Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Sebastian’s breath left his body as the full weight of Aurelia’s derrière, and the rest of her, came crashing down on his lap. On instinct, he had brought his arms up around her to protect her from falling.
Now, she was panting breathlessly by his ear, stunned. This hadn’t been a ploy or a seduction. It was far too abrupt. Too clumsy. The crack of her thigh against the table’s edge had made him wince.
His temper still simmered from her earlier outburst, but it became harder to maintain with her soft, curvaceous body pressed flush against his thighs. After his last marriage, he had not sought the arms of another woman to soothe his pain, and this was a rather pleasant surprise.
She tasted fragrant, like lavender, perhaps, and her body was deliciously soft.
Up close, she was prettier still than he had seen from a distance in candlelight.
As though finally processing what had happened, she froze, turning rigid against him. Unfortunately, that act only served to press her more firmly against his groin.
If he wasn’t careful, he would find himself scandalizing her rather sooner than he intended.
“Hmm,” he hummed into her ear teasingly, holding her close. “Is this your latest argument technique, wife?”
She squirmed against him. “Let me go!”
He chuckled under his breath. Moments ago, she had attempted to appear gruellingly menacing, a rebellious vixen at that.
Only for the facade to fall apart rather squarely on his lap.
The squirming was doing nothing to help matters either, but he found himself enjoying it rather more than he had thought he ever would.
Of course Arnold had found him a pretty wife.
The man never missed a chance to meddle.
Then again, if she were pretty, everyone would pity her all the more. Poor, delicate thing, sent to the duke like a lamb for the slaughter.
His amusement abruptly vanished at that.
He loosened his arms and she scrambled to her feet, loose strands of tresses trailing beside her temples, and her face cherry with embarrassment.
He could have told her there was nothing to be embarrassed over—after all, she had not been in danger of tenting her breeches—but that would steer too close to placation.
He cleared his throat. “I will give you some time to adjust yourself to the concept of marriage, and of me,” he began coldly.
“I am not a cruel man, though I’m sure you may feel otherwise.
But there will come a time, Aurelia, when you and I shall have to get better acquainted.
We are, as you so eloquently put it, husband and wife. ”
“…You said in name only.” She pressed the backs of her fingers against her cheeks.
“So I did. As, so far, we are. But a man must have heirs, and to do so, he must bed his wife.”
If possible, her skin grew a deeper shade of red. “There is no need to be so crude, Your Grace…”
He made no attempt to correct her as to the use of his title.
Very well, let her speak to him in such a way; he would do nothing to encourage intimacy between them.
This—having her in his arms—had been a step too far.
He had been too allured by the soft warmth of a young woman, and especially one who watched him with such flushed cheeks and pretty, sparkling eyes.
He had forgotten what attraction felt like. How inconvenient that he had to experience it now of all times.
At least she had been as unsettled by the experience as he had.
“I will give you some time,” he repeated.
“Settle in here as well as you can. This is your home now, and I will not take that away from you. But,”—he planted his hands against the table and rose, towering over her far more menacingly than she could ever—“you shall not enter the east wing again. Have I made myself clear? My chambers are out of bounds. The rest of the manor is yours; do not think to be greedy with your expectations.”
She had been, he could tell. Whatever had passed between them while he was feverish and half unconscious, it had given her reason to hope that he would be a kind and benevolent husband.
He would not be cruel. He would not force her, whether it was in his bed or elsewhere. But if she had been hoping for a loving marriage amid a written proposal and a ceremony that amounted to a signature, she would be sorely disappointed. He did not indulge in such things.
She raised her gaze to his, defiance written across her face.
But as he watched, she merely sank into a half-curtsy—a gesture that would have been an insult in any gathering.
As a duke, his station entitled him to a far greater show of respect.
A deliberate move, and one he could appreciate, even as it made him grind his teeth a little.
“I understand, Your Grace,” she murmured, her chin high. “I shall not bother you again.”
He wanted to slam the door behind her, but instead slumped back in his chair. It was only then that he noticed Aurelia had not taken any dinner.
