Chapter 16
“Why would you do that?” Kenneth asked, his voice raspy as his eyes more openly scanned her.
The dining room finally felt so empty. So intimate after the doors had shut behind the last footman. Madeline knew that how the rest of the night would pass would depend on her.
She rose from her end of the table. She did not want to keep the distance between them. She dared glide to the other side, moving her hips more than usual.
“Why not? I merely wanted to do something for you, husband,” she replied, batting her eyelashes innocently as she kept approaching until she was only a few inches away from him.
She tilted her head, giving him a better view of her neck.
The move emphasized the broad expanse of skin revealed by her low neckline.
“Poor Cook nearly had an apoplexy when I dared enter her kitchen this afternoon. I thought she would chase me out with a rolling pin.”
“What did she do when you said you would prepare dessert?” Kenneth asked.
“Oh, she almost fainted! Then she threatened me by saying she would quit, but we reached an understanding eventually, just for this once.”
Kenneth’s pale blue eyes tracked her movements. First, his focus was on her face and her gestures. Then, his gaze slipped down to the swell of her breasts. Her awareness of it made her heart pound so hard she suspected he could see her pulse throbbing at the base of her neck.
“Madeline, you must remind yourself that you are the Duchess of Huntington. You have no business invading the kitchens.”
“Oh, is that so? I feel like being a duchess should at least give me more freedom of choice. A wife should at least be allowed to feed her husband,” she replied, smiling at him.
It felt strange playing the seductress. However, she was curious enough to see what he would do when pushed a little too far.
Just as she said the last word, the door opened and a young kitchen boy entered with a silver platter. He set it directly in front of Kenneth before scrambling out of the room as if it were on fire.
Kenneth looked down to see what was laid before him. It was a small tart, garnished with a small leaf and drizzled with a rich, red syrup. It certainly looked beautiful, Madeline made certain. She used a mold to make the perfect circle of what looked like a strawberry-and-chocolate confection.
“Go on. I was told that you like chocolate and strawberry flavors, do you not?” she asked, a little teasingly.
The flavors were supposed to be simple, almost juvenile. They were the sorts of treats children loved. What could go wrong?
“I do prefer them,” he admitted, a little ruefully, as he took a spoon and began to dig in.
Kenneth did not notice that Madeline was watching him with almost feral intensity.
She watched him as he took that first bite, waiting for him to react to the taste.
It was because she knew that the pretty surface was a facade, hiding the fact that she deliberately used salt instead of sugar and added vinegar and crushed mustard seeds.
It was all in her goal to see his handsome face twist into a look of utter revulsion.
That was the sort of human reaction she wanted from the often stony-faced duke.
Kenneth was eerily quiet. He placed a small slice onto his tongue and chewed slowly.
Madeline held her breath, her fingernails digging into her palms. She waited for him to break, but all he did was chew.
His face was serene, almost as if he were eating a regular dessert.
Nothing spectacular. Nothing disgusting, either.
“Well? What do you think?” she dared ask.
He kept eating. Madeline’s eyes could not help but bulge at the sight of that. He did not even reach for his wine. Instead, he took another slice and ate just as slowly and deliberately.
“It is... nice.”
What! How can he say that?
The tart could not have just magically become palatable. Could it?
Madeline took her fork and stabbed the remaining slice of tart. She shoved it into her mouth, perhaps driven by the almost disinterested way in which Kenneth ate his dessert.
Suddenly, all the nasty flavors she expected burst into her mouth, attacking her taste buds.
It was all the wrong ingredients in the wrong amounts exploding into her senses, making her gag.
She coughed into her hand. She then grabbed his wine glass and took large gulps to rid herself of the terrible taste.
“How can you eat that?” she exclaimed, her eyes still wide from the shock of the horrific taste that she herself concocted. “How can you eat this thing without being utterly disgusted?”
Kenneth did not move. He did not flinch from her outburst, either. He just sat there, with the taste likely lingering on his tongue.
“I knew what it was from the first bite,” he admitted.
“Then, why did you finish it?” she asked, almost angry. Part of her was more concerned. What was wrong with him? “Why did you not push the plate away? Why were you not upset at all or disgusted?”
Kenneth pushed his chair back and rose from it. His height towered over her, and she remembered just how intimidating he could be.
“Why? Because you made it for me,” he said simply, stepping out from behind the table. “Despite your attempts to provoke me, I have no desire to offend you. I would not reject something you made with your own hands.”
Madeline opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She had always wanted to matter to someone. She had not expected it to look like this, to have her husband eat her disgusting tart rather than make her feel foolish. It was a small thing, but it undid her anyway.
