Chapter Six #2
Maggie glanced down at the parlor below, then guided Ashley further into the shadows, away from the viewing gallery.
“Your husband is known among certain women for his interests in what some call bedroom games. Tying his partners up with silk scarves, blindfolds, spanking, that sort of thing. It’s not uncommon, really—many gentlemen enjoy having control, and many women find it quite thrilling when done properly. ”
Ashley felt dizzy. The conversation with her friends about blindfolds suddenly took on new significance. “You’re saying he likes to…to restrain women and hit them?”
“In a very particular way, yes. But understand—it wasn’t about cruelty or force—merely dominance and control.
Kitty always said he was incredibly attentive, focused entirely on his partner’s pleasure.
The restraints, the blindfolds—they were about trust and sensation, pleasurable domination.
” Maggie studied Ashley’s face. “Does this shock you?”
“I…I don’t know,” Ashley admitted. “I’ve never heard of such things.”
“Most respectable ladies haven’t. But it’s far more common than society acknowledges. There’s even a term for it—the French call it ‘bondage,’ from their word for binding. Some refer to it as discipline and submission, though that makes it sound harsher than it often is.”
“And Kitty enjoyed these…games?”
“Very much. She had a natural temperament for it—trusting, adventurous. And your husband apparently has considerable skill in such matters.” Maggie’s tone was matter-of-fact, as if discussing something no more scandalous than a preference for tea over coffee.
Ashley’s mind reeled. Could this be why Raven kept his distance? Did he fear she would be horrified by such preferences? Or that as a lady, she couldn’t possibly understand or accept such desires?
“How would someone…that is, if a woman wanted to…” Ashley couldn’t quite form the question.
“If you wanted to show your husband you could accept his nature?” Maggie smiled gently.
“That’s more complicated. You can’t simply announce that you’d be willing to try such things—that would reveal you’d been gathering information about him, which could go badly.
No, you’d need to approach it more subtly. Make him think it was his idea.”
“But how?”
“Start with trust exercises. Allow him to lead you in small ways—accepting his guidance without question, showing you defer to his judgment. Mention casually that you find the idea of surrendering control…intriguing. Drop hints about blindfolds or silk scarves in innocent contexts.” Maggie’s eyes glinted with mischief.
“Make him wonder if perhaps you’re not quite as innocent as he assumes. ”
He already thought she wasn’t innocent. That might finally work in her favor. Ashley felt heat flooding through her at the very thought. Could she truly do such things? Deliberately tempt her husband toward behaviors that society would condemn as perverse.
But then, society had already condemned her once. What did she have to lose?
Ashley took one last look at the parlor below, watching the intricate dance of seduction continuing without pause. She’d come here desperate and ignorant and was leaving with knowledge that both thrilled and terrified her.
Her husband had particular tastes. Tastes that had apparently been satisfied by a woman who understood and welcomed them. If Ashley wanted Raven’s attention—his desire—she would need to show him she could be equally understanding, equally welcoming.
Even if the very thought made her pulse race with equal parts fear and anticipation.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I’m ready to go.”
Maggie guided her back through the hidden passages, eventually emerging into the same servant’s entrance Ashley had used to enter. The hackney waited where she’d left it, and within moments she was rattling back through London’s streets toward Farah’s townhouse.
As the carriage swayed, Ashley removed her disguise piece by piece, transforming herself back into the respectable Duchess of Blackstone. But inside, something fundamental had shifted.
She’d gone into that establishment seeking knowledge of how to attract a man’s attention. She was leaving with something far more dangerous—understanding of her particular man’s desires, and the beginning of a plan to show him she could meet those desires.
If she had the courage to try.
The card party was still in full swing when Ashley slipped back through Farah’s garden. She changed quickly, tucking away the costume and cosmetics for later disposal. When she re-entered the drawing room, she found Courtney watching for her with anxious eyes.
“Well?” Courtney whispered as Ashley settled back into her seat at the card table.
“I learned a great deal,” Ashley murmured back. “More than I ever imagined.”
“And?”
