Chapter Eleven
The carriage ride home was spent in an uncomfortable silence. Was he regretting his decision? The heat in his eyes made her think not.
Ignoring all the staff still up at this late hour, he pulled her along behind him as they mounted the stairs to the ducal suite. He dismissed his valet with a wave of his hand.
Raven pulled her inside and closed the door, leaning against it as if he needed the support. For a long moment, he simply looked at her, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Then he turned the lock.
“Last chance,” he said, his voice rough. “You can go through the connecting door to your room and pretend this never happened. Continue as we have been.”
“No.” Ashley moved closer, her courage bolstered by the desperate need in his eyes. “No more pretending. No more distance. I want the truth, Raven. All of it.”
He pushed away from the door, removing his tricorn hat and tossing it aside. His hands went to his mask, then hesitated. “If I take this off—if we do this—I won’t be able to go back to keeping you at arm’s length. Do you understand? Once you know what I am, what I need…there’s no unknowing it.”
“Good.” She reached up and removed her own mask, letting it fall to the floor. “I’m tired of masks. Both the literal and metaphorical kind.”
Something shifted in his expression—resignation mixed with relief and raw hunger. He removed his mask, revealing his face fully in the moonlight coming through the window. Without the barrier between them, she could see every emotion playing across his features: desire, guilt, shame, hope, fear.
“I’m going to tell you something,” he said quietly, moving to stand before the window, his back to her. “Something I’ve never told anyone except…except Kitty. And after I tell you, you’ll understand why I’ve kept my distance.”
Ashley waited, her hands clasped together to keep them from trembling.
“When I was fifteen,” Raven began, his voice carefully controlled, “I was seduced by an older woman. A married woman. Mrs. Featherington.” He paused, and Ashley saw his shoulders tense.
“I thought myself very fortunate at the time. A beautiful woman taking interest in an awkward boy. Teaching me things no one else would.”
Ashley’s chest tightened, understanding beginning to dawn.
“She taught me her preferences,” Raven continued, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Showed me how she liked to be…restrained. Controlled. Dominated. And I discovered I was rather good at it. That I enjoyed it. That something in my nature responded to that kind of power exchange.”
He turned to face her, his expression tortured.
“I saw her, on and off, for two years. I thought what she taught me was perfectly normal. That all men wanted what I wanted. Until her husband and my father caught us. Until my father had to pay an enormous sum to keep the scandal quiet. Until I learned that what I desired—what I am—is considered perverted. Deviant. Wrong.”
“Raven—” Ashley started, but he held up a hand.
“Let me finish. Please.” He took a shaky breath.
“My father was furious. He called me an abomination. Told me my proclivities were shameful, that I’d corrupted a married woman with my twisted desires.
Never mind that she’d initiated everything, that she’d been the one to teach me.
In society’s eyes, I was the monster. And he died thinking that. ”
Understanding crashed over Ashley like a wave. This was why he’d kept his distance. Why he’d been so careful, so controlled. He believed himself fundamentally broken, his desires something shameful that would disgust or frighten her.
“After my father died,” Raven continued, “I tried to bury that part of myself. Focused on duty, on being the perfect duke. But the need never went away. Eventually, I found establishments where…where women understood. Where I could be myself without judgment.” His eyes met hers, raw and vulnerable.
“Kitty understood. She never made me feel like a monster. With her, I could finally be honest about what I wanted.”
“And now you think I can’t handle that truth,” Ashley said softly. “You think I’ll recoil from you like your father did. That I’ll see you as perverted or wrong. Why should that matter to you? It’s not like ours is a love match?”
“What if you told someone? The ladies already know I haven’t come to your bed, don’t they?” The question was barely a whisper, laden with years of accumulated shame.
A small part of her crumbled. She’d hoped it was because he cared what she thought. But he’d never have picked her to be his wife except for that silly drunken kiss.
“Ashley, what I want from you isn’t gentle or romantic.
I want to tie you to my bed with silk scarves.
I want to blindfold you and take complete control of your pleasure.
I want to hear you beg and see you surrender completely to me.
