Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
E leanor’s first proper opportunity to seduce her husband came shortly after her visit with Olivia. That night, he had not come home before dawn—at least not that she had seen—but after lying in wait for him a few hours, she pounced as he was making his way from his study to the dining room.
“Ravenscroft!” she called, scurrying to his side. Olivia had loaned her one of her more outrageous dresses, and Eleanor had taken the steps of ordering some garbs from the fashion places she adored. However cold and distant the Duke was in many ways, he was at least generous with his pin money, and she had more than enough to procure a few gowns. That was especially important now they had social events to attend.
His gaze slid down the frothy pink dress, then back to her face. “What?” he snapped.
Not to be put off, she smiled at him. “Have you seen your study?”
He came to an abrupt stop. “You mean my personal space, which you saw fit to enter and destroy?”
“Destroy?” She blinked. “I tidied it.”
“And did I give you leave to do so?” he growled, stepping forward so she was forced to yield ground. Another flare of excitement came over her at the concept of his body coming so close to hers, pressing into it, pushing her up against the wall. Heat like lit coals burned low in her stomach. “Did I give you permission to sort through my things?”
“I did not read anything.”
“As though that matters,” he scoffed. “It is the principle of the thing.”
She stared up into his face. Logically, she understood that the purpose of his action was not to arouse her, but to intimidate her. She had told Olivia that he had no interest in her, and she believed it to be true. But there was no denying that whenever they were in such close proximity as this, her heart fluttered and her cheeks flushed, and she felt her body awakening. Only a fool would misinterpret what this meant: she was attracted to the man.
Deeply. Alarmingly. Beyond all reason or thought.
His brows furrowed as he glared at her. “ Well ? Have you nothing more to say on the matter?”
“Well, only that it seemed to me that spending your time in a room that was in such a state must not have been happy,” she said carefully. “And I thought that now we are married, you do not need to behave like a bachelor.”
“I will behave how I see fit.” He gripped her chin, none too gently. The press of his fingertips exhilarated her. “And you will not be the one to dictate that.”
“But you will dictate how I behave?”
A wry smile. “Unless, of course, you would prefer not to be married to me.”
Eleanor thought back to Olivia’s advice—dispensed with the authority of a master instructing a pupil, though Eleanor rather doubted Olivia had any true experience in the matter. Still, the general principles had been clear enough.
Find any excuse to touch him or have him see you in a state of undress. A man has urges, and if he is with you all the time, you may find he gives into those urges .
She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, keeping her eyes on him at all times. Perhaps she was not particularly alluring on a regular day, but if he spent time with none but her, especially given the close confines of their life together, surely at some point he must feel something for her. After all, she was a woman and bore womanly curves, all of which her new gown from Olivia accentuated. The low neckline, paired with the high waist and silken skirts, all served to highlight her breasts and hips.
Gentlemen desire such things, you know, Olivia had said with such decisiveness, Eleanor had not thought to doubt her. They enjoy all displays of the flesh .
Well, Eleanor certainly had plenty of flesh on display.
“Ravenscroft,” she murmured, using the voice she had practiced alone in her room, low and throaty. “Are you determined to quarrel with me?”
His gaze dropped to her chest, and the soft roundedness of her breasts, before flicking back to her face. A muscle in his jaw flexed. “I only argue with you when you provoke me,” he said, releasing her. “If I had my way, we would not speak at all.”
“Even when at social events?”
“No,” he snapped. “There, we will behave as any other husband and wife, newly married.”
“But why? When you are so determined to ignore me when we are home together?”
“What transpires between us in private is no one’s business but our own.”
She stepped closer, eliminating the chasm he had created between them. “Then explain to me why you married me if you dislike me so much?” She bit her lip, testing her courage, which was rapidly failing her. Not because the Duke scared her; no, she had faced far worse tyrants in her time. Rather, she feared what his answer might be, and what it would mean for the state of her marriage. The only way for her to keep him as a husband, to keep him for her and prevent him from straying would be to gain his affection, but she didn’t know if that was even possible.
He stared at her, something flickering in his eyes, there and gone. “I do not dislike you. I do not know you enough to dislike you.”
