Chapter 3

Chapter Three

“ H ere’s my townhouse,” Oliver declared as he helped her out of the carriage.

Alexandra did not refuse his hand, gingerly stepping down and mentally preparing herself for what seemed like a new chapter in her life.

She looked up at the three-story Georgian townhouse with a red stuccoed brick facade. It was not what she had expected; she knew Oliver had also run into financial trouble because of his lifestyle, and the country house was already grand enough for her.

She did not know what she had imagined before—perhaps she had imagined her husband sleeping in a small room in an inn or with another woman.

The last thought made her uneasy, even though she felt she had no right to be. Neither of them wanted to get married, and even before they got married, she had heard about his frequent visits to brothels and dalliances with high-born ladies.

Oliver was no saint—far from it.

“Do you like it?” His voice broke through her thoughts, too arrogant for her liking.

He was enjoying this, seeing her gaping at his home.

“It’s beautiful,” she admitted grudgingly as she tried to ignore the knot of anger forming in her stomach.

“This is where you’ll stay while you’re in London,” Oliver said, re-igniting the anger that had somehow died down while she stared at the townhouse with awe.

“You do not get to tell me where I’ll stay, Your Grace,” she snapped.

Someone would think Alexandra was being difficult, but she genuinely did not want anyone to control her movements.

The country house had made her forget about the men in her life pulling at her strings. She longed to be back in the fresh air, tending to her garden, away from her father and the likes of Gideon Lockwood.

“Just as I could not stop you from causing chaos at Devil’s Draw?” Oliver drawled, loosening his cravat.

Alexandra didn’t like the smirk on his lips, as if her response was amusing to him. While his attitude made her furious, the casual way he was undressing in front of her made her pulse quicken.

“Well, I couldn’t stop you from being a reckless fool!” Alexandra protested, but she felt a thrill when his voice dropped.

“Reckless? Didn’t that recklessness just save you from thugs?”

“You saved me? Perhaps you are the one who needs saving, Your Grace.”

“Are you certain about that?” Oliver asked teasingly, his grin widening.

Alexandra’s eyes darted left and right. There was nobody around. The townhouse was quiet, and they were on the top floor.

Again, she did not feel in danger around Oliver, but what if he asked for what a man needed from his wife? It would be well within his rights.

Her father had made it clear that she should obey her husband. Thankfully, she did not have to make such choices, so far. Oliver had chosen to leave her.

But now?

His chuckle broke through her thoughts.

“Are you laughing at me?” Alexandra demanded.

“You look like a caged animal. Not like a woman with her husband in their home. The servants are asleep, by the way, but they are here if you choose to scream. Most will be awake in two hours.”

“A woman with her husband may as well be caged,” she boldly responded.

She bit back a reply about not knowing why she would need to scream. She knew full well why, and it made her heart pound in her chest.

“Ah. As a man with his wife.”

Alexandra did not know the Duke of Westgrave could be this infuriating, but he was right.

They were both trapped in this marriage.

She also had not noticed some details before, like how his brown hair curled around his collar and how his green eyes appeared grey in the dim light.

She wanted to follow his gaze, only to see how the colors would dance and shift. At least, that was what she told herself. The cold room suddenly felt stuffy and warm, and she wanted to fan herself, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

His voice was deeper than she remembered, though they did not talk much after the wedding. There were only small nods of acknowledgment and fleeting touches as he held her hands in front of the congregation.

A year ago, he was a nuisance her father flung at her. Right now, he seemed like he took all the space in the townhouse with his height, broad shoulders, and imposing presence. He was a gentleman willing to fight for her.

Alexandra sighed and shook her head, trying to rid herself of this new image. She reminded herself that her husband was just like her father.

“You think too much,” Oliver said.

It was not a question, but a statement.

“What is it to you?” she asked.

“Well, you’re my wife, and I want to know your thoughts. You were also lost in thought for about an hour,” he teased.

“I was not!”

“Yes, you were.”

His tone was more reflective of the stories she heard about him. He seemed to have been more carefree at a particular time. He also did not give a damn about her.

