Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

T here were three things that made Alexandra gasp when she ran into her husband in the hallway.

One, she collided with something solid. She had never been that close to a man before, and her breasts seemed to bounce off Oliver’s hard chest.

Two, he was shirtless. The sheen of perspiration seemed to emphasize his maleness, his musky scent teasing her senses. She would never forget it ever again.

Three, she was holding a licentious novel that a countess a decade older than her had gifted her.

“We can’t wait to see your children, Your Grace. You and the Duke make a lovely couple. Perhaps you need a little nudge,” Lady Laverton had said, her serious voice contrasting with the smirk on her face. “Though I’ve heard he doesn’t need it.”

It was a… very good read, indeed. She’d read it by the candlelight at night, when it felt appropriate to be consumed. And, well, it did consume her.

Now, she was even reading it in broad daylight. The look on her husband’s face suggested that he was well acquainted with the novel.

It was humiliating, to say the least.

Alexandra had been living with her husband for ten days. So far, they had managed to cohabitate with quiet harmony. Each of them had an activity of their own, except for the times Oliver listened to her play the piano or accompanied her to the market to buy bread. The latter had become a means to solidify her earlier pretense.

Calling on members of the ton felt more like an activity Oliver would arrange. Although Alexandra was beginning to enjoy it, she would not dare say that to her husband.

However, it almost felt like her husband found reasons to be around her. He had to be suspicious.

At the very moment, he did not look suspicious. Instead, he gazed at her with blatant interest.

Flames seemed to lick Alexandra’s skin even though they were too far away from the nearest fireplace. She could not look away.

How could she? The Duke of Westgrave had a body honed to perfection. He was not bulky like the pugilists she saw in the papers, but lean and muscular. The taut muscles of his lower abdomen drew her eyes toward his breeches.

She swallowed.

“Do you like what you see, Duchess?” he asked, his tone formal but his eyes twinkling, reminding her of the naughty countess who gave her the book she was holding in her hands.

“W-What do you mean?” She closed the book and hid it behind her back.

Oliver had already seen it, but it seemed like an invitation for more goading if she left it on display.

“You know what I mean. Do you always hide behind your innocence?” he asked, inching even closer.

He was looking down at her, but there was no menace there. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his nostrils flared. Alexandra tried not to breathe in his natural musky scent. Her fingernails pressed harder into the leather binding of the book she held as she barely restrained herself from throwing her arms around him. She had never felt such a scandalous urge before.

Perhaps it was the book, but deep inside, she knew that it was the man in front of her.

“I-I simply think you should not be walking around the house with no shirt on, Your Grace,” she whispered, but she would not let him see her retreat.

She stood where she was, feeling the heat of his skin on her body and his breath on her forehead as she held his gaze.

“Ah. Do we also have rules against reading materials?” he asked, reaching behind her and gently prying the book from her hand. He inspected it closely, but it was clear he knew what it was about.

“Lady Laverton gave it to me,” she protested, reaching for the book with one hand. “If you would give it back, please.”

Oliver raised it higher, out of her reach.

“Your Grace,” she gritted out.

She was about to jump to reach for her book, but then she decided against it. He would not see her beg for anything, much less jump like a prized dog.

She turned around in a huff and strode away.

“Duchess.” His voice held a soft plea that sent a shiver down her spine.

Her toes curled at the familiar way his hand reached out, resting lightly on her arm, respectful but intimate.

His touch was warm against her already heated skin. He didn’t curl his fingers around her arm. He just held her there, gentle but firm enough to keep her close.

When he pulled her toward him, she didn’t resist, though her breathing grew shallow, catching in her throat. His arm slid around her waist, drawing her into the solid warmth of his damp torso.

The contact made her pulse quicken, and she barely stifled a moan as her body responded to his nearness.

No.

“Duchess, you keep running away from me. I am your husband, and I merely want to get to know you. After all, you are the reason I… have abstained for more than a year now.”

“That cannot be true. You? Abstaining?” she asked, her voice coming out hoarse as if she had been screaming.

Oliver nodded, his gaze steady, though there was something dark and teasing just beneath the surface. “Oh yes. Despite what you have heard about me, I am still a man of honor. No matter what the world might think of me.”

His words surprised her, sent a shiver through her.

His lips quirked into a half-smile, and his voice dropped. “But, Duchess, let me tell you… it’s getting much harder to remain honorable, with you standing this close.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. It was subtle, but the implication sent heat to her cheeks. Her fingers twitched against his chest, betraying her faltering resolve.

“And you’re not making it any easier,” he added, his eyes boring into hers. “But perhaps we could work on… honoring our vows. Together.”

Alexandra’s breath caught in her throat as the meaning of his words sank in. His hand slid up her arm, just grazing her neck, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

But before her body could betray her further, she quickly stepped back, breaking eye contact.

“You shouldn’t say such things, Your Grace,” she managed, her voice barely steady.

His smile widened, and this time, it was pure wickedness. “Oh, but I will, Duchess. And I suspect you’ll come to want me to.”

She swallowed hard, every pulse of heat in her veins betraying her desire. But she couldn’t give in. Not yet.

Oliver placed her book in her hands. Then, he walked away, leaving her standing there, trying to catch her breath. A strange new sensation came over her—a throbbing between her legs and a flutter in her chest.

She forced herself to move, wondering why she let him pull her that close. Physically. Emotionally.

It was far too inconvenient for this marriage of convenience.