“Kenneth, I was merely trying to—”
“Oh, of course, I know what you were trying to do,” he interrupted. He was now so close that his shirt brushed against her dress.
The dessert had no effect on this man, but his scent overwhelmed her within seconds of his proximity.
“You wanted a reaction,” he continued. “You wanted to see if I would lose control. I am starting to believe that you like it when I do.”
Before she could reply, Kenneth reached for her waist. His large hands were hot, searing through the purple silk of her dress. Then, he quickly and effortlessly lifted her off her feet and placed her onto the dining table.
“What... what are you doing, Kenneth?” she demanded. “The servants may return at any moment and see us.”
“The doors are locked, Madeline,” he whispered, as he pulled her to the edge of the table, bunching her dress up her thighs. “But I do not really give a damn if they see. After all, I am emotionless, am I not, Madeline?”
“Y-you should be in your study now,” she stammered. “Is that not what you do after dinner?”
Yet she would be so sorely disappointed if he left her right now. The way he was touching her gave her a jolt that went right to her core.
“No,” he growled as he nuzzled her neck. His hands moved up her thighs, baring more of her skin. “After you have made me eat that abominable tart, I deserve something truly sweet to take the bad taste off my tongue.”
Madeline’s breath caught. “Kenneth…”
He did not answer with words. His hands settled on the soft skin of her inner thighs, and he pushed them apart slowly, as if he wanted her to watch him do it.
She whimpered as she realized how exposed she was to him.
He had spanked her before. He had touched her to the peak of pleasure, but tonight, she knew he had different plans.
“Lie back,” he said.
It was not a request, and she knew better than to treat it as one. When she hesitated, his hand pressed flat against her chest and guided her down until her shoulders met the cool linen and her legs hung over the edge of the table.
“Good,” he murmured. “Now keep still for me, Madeline.”
He placed his hands under her buttocks, lifting her slightly to position her where his mouth was at the ready. At the first swipe of his tongue, Madeline let out a strangled cry.
“Kenneth—”
“Quiet,” he said, and bent his head.
The next stroke of his tongue elicited a cry from her.
He repeated it, slower this time, gliding through her in one long pass that caused her hips to lift off the table before she could stop them.
He immediately pressed them back down, his forearm settling heavily across her belly to keep her there.
“I told you to keep still,” he said. “Do not make me hold you down, Madeline.”
“I... I cannot help it,” she gasped.
“You will learn.”
And then he set about tormenting her in earnest, his mouth working everywhere but the one place that ached for him most. He circled it, teased around it, drew it out until she was writhing beneath his arm and sobbing his name.
Only when she had given up all pretense of composure did he finally close his lips around the swollen bud at her center.
Madeline felt herself rushing toward the edge, and he stopped.
He lifted his head, with an expression that was almost tender despite its cruelty. “Not yet,” he said.
“Kenneth, please.” She was beyond shame now.
“Please, what?”
“Please, let me—”
“You made me eat that wretched tart.” He dragged a single fingertip through her wetness. “You provoked me at my own table. You wore that scandalous gown to see what I might do.” His voice dropped lower. “You will have what you want when I decide to give it to you, and not a moment before.”
She was trembling all over now, so tense she felt like she might cry. He paused for a moment longer, watching her, before he lowered his mouth again and slid two thick fingers inside her in one smooth motion.
She cried out. He curled his fingers, finding that hidden spot that made her vision blur, and worked it without mercy while his tongue returned to her aching peak. Every motion had turned deliberate and demanding, his fingers pumping deep and his mouth devouring her until she could hardly breathe.
“I cannot,” she gasped, feeling the beginnings of a violent trembling.
She was not pretending to be ill this time. She was dying.
“That is it,” he growled against her. “Come for me now, Madeline.”
Finally, her hips jutted forward, and she cried aloud as the punishing climax crashed over her.
Her body clenched around his fingers in helpless waves, and still he would not stop.
He drew her climax out, gentling only when her cries softened into spent little sobs, and her trembling thighs went slack in his hands.
It was only then that Kenneth rose to his feet and stumbled backward. He was panting, and he wiped his wet lips while locking his gaze on her. Her cheeks burned at the way he was watching her. It was the most emotion she had seen from him.
Arrogance. Triumph. Pride. There was also a hint of possessiveness. After all, the man had chosen what to eat after that tart destroyed his taste buds.
“So, what does it feel like to serve me dessert, Madeline?” he asked, and she knew he was not talking about the tart at all.