“What changed? Devil’s Draw? You like saving me from thugs you’ve been well-acquainted with these past months or even years?”

He winced and rubbed his jaw. His cravat hung loosely around his neck, while his tailcoat lay on the sofa. She must have been so dazed that she did not notice him neatly folding his coat. She didn’t like that he was right.

“No, Duchess. It’s not that. I did not like how Percy manhandled you. He had no right,” he muttered, looking away.

For a moment, he sounded like he cared about her even though it could be simply him protecting his property—his wife. She had craved to feel cared for so long, even now that Julian was forever gone.

“Oh.”

She had heard of how the Duke of Newden, Oliver’s brother-in-law, had paid for his gambling debts. He had saved him because he was in love with his sister.

“I am not proud that we started off on the wrong foot—with you being forced to marry me.” Oliver raked his fingers through his hair as he paced the room.

The words that came out seemed difficult for him to say.

“To be fair, you married me because you lost a game,” Alexandra pointed out bitterly.

“Precisely what I was getting at. It is not fair to you, a woman who—” Again, Oliver stopped himself.

Alexandra only then noticed that they were only inches apart. Even beneath the faint scent of sweat, she could detect the scent of soap and cologne. He smelled manly, but not in an overpowering way.

“Who what, Your Grace?” she prompted.

“Who is my wife. I am your husband,” he answered.

Alexandra scoffed at the ridiculous response, but she couldn’t help wondering what he really meant to say.

“A husband in name only,” she reminded him. “I do not care if you take whores or mistresses, Your Grace. I will be here. The spoils of war.”

Frustration flashed across his face as he grabbed her arms as if to shake her, but he did not. His arms fell to his sides, instead. Then, he looked at her curiously.

She did not flinch when he reached for a strand of her hair and tucked it behind her ear.

“You’re not the spoils of war,” he whispered.

“I am, but it’s not the end of the world,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Women like me live through it.”

“You don’t have to live through anything,” he insisted, absentmindedly stroking her cheek.

She wondered if there was something on it. Grease? Blood? She tried to muster the strength to pull away, but she couldn’t. The circling motion was hypnotic and relaxing, and she found herself closing her eyes.

She had never let her guard down in front of a man. Never.

“Will you give me anything if I stay with you in your townhouse?”

“Anything.”

His husky voice made her eyes flutter open, meeting his heavy-lidded ones. His green eyes were so close, greyer now. Darker. More mysterious. She was drowning in them, and she must swim upward.

“No, I can’t do that. I can’t live here. Let me live elsewhere,” she replied haughtily, happy to get the upper hand again.

“You cannot mean that, Duchess. They’d whisper. We’re in the same city now. Imagine what they’d say if you lived in a different house.”

“They’re already whispering about us.” Alexandra noticed that their voices had dropped to whispers, and she did not like it.

Whispers meant secrets. Intimacy. Trysts.

“I know. I’ve heard them. I also heard the dark things men say about you,” he confessed, his lips almost grazing her ear.

Was he jealous? A sudden thrill coursed through Alexandra. Did he care what other men thought of her? If they wanted her?

“Dark things?” she squeaked.

“Things they’d do to you in the dark. But nobody has the right—” He faltered, cocking his head again. This time, his lips were so close to hers.

Then she noticed that the candles were burning to their ends, dimming the room further. She could not help but imagine what Oliver Audley would do to her in the dark.

“Nobody has the right to what, Your Grace?” Her voice had become sultry, shocking her.

She had never been a seductress. She valued her mind and independence and had never wanted marriage.

Lust was a folly.

Love was insanity.

His hot but delicious breath fanned her lips, teasing her.

It had been a long day and an even longer night—maybe a kiss was what she needed. A kiss would wake her up from her slumber.

He dipped his head further until his lips grazed the skin below her lower lip. Her toes curled in her slippers, and her fingernails dug into the palm of one hand.

“No, Your Grace,” she breathed, gently pushing at his chest.

She felt the hard planes beneath her palms, and even though her body tingled with the desire to touch him again and run her fingers over his skin, she stepped back.

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.