The Duke’s Sinful Bride (Vows of Sin #5)

Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

“ Y our Grace, you called for me?” Daisy’s bright and curious eyes filled Yvette’s face; a stark contrast to her dull ones.

Yvette sat by the large window in the drawing room, the gentle warmth of the late afternoon sun filtering through the curtains.

The rustle of her knitting needles had ceased due to Daisy’s appearance, and she put them down on her lap. She was working on a pair of socks, something simple, as a gift for Maisie. But she’d been slow because the conversation with Killian from earlier kept invading her thoughts, swirling around in her head, and impossible to ignore.

Yvette nodded at her maid, clearing her throat before she spoke.

“I’d like some ginger tea, with mint leaves in it,” she instructed, and Daisy cocked her head slightly to the side.

“Are you quite well, Your Grace?” Daisy asked and Yvette nodded, placing a slight smile on her lips as though to prove a point.

But deep down, she felt unwell.

She never expected Killian to propose what he had. The idea that their physical relationship could remain just that—purely physical—was a shock to her.

A part of her wanted to rage at him for the cold, detached way he had presented it, but another part of her couldn’t deny the truth in his words.

Perhaps it was for the best, she thought.

After all, their marriage had never been about love. It had been about duty, about obligation. And while she might have desired more, it seemed that she could not force him to feel something he did not.

Yvette sighed as her mind returned to the moment they had shared the night before. How his hands had felt on her, how his voice had been both commanding and tender at the same time. She had never known that side of him, never imagined he could be so… gentle.

The contradiction between his behavior toward her now and the man who had been so distant in the beginning was disorienting. She had wanted him then, yes, but now, more than ever, she wanted him to take charge, to take her in his arms and overwhelm her.

Lifting her eyes, she noticed Daisy still standing, waiting there as if to receive another instruction.

“That will be all, Daisy.”

As Daisy left, Yvette picked up the socks and the knitting pins, still lost in thought about the night they’d had.

She had been angry when she left him earlier, angry and confused. Yvette had stormed out of the room, leaving him behind in her room, forcing herself to leave just before she pressed her lips against his.

The very thought of it now made her cheeks flush, a hum of frustration pooling in her chest. What had stopped her? What had kept her from giving in to the desire that had been building between them? She didn’t know. But it was too late for regrets now.

She had gone to the drawing room to clear her mind, to gain some semblance of control over the situation. She had tried to make sense of what Killian had said about their sexual relationship being physical and nothing more.

It grated against her, the idea that their connection should be stripped of any emotional depth. She wanted to question him, to ask him why, to demand that he explain his reasoning. But something held her back. She didn’t want to come across as weak, to beg for something that, in the end, might never come. If she wanted to maintain any shred of dignity, she knew she had to keep a calm exterior.

With another sigh, she pushed the thought aside. There were more practical matters to consider. She had told him she didn’t share the same sentiments as him, but if she could accept this arrangement… If she could compartmentalize her emotions enough to separate them from the physical side of their marriage…

Then perhaps there was some way to make it work.

After all, she had always been a woman of resolve. There was strength in accepting the reality of her situation.

And the idea of returning to London, pregnant, would not be such a horrible idea. It would quiet any gossip, any rumors about their families. It would put to rest whatever whispers there might be, silencing them with a single, undeniable truth.

Yvette’s knitting needles clicked softly as she worked, the rhythm returning to her as her mind settled on her decision. She could do this. It wasn’t perfect, but nothing about their marriage ever had been.

As she completed the first section of the sock, Yvette paused, inspecting her work. A small sense of accomplishment filled her chest. There was satisfaction in small tasks like this. At least at this moment, with the quiet of the room surrounding her, she could pretend that things were simple—that they could be simple.

She smiled slightly to herself before picking up the second part of the sock, the rhythm of her hands steadying once more as Daisy returned with the tea she’d asked for.

By the time dinner was upon them, Yvette and Maisie were already seated at the table, the soft clinking of silverware against porcelain the only sound filling the otherwise quiet room. Yvette glanced at Maisie, who, with her wide, expectant eyes, seemed to be waiting for something. The little girl looked up at her.

