Chapter 8
“Do you really want to know?” Kenneth whispered, grabbing her by one arm. It was firm, but gentle, his rough thumb quickly soothing her skin even though he had not hurt her. She did not feel any danger from him, not of that kind, anyway.
Madeline did not know why she was not trying to escape. Perhaps she needed an answer. What did she have to prepare for? A part of her knew the answer, but she wanted him to say the words. She wanted to hear her husband tell her there would be more to their marriage than convenience.
“Yes, I want to know,” she whispered back, her hands resting on his chest. He felt so solid under her touch. She wanted more.
Kenneth’s gaze dropped to her mouth. His mask slipped briefly, replacing the indifferent and cold duke with someone who was hungry, raw, and willing to tear down his walls. The sight made Madeline’s breath catch.
“So, you want to know what you should prepare for,” he murmured, sounding almost teasing. “You want to know if everything I do is transactional. If what I do to you next is part of a contract bound by the law.”
Before she could even respond, his hand reached for the small of her back, pulling her body to his, molding her soft figure against the hard muscles of his chest. The lace and satin of her dress clung to the velvet robe, their fabrics drawn together.
His other hand ran through her partly loose hair, causing her head to jerk back. She gasped.
“This is only part of the duty you agreed to, Madeline,” he growled. “Only one part.”
Then, he kissed her.
Whatever Madeline expected from any kiss from this cold man was gone.
What he gave her was not a chaste kiss or a peck like the one he had given her in front of their wedding guests.
This kiss was much more—something wildly born of repression and cold, long nights.
She could taste him, and it was a little overwhelming to be kissed this way for the first time.
She had wanted the true love kiss all her life, and what she got was fire.
It could not be love at all, but at least it had the passion she once only dreamed about.
Her hands were meant to push him away, but they clutched the velvet of his robe tightly.
She did not know that she could do so possessively, just as he took her mouth.
All reason seemed to leave her. A moan escaped her throat—a traitorous sound she could not bring herself to feel ashamed of.
No, she was finally savoring the thrill of being a married woman after giving up when she found out she would be the Morning Post bride.
Madeline deepened the kiss, enjoying how his mouth pressed over hers and how she drew a groan from his throat. Perhaps this man was not as hopeless as she had thought, after all.
However, she was, despite her sunny disposition, also a woman of reason. It was a fact that the Duke should have discerned from her, even through her rowdy family and reputation.
‘The duty you agreed to.’
Kenneth was not kissing her because he wanted her.
He was kissing her to prove a point. He wanted her to know that he had the upper hand in this situation, the one whose rules had to be established.
And she? She was merely a subject. He had merely employed her for the position of wife, babymaker, governess, and nothing more.
His tongue continued lashing against hers, and it was tempting to stay in the moment. Who could blame her when the kiss was tracing fire across her skin? Her whole body? She did not pull away—not right away, anyway. But the fury of the last few days and of their conversation built within her.
‘The duty you agreed to.’
She bit him. Hard.
Kenneth hissed and recoiled quickly. He pulled away from her, covering his mouth with his hand. A drop of blood appeared on his lower lip, and his face reflected shock and fury.
“You bit me,” he growled.
“I did,” Madeline replied, her chest heaving.
She wiped her mouth and stepped back, putting distance between them and his infuriatingly perfect mouth.
She needed to think clearly, but she could not when he was so close.
“And I will do it again. Listen to me carefully, Your Grace. I will not give myself to you unless you love me. Unless this marriage of convenience turns into a love match. That is not negotiable. We will either have a real marriage, or you will never have me. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever.”
“I am your husband,” Kenneth reminded her, his jaw tight. His hands had curled into fists at his sides, but his arms remained still. “You understood that marrying a duke entailed providing me with heirs.”
“I do not care,” she said, her voice trembling but her eyes steady.
“I will not do it. Not until you act like a husband and not a master. I may be a Quinten. I may be from a family with a damaged reputation, but we fight for the people we care about and the lives we want. I will not give myself to you until we are in love. If we cannot have that, then we shall have nothing at all.”
“Love?” he echoed, something between a scoff and a bitter laugh escaping him.
“That is precisely why I placed that advert in the Morning Post. I wanted none of it. Only fools still believe in love, Madeline. It clouds the mind and serves no practical purpose. We live in the real world, not the pages of whatever romance novels you like to read. I know there must be a sensible woman somewhere behind all of those pretty notions.”
“So be it, then,” she said. “In your real world, you will have someone to manage your household and care for your niece and nephew. I will do all of that, and I will do it well. But you will never have me in your bed. Not like this. We can live as strangers under the same roof, or we can try to make something of this marriage. Learn to respect each other. Care for each other. Even if it is only as friends, it would be a start. Is that truly so terrible a proposition?”
Kenneth looked at her. No, he stared at her thoughtfully.
“Do you think you can withhold from me forever?” he asked, but there was no force or arrogance in his tone. “I could command you. As your husband and your duke, I have every right.”
“You could,” she replied, nodding, accepting the possibility. “But you do not seem to be the kind of man who would force a woman.”
He nodded as if to agree with her, then let out a shuddering breath and looked away.
“I can and will respect your wishes,” he said, his voice settling back into the cold, flat tone she had become so familiar with in the short time they had known each other.
“I have never taken a woman against her will, and I do not intend to start with my own wife. I have other battles to fight than the ones in the bedchamber.”
Madeline’s shoulders slumped with relief. She almost sat down on the nearest chair.
“However,” Kenneth continued, his eyes finding hers with an intensity that made her breath catch all over again.
“I will not be as forgiving the next time you find yourself in my room. If you come back here, I will assume that you have reconsidered your requirements and are prepared to fulfill your duties as my wife. Are we understood?”
“We are understood, Your Grace,” she replied, swallowing hard.
“Go,” he said quietly. The word was soft, but it landed like a command. “Close the door behind you. But remember what I said.” His eyes dropped briefly to her lips before returning to her face. “Come back here, and I will take it as your answer.”
Madeline did just that and stepped out into the hallway. Her heart was still pounding hard in her chest. Her lips still felt swollen from his kiss, while her tongue could still taste his blood.
Why did he have to kiss me like that?
She did not know how or when she would ever forget the way his mouth molded with hers so perfectly that she had let herself believe in the possibility of love.
But she would have to.
Kenneth Spruce was not a man who wanted to fall in love.
When Madeline entered her own rooms, she did not feel a sense of victory.
Her mind was still rattled by the sight of his hunger, one that he must have kept so carefully walled away from the rest of the world.
She had drawn her lines in the sand between them, and it made the next few years, or even the next few days, seem considerably longer and bleaker than she had anticipated.
“Oh, Grandmama. What have you done?” she asked aloud.