Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

H ugh's accounts blurred before his eyes as the candlelight flickered and he was taken back to the way Evangeline had risen from the waves like a bride of the sea.

Gleaming in the sunlight, water dripping between her generous breasts.

The recollection made him harden yet again—he felt as though he had barely stopped being hard since he had walked away from her invitation to help dry her.

Logically, he knew this was a punishment for the way he had treated her in the carriage.

That was one of the things he liked about her: that she would not take any perceived slight sitting down.

But now, hours later, he had gotten little work done and he ached for her. The material of his breeches had been tented for too long. Instead of his accounts, the ledgers filled with the tiny numbers that were the backbone to the running of his vast estate, his mind was occupied with Evangeline.

Her supple curves. The way she had dried herself, cupping her breasts until all he could think about was weighing them in his hands. Rubbing between her legs in a deliberately provocative manner.

Her motives were transparent. Unfortunately, that didn't make her actions any less effective.

Enough was enough. He groaned as he shoved back his paperwork, consigning it for the next day, and picked up his candle as he rose.

The castle was silent around him, the servants having long since gone to bed. As he ascended the steep steps to his bedchamber, he did his best not to think about Evangeline lying in the room beside his. Of late, that knowledge had been playing havoc with his peace.

But when he entered his bedchamber and placed his candle on the side table, there was movement from his bed. This late, he never called for his valet, and so he expected the room to be empty.

"What time is it?" said a sleepy, husky voice from the bed.

He brought the candle closer to see Evangeline's pale, heart-shaped face surrounded by a halo of freshly washed brown hair.

So often, it was pinned in curls, and seeing it loose did something to him. All the desire he had been keeping inside him raged, demanding to be released.

She was in his bed. This was the very last straw.

"What," he said quietly, silkily, as dangerously as he could manage, "do you think you are doing in my bed?"

She yawned, cupping her mouth with her hand. In matters of seduction, she was still so innocent, not attempting to pose herself or display a long, shapely leg over the covers to tempt him.

She did not need to be. Just the sight of her here was enough.

"I was lonely," she said.

"If I recall correctly, you once almost slept on the floor because your dislike of me was so great."

She made a humming sound. "That was before ."

"Before what?"

"Before we came here," she said simply.

Hugh pinched his nose, breathing deeply.

This was a mistake. The reason he had not taken her then still applied now: she was a means to an end. A woman he had married for the sake of revenge; it would not be fair on her if he allowed himself any sort of true intimacy with her.

Even now, he wished he had not lost control in the carriage. That had been a mistake, teaching her to want things she should not have done.

"Out," he said coldly. "I do not share my bed when I have any other choice."

"Even with me?" There was a trace of hurt in her voice, but if she thought she had seduced him enough for that—even though with any other man the sight of her naked would have been too much to withstand—then she was mistaken.

"I'm tired." He enunciated the words clearly. "And I wish to sleep. Alone."

She pushed up from the bed, and he had a glimpse of the sheer nightgown she was wearing. If it were not for the darkness, he would have been able to see everything. As it was, thanks to her escapade earlier that day, he already knew what she looked like without clothes, and his mind was able to fill in the gaps.

"Am I nothing to you?" she demanded, a slight break in her words. "You claim me as your wife, but you have yet to treat me as such."

"And do you long for me to do so?" A dangerous question, especially given his fragile hold on control.

"You know I do."

He came closer, tilting her chin to meet his, wishing he did not love the stubbornness and challenge in her eyes.

"And here I was thinking you hated me," he murmured, resisting the urge to clasp her around the back of her neck and hold her in his power.

"Can one not do both?"

"Hate and want? Certainly. But after our first night together, I am surprised to find that you wish to share my bed. Do you think I might finish what I started?" He released her and her eyes widened with disappointment. "If that's your goal, then you will find yourself disappointed."

"And you?" she challenged.

"If I need release, I have my hand." As he had been using for a long time before his marriage.

Bedding women was pleasant, but he had never been inclined to an emotional attachment, and lovers seemed a dangerous thing to take when his position was such a high and important one.

Evangeline's nostrils flared, and then she smiled. "I had no expectation of you taking me in your bed, Your Grace," she said.

"Then why are you here?"

"So that you might want to." She came in closer, mesmerizing in the dim light, her body soft as it pressed against his. He could feel the lush swell of her breasts, the nightgown doing nothing to stifle the heat of her skin. "Consider it a punishment of your own."

His jaw snapped shut as she moved past him to the door, glancing over her shoulder as she paused in the doorway.

"You may think me powerless, Hugh, but I think you will find I have considerable power of my own, even if you do not wish to admit it."

With that, she left the room.

* * *

Evangeline's hands shook as she climbed into her own, cold bed. Facing down the duke had been difficult, and maintaining her bravado in the face of his iciness even harder. But she was confident that her being there had been a torment of its very own.

If he could but want her, even a fraction of the way she wanted him, then she would have achieved her goal.

She held her breath as she listened to him moving about in the room beside hers. For a moment, she considered touching herself, wondering if the sounds she made would provoke him into her room. But something stopped her.

Not the instructions he had given her. No, she would not be bound to those. He would not control her, no matter what rights he thought he had over her body.

As she fell asleep, it was to the memory of his hands on her body.

* * *

Over the next few days, Hugh was unable to escape Evangeline's presence. She was everywhere he went. A vase of freshly picked flowers from the garden in his study. Reading in the breakfast room with a plate of toast and kippers before her. Leaving for regular swims in the nude, always being sure to let him know where she was going so he would be tormented by the memory of her supple form.