“Has Papa returned yet?” Maisie asked, her voice carrying a note of curiosity.

Yvette offered a small, reassuring smile, though her heart was not as steady as her expression.

“Yes, love. He has.”

The simple reply seemed to be enough for the little girl as she bobbed her head, a smile on her face as she looked towards the entrance to the dining area.

But as the minutes ticked by, Killian still hadn’t appeared, and Yvette’s calm facade began to crack. She glanced toward the door, almost willing him to appear.

Every now and then, a faint sound of footsteps or a muffled voice would reach her ears, but still, there was no Killian. Her brow furrowed as the minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity.

When she looked back at Maisie, the little girl’s face was scrunched in innocent confusion.

“Why isn’t Papa here yet?” she asked, her small voice filled with concern.

Yvette suppressed a sigh. The last thing she wanted was to show her irritation in front of Maisie, but she was growing increasingly frustrated. Her words came softly, laced with a calm she didn’t feel.

“I think he’s very tired, dear. I’m sure he will join us soon.”

Maisie nodded but she didn’t seem fully convinced. She continued to stare at her, her small face etched with the same confusion that was now gnawing at Yvette. After a moment, Maisie asked again, her voice so quiet it almost sounded like a plea.

“Duchess, do you think Papa will join us?”

Yvette’s hand clenched around her silverware, her nails biting into the handle, but she quickly masked the frustration bubbling inside. The last thing Maisie needed was for her to react in anger. She rose from the table, her gaze softening as she approached the little girl.

“Come, darling,” Yvette said, taking Maisie’s hand gently in hers. “Perhaps Papa is too tired to join us this evening. But you and I will go upstairs, and I will tuck you into bed.”

Maisie, trusting Yvette’s calm demeanor, simply nodded, but Yvette could see the uncertainty still lingering in her eyes as they ascended the stairs to the little girl’s room. As they entered, Yvette settled into the chair beside Maisie’s bed, a bedtime story in hand. The words tumbled out easily, an escape from the disquiet in her heart. Maisie’s eyelids drooped as she listened, the comfort of Yvette’s voice slowly lulling her to sleep.

Once Maisie’s breathing had steadied into the deep rhythm of slumber, Yvette stood, careful not to make a sound. She leaned over her stepdaughter, brushing a soft kiss to the top of her head before quietly stepping out of the room.

But now, with Maisie asleep and her patience at an end, Yvette’s annoyance flared once more. She marched down the hallway, her footsteps firm and purposeful as she entered her room, not stopping until she reached the door that connected her room to Killian’s.

Without thinking, she opened it and entered, her breath catching in her throat as her gaze locked onto him.

There he was, sitting shirtless on his bed.

The sight of him, his body relaxed yet undeniably commanding, only added to the tension that had been building inside her all evening. The flickering firelight cast shadows on his chest, accentuating the strength in his muscles. He turned his head at the sound of the door creaking open, his deep breath drawing her attention for the briefest of moments before his eyes met hers.

Yvette steadied her breath, pushing the anger down as she met his gaze.

“Are you unwell?” she asked.

Killian shook his head, his eyes still fixed on hers, dark and unreadable. “No.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she pressed forward, the frustration in her voice still simmering beneath her calm facade.

“Are your legs hurt?” she asked again, her tone carrying a sharpness she had intended.

This time, a soft scoff escaped him—was it amusement? Yvette wasn’t sure. But when he shook his head once more, she felt a knot form in her chest. She stepped closer, her gaze unwavering, the silence thick between them.

“So, what excuse do you have for not coming down to dinner?” Yvette demanded, the words slipping out with more heat than she’d planned. Her jaw tightened. “I would hate to think you’re avoiding me because of the conversation we had this morning.”

Her heart beat faster as she awaited his response, but instead of meeting her challenge with his usual defiance, Killian’s gaze softened, the intensity of his stare lessening as he ran a hand through his hair, a sigh escaping his lips.