“Then—”
“I married you because I must. Why else? You knew the score when I proposed.”
Now or never . “Then why did you kiss me at the masquerade?” she blurted. “Did you know who I was then? Was that some kind of cruel joke?”
After all, if he had kissed her, a stranger then, why did he not kiss her now?
“I was nothing to you then,” she continued as his jaw snapped shut. “And yet you idled away your time with me, and you—” She could not say the words again. He had kissed her. And they had never once discussed it.
For a moment, she thought she saw a great, dividing conflict pass across his face. Then he gave her a small, cruel smile. “Ah, so that is the source of your constant attempts to gain my attention. You wish for me to kiss you again. Was once not enough, dear Eleanor? Would you rather I kiss you again as your husband? Would you like me to flatter you and tell you that I have been dreaming of it since?” He caught her about the waist, drawing her closer, his grasp anything but tender. “I kissed you because I was bored at that dull party, and you seemed enough of a challenge to make it worth the reward. A prudish lady determined to resist me, and I capable of making her forget herself.” He leaned down, breath hot against her lips. “Was it truly that enjoyable for you that you would brave my temper to get closer to me? Is this enough for you?”
Eleanor’s stomach fluttered, and she placed her hands on his face. “I wish you would tell me the truth.”
“The truth ?” His smile grew even colder, and he released her so suddenly she almost fell. “The truth is you pose no challenge for me as my wife. You are mine; I can have you whenever I want. And thus, I no longer want you.” He turned away, striding back down the corridor. “If that is all, I have matters to be attending to.”
Eleanor gaped after him. She was, admittedly, not an expert in male desire, or the ways in which it manifested, but she knew something about herself, and she most certainly recognized the look in his eye when he had spoken about dreaming of kissing her. And she could not ignore the eager press of his fingers against her waist.
Perhaps he did not want to like her—perhaps he did not like her at all—but no one could deny that he wanted her. The lie filled the silence left in his wake.
The only question was how she could convince him to admit such a thing to her, or to himself.
Sebastian rested his forehead against the wall. Bloody hell, but he had not been prepared for her to ask such a direct question. What happened to the timid mouse he had married? And where had she acquired that delicious gown from? He had never seen her look so… alluring, and the flush on her cheeks had only added to the impression.
You pose no challenge for me as my wife. You are mine; I can have you whenever I want. And thus, I no longer want you .
What folly. A lie for the sake of cruelty—but worse, he did not know if she believed it. He had left before he could see her reaction. He needed her to hate him, but he could not stop himself from thinking about what would happen if he kissed her again. Whether she would respond the way she had when she had thought him nothing more than a stranger. What noises would she make? Would she wrap her arms around his neck?
He knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he needed to keep his distance from her, or he would find out precisely what she would be like to kiss as his wife.
Such knowledge would be dangerous. Particularly when he sensed other things about her. How submissive she was; how very easily she would give in to every one of his desires—and he had many. He had not been lying when he had mentioned dreaming about her. He had fantasies galore, and all of them involved her. So many, it would take him half a lifetime to explore them all.
He shook his head to clear it and strode out to the stables. By the time he came back, hopefully she would have gone somewhere else and he could return to ignoring her existence in his life.
He ought to have known that would be far too much to hope for.
When he returned to the house, sweaty after a good, hard ride, he found his new wife in the dining room, balancing on a chair, holding a swathe of material up to the curtains.
“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” he exploded from the doorway.
She glanced up, wobbling and losing her balance on the chair. Without thinking, he dived forward, managing to catch her before she landed on the ground. Blinking, she stared up at him, delicate in his arms, her body pressed against his.
His body, inevitably, reacted instantly, and he put her down so abruptly she almost lost her balance all over again.
“You ought to watch your language,” she reproved, turning her attention back to the curtains.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Well, I am your wife now.” She held up the two swathes of material. One was a cool blue; the other a red and white floral design.
“You being my wife explains nothing.”
“I believe it is customary for the mistress of the house to redecorate where appropriate,” she said, still not regarding him.
