Chapter 6

Alexander could not remember the last time he had felt rage. Of course, over the years he had felt annoyance when dealing with the incompetence of staff and of course the aggravating attitude of his stepmother and siblings, but he could not recall being consumed by a rage so encompassing that he was fairly vibrating with it.

He could not decide what was the root of his anger. Was it the fact that he had lost his head and kissed the lady senseless in someone else's drawing room, where anyone could have come upon them, or was it the way she reacted after the kiss, painting him as the villain? Try as he might, he could not quite regret the kiss. He only wondered how he would survive without her now that he had a taste.

He didn't delude himself by thinking he was honorable because if not for the sound that jolted them back to their senses, he would have been just a heartbeat away from lifting her skirts and ravishing her right there in the drawing room with no care for who might have seen.

He was that lost. The helpless lust he felt for her scared him. His lust for her, his fear, and his anger at her were a toxic mix of emotions that were making him very upset. Even while he was angry with her, he still had to adjust the crotch of his trousers to accommodate the erection that had not quite subsided since his encounter with her.

He had always known that kissing was her bad idea because then he would keep going back for more. That one night, hell a thousand nights, would not quench the fire in his blood. And as it always happened when he ignored his instincts, he was right, and oh, how good she felt in his arms.

The woman was a witch who inspired extreme emotions in him, and he definitely was not happy about it. It was amazing how he could be boiling with rage while his body remained aroused. The toxic mix of rage and lust in his blood was hardly ideal for rest, so he decided to stop at the Gentleman Jackson salon. Hopefully, physical exertion would grant him respite from his volatile emotions.

Walking into the salon, he spotted James kitting up for a match, so he approached him

"You look like hell," James said when he got close to him.

Alexander shot him a dark look of warning, but of course, James would never back down from an opportunity to taunt him.

"You are usually in a sour mood, but you seem to be in a spectacular one at this moment. It has been quite a while since I have seen you this furious."

"Who says I am furious?" Alexander growled.

"Animosity is streaming off you in waves—even a blind person could sense it. I wouldn't recommend going for a match at the moment. Apart from the danger of you causing someone's son permanent injury, matches fought in anger usually end up with a hand or fingers broken. If you need an activity to let off steam, I would recommend fencing instead."

Alexander sat down in defeat.

"You know, since I have known you, I have never seen you this angry. You are basically vibrating with it. I would guess that your rage has something to do with the lovely Miss Helen."

At that, Alexander gave him a dark look.

"I will take that to mean that I am right," James said, chuckling. "I am starting to like this bride of yours. If she can manage to make you, the Ruthless Duke, this angry, she must really be a force of nature. I would love to make her acquaintance and maybe take some leaves from her playbook."

Snorting in annoyance, Alexander stood up and made to leave.

"Wait a while. Where are you going? Come sit down and let's discuss."

"You seem to enjoy taunting me. I am not quite in the mood to banter with you."

"Calm yourself and let's sit, shall we? You can tell me all about the beautiful lady who seems to have the baffling power to discomfit you."

Alexander reluctantly sat down. After telling him the story, James burst into laughter.

"How the great have fallen!" Jame regained a sense of composure, but mirth danced in his eyes.

Alexander rarely did anything to prompt jests from his dear friend, and whenever he did, he went to great lengths to hide the faux pas from James. In moments, James' eyes would twinkle, and the daft man would take to calling him ‘Alexander the Great'.

James' lips quirked a bit at the glory of being right. "If you had been having women problems all the while, you should have come to me. I am quite the connoisseur." He wiggled his eyebrows mischievously.

"Connoisseur of mistresses," Alexander scoffed. The habit was beneath him. However, he was hardly an ignorant Puritan. "How many ladies with strong aspirations to propriety have you seduced?"

"Dearest Alexander, forgo the verbosity and ask me for help. I won't even demand you get on your knees." James widened his arms, relaxing into the plush leather chaise. Then, with great hauteur, he added, "Look at me being quite magnanimous! Wherever would you find another friend like me?"

On the streets of Saint Giles, scouting for their next partner.

Alex held his tongue. He did need his friend's help, whatever it consisted of.

Helen didn't believe in the political nature of a marriage. She wanted love, children, and a doting husband, and while he could not give them to her, a duchy was at her feet! He was to make her a duchess! What more could a lady want? He was the closest thing to royalty. A most fortunate catch. Why was she so myopic?

"Your help would entail what?"

"How to compromise your damsel, so she's forced to marry you of course," James monotoned, as if considering whether to attach tassels to his boots or not.

"Good day to you, friend." Alexander made to rise. However, James was quicker.

"Don't be so hasty, I only jest."

"Don't make such remarks concerning a woman's virtue."

James nodded.

Only when Alexander slumped back—though with ducal grace—did James repose.

"Here's what you really should do."

Listening to him, Alexander wondered what his friend thought of him to suggest such a preposterous idea.

"Helen is a woman. Women love lies, they love deceit, and what do they love more? Believing they could see through a man's deceit and lies. If you were to make her believe this brooding mein is nothing but a fa?ade which you unraveled for her, which she uncovered, I bet you she would beg you to marry her."

Alexander considered his friend's suggestion, though not with the intention to enact it. James was actually a madman.

"I will not be partaking in any ritual to humiliate myself. You expect me to act as a nincompoop dandy just to marry her."

James grimaced but nodded.

"I am a duke, not a peacock. Women vie for my regard."

"What women?"

