Chapter 5

The next few days proceeded as Emmeline's first one had, save for the fact that the breakfast table was empty when she went downstairs. Every day, she was informed that the Duke had already eaten, but that more food could be brought up for her.

Emmeline took to ordering marmalade to eat with her bread, which she had to admit was fresh, and instead of coffee, which she thought to be unpleasantly bitter, she would make herself tea.

From there, she would read the newspapers left on the table, abandoned from when the Duke was done with them. She had the sneaking suspicion he was being alerted whenever she left her room. Even if he was in the middle of eating his meal, he would abandon his plate.

It was almost gratifying to be the subject of such avoidance, but it chafed a little. She could hardly prove herself to be an intolerable annoyance if she was given no opportunity to annoy him.

Despite that, she found she was able to settle in well enough. Mrs. Pentwhistle was endlessly kind, talking about every aspect of the house and its history.

Through Mrs. Pentwhistle, Emmeline learned that although the Duke spent a great deal of his time in the forbidden east wing, he often spoke with her and the butler and ensured they all had everything they needed—that was in his power to give—and that he had commanded the respect of the servants in a remarkably short period of time.

She learned a little about the previous Duke. William had been a good man, kind of a little impetuous, but he had spent more time in London, away from the estate. They were only an hour or so away from the capital, but William had loved Society, had loved the glamor, and had not liked the slower-paced life in the country. The only time he had ever spent significant portions of time at home was during the hunting season—and then he always had a party of gentlemen with him.

"I already know the current Duke is going to be different," Mrs. Pentwhistle said fondly. "He has a love of the land."

The Duke's love of the land did not, apparently, extend to him spending any time in it. As far as Emmeline could see, he spent almost all his time locked in his east wing and did not so much as come out for dinner.

Left with little choice, Emmeline took it upon herself to familiarize herself with the house.

She walked through the old rooms, consulting the inventories to ensure they were up to date, and made plans for what changes she could make that would brighten up the place. Having had so much experience in managing a house, this felt like familiar territory.

In more ways than one, it was a good thing Aurelia had not married the Duke. She would not have known where to start.

Distracted by taking notes of the linen stocks, Emmeline did not know had close she had strayed to the east wing when a door swung open. Steps charged toward her, and she just had time to look up at the Duke's furious, stern face. His blue eyes flashed, and his mouth was a hard, uncompromising line.

"You," he snapped, standing so close that she stepped back until her back hit the wall.

"Me, Your Grace," she said coolly. "I gather my presence here in your home was a surprise."

"What are you doing here?"

She held up the paper with her notes. "Merely taking a fresh inventory. Mrs. Pentwhistle has taken one, of course, but I find it beneficial to do it myself."

"And you thought to do so in the specific part of the house that you have been warned to stay away from?"

Emmeline looked past him at the door she had entered. It had not been locked, and the corridor beyond was a continuation of what had come before. Nothing about it suggested it was forbidden.

Irritation flared as she brought her gaze back to him. How dare he stand there and intimidate her as though she was some kind of lackey?

"Perhaps if you had wanted me not to intrude, you ought to have taken the effort to tell me where I can and cannot go. Then again, for that, you would have had to care." She folded her arms over her chest defiantly. "I will not be ordered around this house in that overbearing fashion, Your Grace."

He stepped closer to her, his voice low and rough with rage. "You would do well to obey my rules and do your duty."

"What rules? What duty am I not already upholding? As your wife, it is my role to take care of the household."

"Your role is to be my wife," he snapped, a wild gleam in his eyes. "I have made my preferences plain—you will keep quiet, not enter the east wing, and bear me an heir."

Of all the overbearing things to say, this was beyond the pale. Emmeline jutted her chin defensively, trying to ignore his proximity or the way he was forcing her against the wall. His chest almost touched hers.

"You are mistaken if you believe I will let you into my bed, My Lord Duke."

"No," he said simply. "I am not mistaken."

"I am not some chattel that you can do whatever you please with!"

His eyes flashed. "No, you are my wife, and I expect you to behave as such."

"You expect me to follow your every command, then? That I will be nothing except subservient?"

"You assured me before we married that you would play your role as a duchess."

"I did, and I have done nothing since our marriage that would entail any different." She glowered up at him. "Fulfilling my role as a duchess means that I will host and be gracious and take my place as head of the household."

"It means giving me an heir," he said, enunciating every word. "Or had you forgotten that part of being a wife?"

"I had no inkling you were expecting that of me," she said stiffly.

"Is it not what every gentleman wants from a wife?"

"Only the savage ones," she shot back. "And the ones incapable of proper feeling. You may be surprised to learn, My Lord Duke, that many gentlemen marry for affection's sake."

He observed her coolly, although she could sense his temper underneath the calm fa?ade. "And do you expect those gentlemen to not want heirs?"

"I would expect them to approach their wives about it with a little more grace. And," she added defiantly, "perhaps their wives would be a little more amenable to the prospect."

He leaned in, bracing his forearms on either side of her head. Not for the first time, Emmeline was forced to come to terms with precisely how large her new husband was, and how much he physically overpowered her.

She waited for the fear to strike, but there was nothing except restless, urgent anticipation in her veins. A sense that she was engaging in battle and the next move would dictate the victor.