“There is no need to redecorate this room. Or any room in the house. If I wished for them to be changed, I would have given the order myself.”
As though she had not heard him, she pursed her lips. “I think the red, don’t you?”
“ Eleanor . Are you not listening to me?”
“I am listening,” she said absently, “but all you are doing is saying the same things. You may not think this room is in need of sprucing up, but I disagree, and I am the mistress of the house. You are in the habit of changing the servants frequently, so I cannot rely on a housekeeper to make any such changes. But no matter!” She waved the material so it fluttered in the air. “I prefer doing this myself. And it is hardly as though I am unaccustomed to putting the work in. In fact,” she added, still not paying him any attention, “I prefer having some occupation. Having nothing to do is infuriating.”
He took hold of her wrist, fingers wrapping around the delicate bone. She was so small; he could crush her so easily. Hurt her so easily. “And if I asked you to do nothing?”
Her large gray eyes met his. “Does the notion of new curtains offend you so very much?”
“I prefer to be the person to make the changes in my home.”
“Is it not my home too?”
“ No .” He said the word as bluntly as possible. “You are a guest in my house.”
“Then you are remarkably rude to your guests.”
“You are especially forward.”
“Have you forgotten that you married me?”
He tugged her closer, knowing it was a mistake even as her proximity singed into him. “I have wished to forget nothing more since that occasion,” he said, and she raised a brow. “I have one source of grief in my life, and it is standing right before me.”
Hurt flashed across her face, and he had never felt like such a cad. This was the entire point of being cruel to her: so she would forget about this ridiculous marriage and move on with her life. Then he would be able to move on with his. Really, he was doing them both a favor, especially if he kept his word and did not allow himself to consummate the marriage. Until that point, an argument could be made that they were not, in fact, married at all!
Yet although he could see the sting his words left behind, she did not appear to be intimidated by the way he loomed over her, or the tight grip he had on her wrist. If she was aware of all the multitude of ways he could hurt her, she did not seem to care. And if she did not know—well, there was only one way he could think of to fix that, and it would involve crossing one of his lines.
Cruelty was one thing, and he could contemplate that with fair ease. But the idea of harming her in a physical sense went against all his morals, few of them that he had.
“ Damnation ,” he muttered, releasing her. “Do not look at me like that, Eleanor. I had no wish to marry you, and now we are married, I have no wish to know you better. And I have no wish to be reminded of your presence every time I enter a room because you have seen fit to make alterations. Leave such business to myself, if you please.”
Her chin rose. “And if I do not?”
“Then I will make your life far worse than it is now,” he promised. Her eyes met his, and he bit back another curse at the look of expectation in them—as though she hoped for something other than what he had to give. And damn him, for a moment he was tempted. “And not in the manner you are imagining. Perhaps I will lock you in your room so you may never escape. How would you like that, wife?” He took hold of her neck, careful not to grip her tightly enough to bruise. No one could see the remnants of this. But before he could help himself, he felt his thumb swipe up across her throat, up to her jaw. No one could have denied the tenderness of the action, but he could not have stopped himself if he had wanted to. “You think I would treat you well just because we are joined under the eyes of the law? You would do better than to cross me, and I beg you will remember that.”
A frown touched between her brows, and he brushed his thumb over the divot of her bottom lip, before finally stepping back and giving them both space. Space they needed if he was to keep up this mask of indifference and cruelty. He could still feel the plump softness of her lower lip against his thumb. His blood pounded in his veins, eager for everything he had no intention of giving. If he was not careful, he might kiss her here and now, and that would be foolish indeed. Already, it felt as though the soft skin of her neck had burned itself into his palm. He could feel all the tendons, the low throb of her veins.
And by God, he wanted her as he had scarcely wanted anyone else.
“Tomorrow, we will be attending Lady Rochester’s ball,” he said shortly, making to leave the room. “See to it that you are properly dressed and that we will make the appropriate impression.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and another dark wave of lust nearly overcame him. “Yes, Your Grace.”
He did not correct her as to his title when he left the room. Truth be told, he liked the way she said it, and he despised himself for that weakness, along with all the many others he showed around her. The sooner she came to her senses, the better.