Chapter 11 #2
The contact shocked her, but she held back her gasp. It almost escaped her mouth, but lingered there as her mind tried to grasp what was happening.
Of course.
Did he not warn her about what might happen if she entered his bedchambers? The physical contact between them was getting harder to ignore.
“You are my wife, Madeline,” he whispered, his eyes still boring into hers.
He was so close that she could feel his breath on her forehead.
“You are my responsibility, and I can tell that you are in desperate need of some attention since you came into my bedchambers once more. You did not even knock; you just burst into my space. You are here to provoke me, are you not?”
“No! I am not here to provoke you! I am here to remind you that you have a nephew and a niece who need your attention. They... they need your attention, Kenneth...”
Her voice faltered in the end at the sight of the smirk forming on his lips. Her heart felt like it was going to burst clear of her chest with its wild thrumming. Her senses were inflamed with Kenneth’s heat radiating toward her, a welcome from the chill of the rain outside.
“But what about you, wife? Do you not also need my attention?”
“I... Kenneth, please,” she protested, even as she leaned closer to his body. “This... this visit, or whatever you may call it, is not about us. It is about the children. Both Alexander and Emily are hurting. And the silence in Huntington House? It is not helping them.”
“Silence? What silence?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “It was gone as soon as you entered my bedchambers. You have added that noise into my head that I cannot deny. And now, I will have to make good on my word.”
Kenneth moved before Madeline could protest. He kept his hand on her waist as he guided her toward the massive four-poster bed, and Madeline’s heart was in her throat the entire way.
She had said nothing. She was not entirely sure she could have formed any words even if she had wanted to.
The backs of her legs met the edge of the bed, and she gasped, the sound escaping her before she could stop it.
He turned her around slowly, deliberately, and urged her forward into the shadowy fort that the dark velvet hangings created around the bed.
His hands remained on her waist, warm and steady, guiding her onto the bed until she was on all fours, the orange fabric of her dress pooling around her.
“Put your hands on the headboard,” he commanded. The languid man from earlier was replaced by someone accustomed to holding authority. Even in his quiet moments, was there ever any doubt?
Somebody else might not have questioned the order, but Madeline had her stipulations. Though a virgin, she knew what he meant. She could feel it rippling across her skin, like a caress that she could not help but lean toward.
“I will not!” she snapped. “What sort of madness is this?”
“I told you that you were in need of attention, Duchess. This is the attention you will get. The one you provoked by coming to my rooms,” he said calmly, his eyes hovering over her body.
“I will not give myself to you!” she cried.
Fear and anticipation blended strangely within her, and she could not bring herself to fully accept it.
She should not be so confused. “I told you that I will not... not like this. I do not wish to give myself to a man who feels nothing for me. I want our union to feel special, so I will only give myself to you if you have feelings for me, Your Grace!”
He chuckled at that. She realized that she had called him by his formal title; at that very moment, she wanted him to see her as more than just a part of a contract.
It was curious that Madeline remained on all fours. Shame washed over her.
‘I thought choking was more your thing.’
She had not understood it back then. She was starting to now, and the realization did nothing to cool the heat spreading across her skin.
Kenneth leaned in, his chest pressing against her back, keeping her there, planted on the bed, even though both of them knew by then that there was no need. Her body was berating her.
“Oh, this has nothing to do with feelings, Madeline,” he murmured wickedly, his lips so close to that spot between her shoulder blades. His breath fanned close to the nape of her neck, warm and alive. Hot. “But I do not like repeating myself. Put your hands on the headboard.”
Trembling, Madeline reached for the polished wood and gripped it hard.
For some reason, the act made her feel alive and excited for what was about to happen.
The orange fabric of her skirts felt heavy on her skin now, as if it were better without it constricting her.
It bunched up to her hips as Kenneth moved behind her.
Then, his palm struck her buttock. She gasped from the shock. There was a stinging sensation, but it was not painful. Then, he struck again, making her eyes fly open. She did not even know that she had squeezed them shut. Soon, it was a rhythmic series of deliberate strikes. Focused. Measured.