"That was a low blow even for you," Alexander retorted. "Even though they damn nearly faint at the sight of me, surely there'll be one desperate enough to tie herself to me. Besides, I don't intend to bed the girl. I just need her to put up a good appearance."

"And do you intend to reveal your plan to her?"

Alexander considered that question carefully. There were a few ladies in the ton he could consider mature enough to handle such a secret at best, and at worst faint at the suggestion. And those few were either already married or too old for him to consider marrying.

He sighed, taking a sip of his drink. Helen would have been a perfect fit if she wasn't so aggravating.

"What are you going to do about her then, Alexander?"

Truly, he didn't know, but he was good at pulling himself out of even more complex situations, so he was sure the answer would come to him in time.

"I am thinking about it."

* * *

When Alexander arrived back home, it was very late. He started considering that he should cancel the marriage license.

"Your Grace."

"I would like a bath then I will go straight to bed. I do not want to be disturbed."

"Your Grace?—"

"Make haste."

"There's a woman." Alexander's hand stopped on a banister. He never required support to walk, but his entire person felt jaded. He turned to the butler. "She requires an audience with you."

"Where is she?"

"In the parlor."

Alexander took a tempting step down. "Who is she?"

"She requested my discretion." The butler cowered. "But she's also wearing a cape. I haven't caught a glimpse of her face yet."

A faceless woman at this hour, in his parlor?

If she was not begging to be compromised… but what if she was? His butler was loyal, but he had also served his family long before the former Duke died. He could be susceptible to the Dowager Duchess's wiles.

Alexander barged into the parlor, his presence imposing in the dimly lit room.

"Your Grace?" She rose.

That voice.

She took off her hood and revealed those beautiful blue eyes to him. Even in the dark, she glowed. He stood there, like a smitten man, staring into her face unmovingly.

His first instinct was to grab her face and kiss her senselessly, but then he remembered what she said to him.

I hate you.

Her words began to kindle something inside him, and staring at her, he realized it. Need. He needed someone for the first time since he was a boy. He needed her to like him. He needed her to want him. Everyone wanted a duke, everyone wanted what the title could offer, but not her. She didn't care about the title or the power, and a part of him hoped that if she saw him as Alexander, she would like what she saw.

You're despicable.

He did what he did best, what he had learned to do all of his life—he masked his need with anger and pretended.

"An innocent girl visiting a bachelor's lodgings this late into the night—" He walked further into the room. "You never cease to surprise me," he spat.

He realized when she flinched that he had been too harsh, but he wasn't going to apologize.

Hate was a strong word. No matter how superficial a relationship was, the word shouldn't pass through one's lips. Not that Alexander had cared until her.

"Did you know?"

He arched his eyebrows. He sat, but she remained standing. Her whole body seemed to quiver, but he assumed it was a trick of the dark.

"That you had come to me like a thief in the night? No. You convinced my butler to betray the servitude of his job. You are quite impertinent yourself, doing whatever you please." He threw her words back at her and watched for her reaction, but it didn't bring him joy. He made to rise. "It's late, Miss Helen, and I will ask for a coach to take you home. I don't want to compromise you any further."

He inwardly cursed himself. Now his thoughts were drawn back to their kiss. Their mind-boggling kiss. He tried to stop it, but her scent permeated the air. The whole room was engulfed by her existence, and her soft lips were right there. Full and needing a friend.

"I see you're angry."

How insightful.

"But you have to understand…" She tilted up her head and regarded him, and her eyes were aflame. "You haven't been the most agreeable."

Confronting a duke impudently? He needed this woman, and no amount of pretense could mask it.

"I am a woman, and I expect gentleness—even from a duke. You are wealthy—you could afford it."

What was she talking about?

However, this was his second lesson on women in a day. Was he so clueless about the opposite gender?

"If you had tried to at least charm me?—"

"How do you suppose I should have done that?"

"Get to know me! My likes, my dislikes. Do I like milk with my tea? Do I have any flowers I am averse to?"

"Why would I care about your aversion to flowers? I don't run a florist."

"No, you don't."

Disappointment.

James was right. Women loved to unravel a man. They never believed their eyes but their heart. But the heart was very deceptive. His at the moment was beating—no, pounding in his chest.

"I didn't mean anything I just said… No, I did."

Women are such paradoxical creatures. He needed to keep a journal just to understand her.

"You're a human, not a frigid pole."

They were so close, and she jabbed her finger into his chest.

"If I charm you, would you come willingly to me?"

"I-I suppose." Her emotions were fickle. One moment, heat was rising to her cheeks, and the next to her eyes. "Then I would not go to embarrassing lengths to make my person unappealing to you." She clapped her hands over her mouth. "I didn't mean that, Your Grace."

The corners of his lips twitched, and he cocked his eyebrows.

"Did you know?"

He could not hide the amusement in his voice. "Know what?"

"That I was purposely trying to make myself unattractive to you?"

"What do you think?"

"I am sorry. My family had nothing to do with it. I decided entirely on my own."

It wasn't a crime. In fact, it was intuitive to attempt to break free of a forced marriage. And her plan was…

"That's a big offense, Helen."

"I would do anything for your forgiveness."

"Anything?" he breathed.

Her lips parted, and he knew she was affected by their distance, or lack thereof, as much as he was.

"Spend three nights with me."

No woman was as quick to anger as Helen was. "You might be a duke, but you have no right to?—"

"You misunderstand me. I am not inviting you to my bed." Her eyes searched his face for some iota of sincerity. "First, let's sit down."