in humiliation and scrutiny.”

“I would not have let you flounder,” he told her.

“Still, I am grateful. You could have told me to be courageous and fight my battles alone. After all, I do believe I pulled you into my troubles and the gossip.”

“I put myself in its way willingly and knowingly,” he assured her. “I knew what the ton would think of our marriage but I did not care. I only wanted what I thought was best for you.”

He did not want to admit what his heart did at his confession—the slight jump, in hoping that she agreed their marriage was a preferred option.

“I agree,” she said softly. “I do not know what I would have done had the new Lord Kinsfeld had his way.”

“I would never have let that happen,” Alexander said hotly, a bite in his voice.

He shook his head. He would not think of her thrown onto the streets with not even one penny. No , absolutely not.

“However, if you truly wish to thank me…”

“Alexander!” she laughed. “We have barely come down from your chambers.”

“I did not mean that,” he answered, smirking. “You may thank me by attending an opera performance with me. I wish for us to be seen together in a setting that is not a ball. They make you uncomfortable, and while we must go, I wanted to find something for you to do that you will enjoy.”

“Who told you I like the opera?”

Alexander winked. “Perhaps a certain Earl mentioned it in passing. I have purchased us tickets for a concert this week.”

Madeleine’s face lit up, her hands clasping together. “I would be delighted to go! But… do you like the opera?”

He paused. “I… I do.”

“You hesitate,” she noted.

“My mother was a lover of music,” he told Madeleine, wondering why he felt the need to discuss her.

His mother’s death was a wound he had not touched in many, many years. Not since he had taken the broken duchy and began to rebuild it six years prior.

“She used to take me when I was a young boy.”

“Did she play any instruments?”

Alexander paused before nodding. “Yes. Perhaps tomorrow we can go to the music room. I could show you her old sheet music.”

“I would like that,” Madeleine told him. “My father once loved music but…” she sighed. “He found other things to love instead.”

“Taverns? Women?” His own father’s face flashed through his mind. He quickly ignored it.

“Perhaps, but mostly popularity,” she answered. “He was desperate to climb higher on the social ladder. It was he who arranged my marriage to Donald when I was eighteen.”

“I am sorry.”

To his surprise, Madeleine let out a burst of laughter.

“What is so funny?” he asked, frowning.

“It is only that you are the first man to say that when I mention my marriage to Donald,” she said, wincing at his name. “He was wealthy back then, so I imagine he was a good match, so a lot of my father’s friends applauded the union.”

“And John?” Alexander asked.

“He was off to war when the engagement was finalized,” she sighed. “He had no say.”

“I believe that if he had gotten a say, he would have fought the arrangement.”

“I believe so, too.” She frowned, her mouth pinched. “I do not wish to discuss Donald further. Will you tell me about your mother?”

“No.” Alexander’s quick, sharp answer surprised them both. He cleared his throat. “I mean to say that I do not wish to discuss her. It is a wound I do not like to touch often.”

Madeleine smiled up at him, a shy thing, as she said, “I am good with tending to wounds, if you will let me.”

Alexander was speechless at her offer for a moment.

He cleared his throat again. “Perhaps another night.”

“Agreed,” she said, rising to her feet. “Another night.”

He followed her with his gaze, swallowing, as she walked to the door. “Where are you going?”

She only answered by closing the door to the parlor before turning back to him.

The smile on her face was that of a dark seductress, as she walked towards him. Her delicate hands held the end of her robe she pulled it open.

Alexander’s mouth went dry, his eyes roaming over her body, full of curves that he wished to bury his hands upon.

Madeleine stopped before him, stepping between his legs. She dropped her robe.

“I thought you said?—”

“I know,” she whispered. Her legs folded either side of his own thighs. “But I wish to experience what you showed me earlier, many more times.”

She pressed her bare chest to his, and the feel of her parted legs around his felt akin to heaven. Alexander’s hands went to her plush hips.

“What shall I show you this time?” he asked her, cocking his head.

“Show me how to reach my pleasure in such a position.”

Astride his lap, Madeleine shifted herself over his hardening length. Before she could tease him and try to take control, he grasped her wrists and pinned her arms behind her back. She gasped, her body bowing with his control.

His mouth closed over her neck. “Lift your hips, wife.”

She did as he commanded.

“And then slide yourself down onto me.”

She did that, and he bit her skin, muffling a groan as her heat enveloped him once more.

“And now, I will keep hold of your hands so you cannot move them. Rock your hips—yes, exactly like that— Heavens, Madeleine.”

She was already finding a rhythm she enjoyed, her mouth parting, as she pleasured both of them in the position. He felt her tightening around his length, and his breathing grew labored quickly, knowing he would not last for long a second time, so soon.

“Keep doing that,” he moaned, his voice deep.

Madeleine’s head tipped back, her spill of blonde hair falling down her back. With one hand he held her wrists, and with the other, he grasped the lengths of hair and clenched them in his fingers, keeping his grip on her as she rocked against him.

Her gasping sounds and the quieter punctures of moans had him nearing his climax quickly.

“Alexander,” she moaned, her eyes closed.

“Keep your eyes open,” he ordered her. “Do not close them.”