” His voice broke. “What kind of husband wants that from his wife? What kind of man can’t make love to a woman without needing to dominate her? ”
The pain in his voice shattered something in Ashley’s chest. All this time, he’d been torturing himself, convinced his desires made him unworthy of her. Convinced she could never accept what he needed.
She crossed the space between them in three steps, reaching up to cup his face in her hands. “Raven. Listen to me very carefully.”
His eyes closed, as if bracing for rejection.
“I’m not afraid of what you want,” she said firmly. “I’m not disgusted or shocked. I’m…intrigued, perhaps a little afraid. Curious somewhat. Maybe a bit excited by the idea. No one is perfect. We all have our faults.”
His eyes flew open, disbelief written across his features. “You can’t mean—”
“I knew,” she interrupted. “Not everything, but enough. I visited your bedchamber while you were out. I found the cabinet.”
Horror flooded his expression. “Ashley, I can explain—”
“I saw the silk scarves. The leather cuffs lined with velvet. The masks and other implements, all clearly expensive and well-maintained. And do you know what I thought?” She held his gaze steadily.
“I thought they looked designed for pleasure, not pain. I thought whoever created them cared about comfort, even while providing restraint.”
“You…you’re not repulsed?” His voice was barely audible.
“Well, I’m not very experienced in that area.
” She ran her thumbs along his cheekbones, feeling him tremble under her touch.
“I’m married to you, Raven. If we are to have a good marriage, we have to be honest with each other.
I know you’re still in love with Kitty, but we can still have a marriage based on respect and perhaps friendship. ”
“I’d like that. Anything else is draining.”
“Therefore, I want to be your wife in every sense. If this is what you need, if these are the desires you’ve been suppressing—then show me. Teach me. Let me be the woman who accepts all of you, not just the controlled, proper parts.”
“Ashley—” His hands came up to cover hers, his expression torn between hope and terror. “You don’t understand what you’re offering. Once we start down this path—”
“Then we’ll explore it together.” She rose on her toes, bringing her face closer to his.
“I trust you, Raven. I trust that you would never truly hurt me. You’re a good man.
That whatever you want to do would be about pleasure, about connection.
About finally being honest with each other.
Besides, if I don’t like it, we will stop once I’m with child. ”
She saw him wavering, saw desire warring with years of ingrained shame. So, she made the decision for both of them, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was both tender and demanding.
For a heartbeat, he remained frozen. Then, with a sound that was half groan, half surrender, he kissed her back with a hunger that stole her breath. His arms came around her, pulling her against him with almost bruising force, and she felt the evidence of his desire pressing against her belly.
This kiss was different from the one in the entrance hall. That had been restrained, controlled despite its intensity. This was raw, desperate—the kiss of a man who’d been starving and was finally allowed to feast.
His hands moved over her back, tangling in the scarves of her costume, gripping her waist, spanning her ribcage. When he finally broke the kiss, they were both breathing hard, and his eyes had gone dark with need.
“Tell me you’re sure,” he said roughly. “Tell me you understand what you’re agreeing to.”
“I want a child and I want my husband in my bed to achieve that,” Ashley said, her voice steady despite her racing heart. “However you need me. Show me, Raven. Don’t hold back anymore.”
She saw the exact moment his control shattered. His hands moved to the scarves around her neck, slowly unwinding them with deliberate care. “These,” he said, his voice dropping to a lower register that sent shivers down her spine, “are perfect. Do you trust me to use them?”
Ashley’s breath caught as her plan unfolded. The scarves that were part of her gypsy costume—he wanted to use them as restraints. The intimacy of it, the symbolism, made her pulse race.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I trust you.”
Something fierce and possessive flashed in his eyes. “If at any point you want me to stop, you say the word ‘red.’ Do you understand? No matter what’s happening, if you say ‘red,’ I will stop immediately. Your safety, your comfort—that’s paramount. Always.”
The fact that even in his desire, even after years of suppressing his needs, he was thinking first of her wellbeing made Ashley’s chest tighten with emotion.
This wasn’t about cruelty or control for its own sake.
This was about trust, about surrender, about two people finally being honest with each other.
“I understand,” she said. “Red means stop.”