“And I think I understand now why my husband keeps his distance.” Ashley picked up her cards, though the suits and numbers barely registered. “The question is whether I have the courage to bridge that distance.”
Courtney squeezed her hand beneath the table. “You do. I know you do.”
Ashley managed a small smile, even as her mind spun with images of silk scarves and blindfolds, of trust and surrender, of a husband she barely knew but suddenly understood much better.
She’d taken the first terrifying step tonight. Now she just had to find the courage to take the next one.
Even if it meant venturing into territory no respectable duchess should ever acknowledge, let alone explore.
When she arrived home, she learned from Henderson that His Grace wasn’t home yet.
As she walked up the stairs, she wondered where he was and who he was with.
Had he procured a new mistress to live in his pleasure house?
For a moment, she’d wished she’d asked to go home via Kitty’s house to see if he was there.
Perhaps she should visit the house. Maybe it would give her an idea of what went on there.
Did he love Kitty merely because she didn’t judge his peculiarities?
Or was it more? Her feet seemed to have a mind of their own, and she made her way to her husband’s bedchamber.
There was no sign of his valet, Simpson.
Ashley stood outside Raven’s bedchamber door, her hand trembling as it hovered over the brass handle. In more than three months of marriage, and she’d never once crossed this threshold. He’d never invited her, and she’d been too uncertain—too afraid of rejection—to invite herself.
But tonight, emboldened by what she’d learned from Maggie, driven by a desperate need to understand the man she’d married, she turned the handle and stepped inside.
The room was unmistakably masculine. Where her own chamber was all soft lavenders and cream, Raven’s was decorated in deep forest greens and rich mahogany.
Heavy curtains blocked most of the moonlight, leaving the space dim and shadowy.
The scent of sandalwood and leather hung in the air—the same combination she’d mentioned finding comforting during their dinner together.
A massive four-poster bed dominated the space; its dark wood carved with intricate details she could barely make out in the low light. But something glinted in the low light. She moved closer. There were metal loops in the headboard. How strange.
The coverlet was deep green brocade, precisely arranged, as if the bed had never been disturbed. Did he sleep elsewhere? Or was he simply that fastidious about appearances?
Ashley moved deeper into the room, her slippers silent on the thick rug.
A desk sat near the window, its surface neat and organized—ledgers stacked precisely, quill and ink arranged just so.
Books lined built-in shelves along one wall, their spines showing subjects ranging from agricultural management to philosophy.
Everything spoke of order, control, careful restraint.
It was the room of a man who revealed nothing of his inner self.
Or was it?
Ashley’s eyes were drawn to a tall cabinet in the corner, partially hidden behind a dressing screen.
Unlike the rest of the room’s furniture, this piece seemed oddly out of place—too ornate, too deliberately positioned away from casual view.
The wood was darker, older, and instead of the brass hardware that adorned everything else, this cabinet featured an iron lock.
A locked cabinet. Hidden in the corner. In a room no one but Raven ever entered.
Her heart began to pound as she approached it. This was wrong—she was invading his privacy, snooping through his personal belongings. If he discovered her here, he would have every right to be furious.
But she had to know. Had to understand what drove him, what frightened him enough to keep such careful distance from his own wife.
The lock, she discovered, wasn’t actually engaged. Perhaps Raven had grown complacent, secure in the knowledge that this was his private domain. Or perhaps he’d simply forgotten.
Ashley pulled the cabinet door open, and her breath caught in her throat.
Inside, arranged with the same precise care that characterized everything else in Raven’s life, was a collection of items she’d never seen before but suddenly understood with crystalline clarity.
Coils of rope—not rough hemp like sailors used, but soft silk cord in various lengths and colors.
Silk scarves, some plain, others embroidered with delicate patterns.
What looked like leather cuffs, lined with something soft—velvet, perhaps—clearly designed to encircle wrists or ankles without chafing.
And masks—several of them, made of silk and satin, designed to cover the eyes completely.
There were other items too, things she didn’t immediately recognize.
Leather implements of various sizes and shapes, some with multiple strands hanging from carved handles, others shaped like paddles.
All were clearly expensive, well-maintained, stored with a care that suggested they were valued possessions.