For a long moment, the tension between them was palpable. He didn’t answer right away, and Yvette found herself waiting—waiting for something, anything that would ease the ache growing inside her.

But when he finally did speak, his words came slowly, almost reluctantly.

“Yvette… it’s not what ye think.”

Her breath caught in her throat, the uncertainty in his tone doing nothing to ease the storm of questions swirling in her mind. She folded her arms tightly across her chest, bracing herself.

“Then what is it, Killian? What is it that has kept you away from your family today?”

He finally met her gaze, his eyes dark and unreadable, but there was something in them—something that made her wonder if he was grappling with his own inner conflict. Something Yvette didn’t quite understand, but couldn’t ignore.

“I just needed some time to think,” Killian said, rising from the bed slowly, his expression weary as he ran a hand through his dark hair, trying to make sense of his tangled thoughts.

Yvette’s brow furrowed as she crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“Surely you had enough time to think after dinner,” she retorted sharply, stepping forward with a slight tilt of her head. “When you were alone, as you always are, since we don’t share a room. So that excuse is invalid, Killian.”

He felt the weight of her gaze on him, the challenge in her tone not lost on him. His fingers twitched, and he bit his lower lip in frustration. She was right—he knew she wouldn’t let this go. She never did.

Taking a deep breath, Killian faced her fully, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made his pulse race.

“The truth is,” he said quietly, his voice a bit hoarse, “it’s difficult being in the same space as you and not wanting to take ye to bed, and especially after the conversation we had this morning, I believe it’s best not to blindly pursue the desire between us.”

Yvette’s face flushed immediately, her gaze shifting downward, her breath catching in her throat as the heat of his words settled between them like a tangible thing.

She stared at him, her mouth opening slightly before she closed it with a quick snap.

“That’s still not a plausible excuse,” she said, her voice tinged with frustration and disbelief.

He stood there, unsure of how to explain himself without revealing too much. His body ached with a hunger he could hardly control, and the truth was harder to admit than he’d anticipated.

He had been the one to propose keeping their sexual relationship purely physical, after all. But it was hard with every passing minute to separate his need for her from the way she made him feel—alive, vibrant, raw.

He couldn’t pretend that he didn’t have an animalistic need for her. It was… overwhelming. Like a hunger, that felt too impossible to resist. But he couldn’t tell her that.

“I do not know how best to explain it, Yvette,” he told her.

He saw the flush that crept across her cheeks, and for a brief moment, he was lost in the sight of her. The way her lips parted, her chest rising and falling with each breath, and the heat that radiated between them—he could feel it as though it were his own.

Yvette pressed her lips together, in an effort to keep her composure.

“That’s your problem, not mine,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside her.

He ran his hands through his hair again, struggling to calm the thoughts whirling in his mind.

“I know,” he said more to himself than to her.

He let out a shaky sigh, his gaze drifting away from her for a moment as he battled the guilt that was gnawing at him. He wanted this—wanted her—but the weight of his responsibilities, and his unspoken fears for his sister’s future held him back.

He should’ve said that to her, but he didn’t.

He wanted to give in to more than the desire he felt for her, but there was more at stake here than what was between them.

“Since you have refused to explain in a way I can understand, why you were absent from dinner, I will take it that you did so to avoid me,” she said firmly, and he saw the raw hurt in her eyes. Raw hurt his actions had put there.

She stepped closer, her gaze fierce and determined.

“Nothing should make you undo the progress you’ve made with Maisie,” she said. “It broke my heart to watch her await you for close to an hour, yet you did not arrive.”

Killian nodded, but he didn’t like that she only spoke of Maisie, and not of herself. A small frown sat on his lips.

She turned to leave his room, but before she left, she paused and looked over her shoulders.

“Do not worry about me, and do not avoid me simply because you think it’s the proper thing to do.”

With that, she walked away.

Killian’s expression softened, but only for a moment before it hardened once again. There was so much he wanted to say—so much he wanted to tell her—but he couldn’t. Not yet.