They opened, those hazel-green eyes blown wide, and he leaned in to claim her mouth with his for a moment, one deep, lingering kiss, as she sped up, bringing them both to a softer yet satisfying climax.

After she cried out his name, her mouth against his beard as she tried to kiss him again despite the writhing of her climax, and he followed shortly after, she slumped against his chest.

Alexander had dallied in some trysts throughout the years but he had never lingered after being intimate with a woman. He had always fled quickly, escaping their chambers or the backroom he took them to.

With Madeleine, lingering in the glow afterwards was new, and yet he found the vulnerability of it unnerved him even as it pleased him.

He would adjust; he would grow to sit comfortably with it. For now, he put his arms around his wife and helped her to her feet.

“You must rest,” he told her quietly. “I will escort you upstairs.”

“We did not finish our tea,” she giggled, her face flush with pleasure.

“I found a much more inviting thing to fill my night,” he told her with a grin.

Madeleine put her robe back on, and they left the parlor. Alexander had the strange urge to laugh, as though they were doing something secretive in their own home.

They stole up stairways and past dark rooms and closed doors, until he reached their adjoined chambers.

He turned to her, kissing her cheek. “Good night, Madeleine.”

She ducked her head in a smile. “Good night, Alexander.”

The following morning, Madeleine woke up in her own chambers, wincing at the sunlight trying to sneak in through her closed curtains.

There was a pleasant, welcome ache in her body, evidence of hers and Alexander’s night.

Adjusting the nightdress she’d changed into upon retiring to her chambers, she snuck over to the connecting door. However, when she pushed it open, expecting it to be locked, the door gave way, leading her to Alexander’s empty rooms.

A piece of paper lay on his pillow, a fine script addressed to her.

I imagined you would sneak in to find me. I am awaiting you on the south terrace, near the music room. Breakfast awaits you, darling.

Madeleine’s heart swooped. She had resigned herself to a life of solitude and coldness. Even with Alexander, at the very start, despite his protective streak she thought he could not come to want her truly.

And yet…

She held the parchment to her chest, a giddy feeling rising in her, and called for Emily to dress her for the day.

When she entered the south terrace, a wide balcony that overlooked the gardens, Alexander waited for her, as promised. He wore a black shirt and equally black jacket. Around his neck was a navy cravat.

Madeleine swallowed, recalling the tingling pleasure of the silk on her skin the night before.

“Good morning,” Alexander greeted her with a knowing smile. “Did you sleep well?”

Lowering herself into the chair he had prepared for her, much closer together than they often were at dinnertime, Madeleine nodded. “I did. And you?”

“I slept better than I have in quite some time.”

He gave her a charming smile but Madeleine cocked her head. “Do you often find yourself mentally preoccupied? Do you worry about everything?”

Alexander shrugged as he leaned forward to pick up a piece of toast with silver tongs, presenting it on the empty plate before her. Around them, servants waited for his instruction.

“Let us not concern ourselves with such things,” he said, and she frowned, feeling dismissed.

“I wish to know if something worries you,” she pressed lightly.

“It is nothing.” He gave her another smile. “A boy grows into a man, and when that man becomes a duke, bearing his past as well as a duchy. I find myself awake with my thoughts. That is all.”

“You may come to me,” Madeleine insisted. “Any time you cannot sleep, you may approach my chamber.”

He cleared his throat, nodding once. She knew her husband was still guarded. She was not naive to think one night of coupling would make him open up to her, but she still tried, regardless.

“Does anything keep you awake at night?” he asked.

She tried to focus on buttering her toast. She was not sure if the question was in jest, but all she could think of for a moment was the blood-soaked cloth they found in the warehouse when investigating Donald.

Madeleine shook her head. “Nothing at all.”

“I can tell when you pretend with me.” He gave her a stern look. “But I can understand why. So let us pretend that we do not protect the other from the darker sides of ourselves, and eat, shall we?”

“I would like that.”

“Have the Duchess served her morning eggs,” Alexander instructed the servants. “And a plate of French bread.”

Soon enough, they were eating together, and Alexander kept looking at her as though she puzzled him and he was not sure why.

“My husband, if you keep staring at me so I might be tempted to show you something to truly stare at.”

“I have everything on show I need to gaze at right now,” he told her smoothly. “I am not, however, immune to your… feminine ways.”

“Right here, on the terrace?” she asked, pretending to be shocked. “Alexander.”

“I would take you anywhere I pleased.” His smirk was dashing, and Madeleine met his gaze just as strongly. “Would you give yourself to me in any manner?”

“Any you ask of me,” she responded.

“Interesting.” His grin flashed as she bit into her French bread.

He himself slathered jam over his toast.

Throughout their breakfast, her thoughts still lingered on all the things they had not said the night before.

Her refusing to talk about Donald, and him calling his mother a wound he did not touch.

She could bandage any wound—or so she hoped. Grief was there; it had pooled in his eyes for a brief moment before Alexander blinked it away.

She understood such a weight. She could only wonder if it was emotion that held him from speaking about her, or something far deeper, darker.

“I am eager to go to the music room,” she hinted once they finished their breakfast.

“Then go we shall.”