“You want a reaction out of me, do you not, Madeline?” he asked, a challenge in his voice. “You want me to respond to your pleas for attention? Here it is. This is the punishment you will get, for you are my responsibility. Mine alone.”
Madeline clung to the feeling of his hand landing on her skin.
It was getting more difficult to stop the noises coming from her throat or the pants from her chest. It was not just the sting of his palm spreading, but also a different sensation she was not familiar with.
It made blood rush to the surface and in places that throbbed like the one between her thighs.
She could no longer grasp the anger she felt earlier. It was gone.
Kenneth knew what he was doing. He knew that the force from his hand and the texture of her dress would all coax out what Madeline had wanted to keep to herself.
Desire.
Tears formed in Madeline’s eyes. She was not hurt. No. If she were truly in pain, she would have eased from the Duke’s body hovering over her. There was enough space for her to slip out if she had wanted.
No. She was nearly crying because the moment was so intense, the dam inside her chest was close to overflowing. Shame once again washed over her. She had not once fought against the strikes. She had welcomed them.
“K-Kenneth,” she whimpered, no longer beyond begging. Her forehead dropped, supported by her arms. It was too close to the headboard itself.
“Yes, Madeline?” he asked, pausing the strikes for only a moment.
“I... I do not...”
“Tell me what you want. Speak.”
“P-please,” she begged, her fingernails digging hard into the wooden carvings. Through her blurry eyes, she saw tiny figures of bodies intertwined etched on the wood. Who had she truly married? Who was he really?
“Please, what, wife?”
“Please, Kenneth, touch me.”
His hand completely stilled this time. In fact, he withdrew from her.
She felt the emptiness as he slowly rose from his position behind her.
Madeline’s body trembled, and her skin flushed as if in a fever.
She was dizzy, with her pulse pounding in her temples and chest. She did not know whether she needed a glass of water to douse the fire or to light it further—with more of him.
“You begged much sooner than I had expected,” Kenneth observed, much to her horror. Was he disappointed in her? Was he looking for a challenge?
Worse, the Duke’s voice was back to his usual calm stoicism. The only clue she had that something must have changed was the undercurrent of deep satisfaction in his voice.
Then, he stood up, completely releasing her.
Madeline should feel relieved. After all, Kenneth did not seem in a rush to take her virtue.
However, she was more deeply disappointed, as her body still thrummed with desperation and unfulfilled lust. Liquid had pooled between her legs, and her nipples were hard.
She did not realize that such activities could do that to a woman’s body, but now she knew.
It was a struggle to turn around and face him. Her cheeks were still hot with shame and confusion. She saw him watching her with an impassive expression. No, she still could not read this man.
“You may go, Madeline,” he said, his voice losing all its warmth. It was almost as if they merely had a meeting about the estate’s financial status. “You have met your punishment. I have taken responsibility for what is mine.”
It was all that it was to him. Kenneth had to prove a point. He was emotionless, like his brother said. He would do anything to show that his wisdom and control were intact.
Madeline’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. She blinked her eyes furiously. The realization that this man would never love her somehow did not cool the desire within her. She smoothed her orange dress, her hands shaking and her legs feeling clumsy enough to fall.
She fled.
The hallway gave her much-needed cool air. She needed a bath to wash away the heat from her body. Or a walk. It was a shame her room was right next door. Soon, she was rushing inside to hide from the world, but the brief flight was not long enough to cool her desires.
In her room, she caught her reflection in the vanity mirror. Her hair was loose and wild. Perhaps it was a blessing that their rooms were adjoined. Nobody else would have to witness the madness in her eyes and the rumple in the fabric of her dress. One look at her, and other people would know.
What in the world just happened?
Biting her lip, she flung herself onto her bed. She was frustrated. She wanted more from her husband, and she could not hold back her feelings as well as he could. Her emotions were always clear on her face.
In her bed, Madeline was tempted to touch herself—something Kenneth had denied her. But would her hands be enough to ignite the fire?
She groaned into her pillow, still feeling incredibly frustrated.