Aurelia seethed viscerally as she marched back to her bedchamber. So she was to be used as a breeding mare, was she? That was why he had indulged in a wife—and that was why, no doubt, he had not selected a more well-bred lady. He would not taint a lady like that with his blatant disrespect.
Tears seared her eyes as she flung herself on her bed, no longer in the slightest bit hungry.
Of course it would not be an uncomplicated arrangement. And really, she could practically hear the Duchess of Fenwick telling her that she ought to be happy with her lot. A girl like her could hardly ask for more; she might well have married a worse gentleman to the same effect.
That was the purpose of wives, was it not? To bear their husbands’ children and manage their homes. That was why so many gentlemen married. A few, presumably, fell in love, but she knew that was not the case with this duke.
So why did she feel this hurt?
“I’m a fool,” she mumbled bitterly, to no one in particular.
“Getting ahead of myself merely because I found him handsome? Because he looked so vulnerable last night? Because…” Because for a heartbeat, she had felt a frisson of something, and she could have sworn he felt it too.
He had held her, almost cradled her against himself, his breath hot against her ear, his fingers curving around her waist.
“But—” she interrupted her wandering mind crudely, falling onto her back and staring at the ceiling, “—of course he would not want me. Why would he? He is a rake.”
Truly, she had been an idiot to think, even for a second, anything else. Everything about him had been crafted for sin—a mouth like a blade; wicked dark eyes; a languid grace that would put a panther to shame. He was the sort of rakish man helpless ladies fell in love with from a distance.
The kind of rakish man who ruined young ladies. No doubt he’d had plenty to his name!
And he was her husband.
She would find out what it felt like to have him in her bed, touching her, doing all the things a married gentleman did.
The details were somewhat hazy, but she presumed she would discover it when he had his way with her.
And she presumed she might enjoy some of it too.
But that was far and away from what she could bring herself to care about now.
She sat straight up. “I ought to be celebrating. The conquest of my handsome husband.” An angry laugh left her.
“Now I will know what it is to lie with a man so well-versed in the activity. Hah! And he has done me the honor of considering me a suitable mother for his children.” She took her pillow and hurled it against the wall, imagining it landing against his face.
“Well, so he thinks! But I will not sit back and let him make me feel small. I will have my own friends. My own circle and my own influence. Surely that cannot be so very difficult as a duchess.” She turned to her reflection, noting the hectic flush on her cheeks with a grimace. Who was he to have this effect on her?
Companionship would solve everything. She was a duchess. There had to be someone in this small corner of the country with whom she could be friends with.
Once she was able to shed her past and come into herself, she would have him on his knees, and then he could describe whether he preferred grovelling or pleading. She wasn’t particular.
Just then, an image flashed uninvited through her mind of him on his knees before her, but she shut it down at once with a scowl.
Abruptly, she called for Jane, who arrived promptly, almost as though she had been waiting for the summons.
“Would you like some dinner, ma’am?” Jane asked.
“No. No, I—” Aurelia frowned, having briefly forgotten she hadn’t eaten. “No, thank you. That was not why I brought you here. Find me the names of all the people in the village I might invite to Ravenhall Manor for a dinner.”
Jane’s eyes widened in surprise, but she merely bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“I will write the invitations once you have the names, and you can organize sending them. Then,” Aurelia decided, thinking aloud, “we will go into the village and make some preparations. Perhaps I can order a new gown.” A village dressmaker would never be as good as a London one, but no matter—she would go to show her willingness.
“I should also visit the poor. Have a basket made up tomorrow, and we shall go together.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Thus dismissed, Jane left the room, and Aurelia sat back against the pillows, her humiliation fading in the face of her resolve.
The duke might have been intent on making her life here as miserable as possible, but she would prove him wrong. She was not the quiet, meek little miss he no doubt thought he had married. No. She would not be trampled underfoot in his effort to keep her small.
She would carve out her place in this house as a powerful duchess—with or without his permission!