"Do you mean to deny me, Emmeline?" he murmured, leaning in.

"I do not give my affection without cause."

"I am not asking for your affection."

"That is precisely what you are asking for."

His head dropped even closer to hers, and she had to suppress a shudder.

"There need not be any affection in it," he said, a hard edge to his voice that she tried and failed to find unpleasant. "But you would do well not to deny me. I take what is mine."

She tossed her head. "A crude sentiment."

"In the eyes of the law, an accurate one." His gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth, then rose again. "I will give you some time to adjust to the idea, but believe me when I say I will fulfill my duty soon."

She raised her chin. "And what if I do not obey these ‘rules' of yours? What then?"

"Then," he said, catching her chin in his strong fingers and holding her face up to his, "I will see you punished."

"Cruel," she breathed.

"Perhaps." His smile was wicked, a little taunting, as he brought his mouth down on hers.

The kiss was not gentle, and considering it was her first experience of intimacy, it was shockingly forward. With that hand still on her chin, he tilted her head slightly to the side and opened her mouth with his. His tongue brushed along her lower lip. A promise of more, and an assurance of desire.

Desire that now unfurled low in her belly.

His hand found her waist, drawing her against him. His hips were against hers, his chest flush with hers, and the wall was cool against her back. Words of protest were lost before they reached her mouth, and the kiss deepened. His tongue brushed against hers, hot and wet and shockingly intimate. The motion should have disgusted her, but it appeared that her mind was suspended behind the insatiable calling of her body.

In her twenty-one years, she had never felt any desire for physical touch. The idea of her wedding night had scared and intrigued her, but she had never wanted it.

Now, though, the drugging intensity of his mouth against hers was forcing her to consider something she had not yet given thought to: she wanted the Duke.

Her body—that was to say, the traitorous compulsion from which she now suffered—wanted to know what his hands would feel like on her skin. The force of her desire shocked her, brought forth from barely anything. Skin against skin.

His teeth sank into her bottom lip, and she groaned. He made a noise, too, something that sounded almost like a noise of pain, and he pressed his hips more firmly against hers. Something long and hard rubbed at her most sensitive place, but before she could think too much about what it was, he had taken her waist in both hands and was positioning her so that the tumescent bulge was precisely where she needed it.

Forgetting herself, she caught his face in her hands, pulling his face closer to hers as she returned his kiss. It felt as though she was on fire. She burned for him, and he had been the one to turn embers to flame.

He broke away, and for a heartbeat she followed, seeking his mouth before reality set in. The pleasure seeped away and the full force of what she had done intruded.

This man was not some nameless prince. He was her husband. She had kissed her husband.

"You see?" he murmured, his eyes dark and hot on her. "I can do whatever I please with you."

In a fit of rage, Emmeline brought her hand back and struck him across the face. Her lips tingled from the memory of his mouth on hers, and her body felt needy, urgently craving something she could not have.

He rocked back, one hand on her cheek, and for a moment, she thought he would retaliate. Instead, he watched her with mingled amusement and desire.

"Be warned, Emmeline," he said in that low, rough voice. "I will give you some time to accustom yourself to the idea, but I will come for you. That is my right as your husband."

Before she could think of anything to say, he strode away.

* * *

Adam stared at the wall of his study, his vision supplying the image he wanted to see there: Emmeline, her hair mussed and her lips bee-stung, watching him with as much heat in her gaze as he ever could have desired to see.

Kissing her had been a mistake.

No woman had ever made him lose control, but he had been tempted to take her against the wall as though she was some common courtesan. For a moment, he had wondered if there was any purpose in waiting at all. She had engulfed him with her unexpected passion, the way she had returned his kisses twofold. The sound he had made when he had ground himself against her?—

He shook off that thought before he could think too deeply about it. His erection throbbed, and he forced himself not to take it in hand and relieve the ache. If he did so, thinking of her would only make his preoccupation with her worse.

No. He would wait a few days for the strength of his desire to die, and then he would visit her at night when it was dark and he would be unable to see her body. There, he would do his duty as a husband, and he would leave immediately after. No sentiment, no undue longing. Merely a body's natural act.

She seemed to think there was affection in the act of sex, but he knew far better. It was about pleasure, nothing more. There would be no affection in their union. In truth, he could hardly stand her, even if her constant resistance to his commands intrigued him.

That intrigue would be his downfall if he was not careful.

He groaned as he poured himself a tumbler of whisky and swirled the amber liquid in his glass. She was clever—more so than he had initially anticipated. And she was defiant. Beautiful in a subtle, unobtrusive way that he only truly noticed after they had first met. Their second meeting, the wedding, had been his undoing.

He only noticed the soft line of her jaw, the way her eyes changed color according to her emotions, the subtle arch of her eyebrows, and the fullness of her lips. Admittedly, she was not a classic beauty, but he found her all the more appealing for that.

So he would keep his distance from her. Stop noticing all the things that made him want to lose his mind and sink into her, and pursue her only as long as was required to conceive an heir. And a spare, because as he proved beyond all doubt, the heir could not necessarily be counted on to survive as long as was required.

After the successful birth of his two heirs, he and his wife could take as much distance as they pleased from one another.

No matter what, he would not allow himself to become consumed with her the way his body wanted to be.