At least she was listening to him and no longer going alone. There were not often strong currents that came this close to shore, but they had been known on occasion, and he would not stand for losing her.

On the times she did go for a swim, he found himself standing by his study window, watching her to reassure himself she was safe. She had been correct in assuring him she could swim, he ascertained, and she seemed to enjoy the feeling of the water and sunlight on her bare skin.

He had to admit he enjoyed watching her. And if there was ever a visitor to the castle while she was out there, he ensured that he always entertained them in a room that did not have a view out across the beach.

But there were other small things she did. In the library, she appeared to prefer his chair and habitually dragged it to the window instead of by the fireplace where it belonged. And she continued to do this no matter how many times he reminded her of it.

"You called for me?" Duncan asked from the seat behind Hugh's study table.

Hugh steepled his fingers, reluctant to admit he had been thinking about his new wife. Thankfully she was not naked anywhere he—or anyone else—would be forced to encounter her.

"Yes," he said. "I have another task for you."

Duncan gave an easy grin. "Naturally. Concerning your dear Sandhurst, I presume?"

"Who else?"

"I can think of no one. Please tell me it's a task I'll enjoy."

"Well, it involves traveling to London. No doubt there are plenty of inns you can stop at along the way," Hugh said dryly. "It's time to make our presence known."

"Ah, I'm playing the role of debt collector."

"I've written to him to inform him that I was fortunate enough to inherit his debts, which has no doubt sent him into a spiraling panic. Now is the moment to strike."

Duncan tilted his head. "It's unlikely he'll have raised the capital."

"Yes, I sincerely doubt it."

"You've moved the timeline up."

Hugh gave a cold smile. "A little, although not outside the bounds of the contract. In the interests of retrieving their investment, a moneylender may choose to be flexible regarding repayments, but I am not making that decision. It means nothing to me whether I regain the money I lost."

His friend's smile was all white teeth. "Then I'll be certain to make the full weight of your expectations known."

"Threaten him with bankruptcy," Hugh said, waving a hand. "Do all you must to instill fear."

"No worries about that, boss."

Hugh tossed a bag of coins across the desk. "For travel expenses. I expect you back within two weeks."

"You can trust me, old friend," Duncan said, accepting the money with alacrity, which disappeared into the pockets of his old breeches.

The distinction between the two had always been marked, but although Hugh had offered Duncan money, his friend had refused to take it except for services rendered. And so long as his friend was unconcerned by the obvious difference in rank between them, Hugh didn't care, either. He might be the duke, but he knew he was flesh and blood; the same as every man.

Just as Duncan rose to leave, there was a knock at the door, and Evangeline pushed it open.

"Oh," she said, upon seeing Duncan was there. "My apologies, Your Grace. I didn't know you were entertaining."

"Mr. Sloane was just leaving," Hugh said curtly.

Duncan, damn him, grinned at Evangeline. "You must be the new duchess. It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace. Hugh here probably hasn't mentioned me, but we go way back."

Evangeline glanced between the two men, and Hugh silently cursed. No, she didn't know about Duncan because he had never invited her into his life in that way—and that was how he had always intended to keep it.

The less she knew about him, the better.

"Duncan," he said, the word crisp. "I believe the local tavern is waiting for you."

"Right you are." He touched his forelock. "A pleasure, Your Grace."

Evangeline looked confused, but she smiled and curtsied. "The pleasure is mine, sir."

Duncan sent him a glance as though to say isn't she a delight , but Hugh slammed the door on his friend before he could silently make any other pointed remarks.

"The flowers," he said, pointing at the vase. "What gave you any indication that I would want them here?"

Their perfume, muted outside, had given the room a somewhat claustrophobic air. More to the point, they were something different and out of place in his personal space.

Evangeline tilted her head, a smile playing on her lips. Being here had given her more confidence in her role—and more determination to oppose him.

Despite his best intentions, he felt himself stir at the thought of proving her wrong.

"Do you dislike flowers?" she asked innocently.

"I dislike people making decisions for me." He handed her the vase. "Take it away."

"Would you prefer different roses?"

"I would prefer no roses at all."

"But the room is so grim and dull." She glanced around the space. "The flowers brighten it and add some much-needed color."

His jaw tightened. "Enough, Evangeline."

"Perhaps a picture?" She gestured to the empty wall. "Is there not a portrait you could envisage having here?"

He had the sudden image of her face, full lips, and seductive eyes, watching him from the wall. Unable to escape her. The thought was part heaven and part torment.

"Absolutely not," he said firmly, taking her elbow and leading her from the room. "I like the study the way it is."

"Is that so?" Her gaze trailed across his face, and he could imagine her fingertips there, light and soft as butterflies. "And do you like your life the way it is?"

He caught her wrist. "Whatever it is you're attempting, stop."

"What am I attempting?" The corner of her mouth turned up, and he had to fight the urge to kiss it. "I'm merely living in this castle the same as you, just as you told me I could do. Are you retracting your word?"

She chewed on her lip, and his gaze was drawn to it.

His body throbbed with need, aching for her in a way he had not experienced in a long time.

"Or are you perhaps frustrated?" She whispered the word as though she was looking into his soul, and the last of his restraint snapped.

Perhaps he had only married her as part of his plan to revenge himself on Sandhurst, but he had reached the limit of his endurance, both in terms of how much she wanted him and how much defiance he was willing to accept.

If she wanted his full attention, then she could have it.

He covered her mouth with his hand, lust thrumming through him at the way her eyes widened.

"I warned you in the carriage what would happen if you pitted yourself against me," he growled. "Now what do you say to that?"