Chapter 13
Anna paced her room that night, furious at what had happened.
She had planned to make herself heard, yet once again it felt as though he was refusing to.
Once again, their discussion had ended with him having the last word, and with him being condescending while doing so.
She knew that it was unwise to draw more attention to themselves, but what else could she do?
His lack of warmth had led her to say things that she did not mean, but that did not change how she felt; she would not pretend, she could not, simply because he wanted her to. She groaned, and her lady’s maid entered, a look of concern on her face.
“Are you alright, Your Grace? I have heard you pacing for a long time now.”
“I do not know what else to do,” Anna huffed, sitting by her mirror. “Might you brush my hair? I fear it is knotted with how many times I have pulled on it.”
Her maid set about the task immediately, and Anna tried in vain to relax.
“I do not know what to do about His Grace,” she confessed. “I know that he is planning to leave again, we all know, but I do not want him to, and I do not know how to stop him.”
“I do not believe that anyone would. He has always done as he pleased, from what I have been told.”
“And he is a man, so that is his right, but he should have changed his priorities long ago. He has a wife now, a family to protect, and that should be more important than whatever he continues to run to.”
“He likely knows that. He is not a fool, but he seems to believe he is right, or that he has no other choice.”
“And perhaps he does not, but if I do not understand why that is, then what is the difference? He should want to please me, as his wife.”
“And he may well. I know that he is not what you may have expected, but he is not a bad man.”
“So you all say, but I cannot see it. All that I know is he had a duty to me, and he did not fulfil it. He does not want to even now. All that he wants to do is control me, as if I am to blame for it.”
Her maid gave her a look of pity, and Anna wished that she could think of anything else.
Once before, she had a varied range of interests, but ever since her husband had returned, he was all that she could think of, and she did not know whether or not she liked it.
All that she cared about was whether or not her husband wanted her, and all she could wonder was why he did not.
And she was not going to let that continue.
“I must go,” she said suddenly, standing. “Thank you.”
She raced down the hallway, not stopping when she reached his door to consider her actions. She was going to find out why he was continuing to neglect her, and why nothing that she said seemed to make a difference to him.
She barged in, determined not to let him have the final say.
She froze the moment she entered.
Standing before her was Spencer, wearing nothing at all. His skin was still damp from his bath, and though she had intruded, he was smiling at her, as though pleased that she had seen him.
“Good evening,” he greeted. “I was not expecting a visit this late at night. You were not waiting for me in the kitchens again, were you?”
She did not respond. Her eyes betrayed her, slipping completely unpermitted over his form.
She had admired his clothed body so many times in the last week that she felt she deserved to see it in its entirety, just once.
Even in formal dress, it was obvious that his legs were long and strong, but the elegant swell and dip of muscle made her breath catch.
She had looked at his arms many times and wondered how they would look holding her up—or even holding her down—but there was a difference when she saw them bare, in the warm glow of the candlelight. He was toned and muscular, his stomach flat and leading to his–
She turned around, almost yelping.
“It is proper for one to knock first,” he teased. “Then again, I do not suppose that I would have chosen to look any different. You do always choose the strangest times to arrive at my door.”
She could not believe how casually he was speaking, as though she had not invaded his privacy and seen him unclothed. It was as though he enjoyed being seen by her, and though it angered her greatly, she had to admit that she enjoyed looking at him in return.
“Get dressed,” she instructed. “We are going to talk.”
“I need not dress myself at all, if it pleases you. You are my wife, after all.”
“It does not please me. I want a sensible discussion.”
“And that would not be possible as it stands?”
“You know that it would not. It would be practically impossible.”
“Because it pleases you.”
“Not at all!”
But it did. She was still furious, but it would indeed have pleased her for him to remain as he was. There was a lot he could do to please her—her traitorous memory presented her with an exhaustive list drawn from her novels—and none of it required clothing. But she would do what had to be done.
“I shall give you one final offer of it.”
“And I refuse it.”
He chuckled, and she heard the rustle of fabric. She waited for it to quieten again, and then she turned to see him wearing his trousers, but remaining shirtless.
She bit her lip without thinking, and that only earned a grin.
He was deliberate in his actions, knowing perfectly well that she was affected by him.
She had read so much that it was only natural that she would think of him in that way, and it was not helped when he only encouraged her to have such thoughts to begin with.
“You cannot do that in an attempt to distract me,” she argued, but he made his way to her and placed a heavy hand on her waist. “I asked you to dress yourself, not to remain shirtless so that I can look at you.”
“Do you believe that is what I am doing?”
“Of course.”
His hand raised to her nightgown, his fingers playing with the fabric that arched over her breasts. She shuddered at his touch, knowing that it was not from any chill in the room.
“Then why, pray tell,” he teased, “did you decide to come to my room wearing this?”
“Because it was what I was wearing. Do not think that I would do this for your attention.”
“That is a shame, for if you did, it is working very well.”
When they had finished their conversation earlier that day, she was furious with him, and he knew that. It did not make sense that he was flirting with her so brazenly, knowing that she wanted nothing to do with it. Unless, that was, he could tell that it was precisely what she wanted.
There was a closeness that came with his touching her, and it was exactly what she had been desperate for in his absence.
She wanted to enjoy that aspect of married life, and she longed to feel the way the characters she read about did.
When he touched her, she got a glimpse of the incredible things she could feel—tempting, delicious, vital—but that was all that she could allow herself.
She batted his hand away, heat rising in her cheeks.
She had not intended it, but she would have been lying if she said that she did not enjoy the way he was looking at her.
It was all she had wanted for so long, and though she resented him for making her wait, she could not pretend she was not reveling in it.
“I know what you want, Anna.”
“You do not. If you did, you would not be doing this right now. You would have listened to me earlier. You would have tried harder from the moment we met.”
“I can do that, if you like. I can do exactly what you want me to, just once, and it will be enough for you.”
“Spencer, I–”
But it was clear that he had no interest in talking any further.
He pressed his lips to hers, the hand that had been on her gown flattening and squeezing her breast slightly.
She gasped into him, allowing him entry.
He was delicate with his tongue, but wandering and desperate with his hands.
He traced lines with his left hand, running it up and down her waist, while his right hand lifted into her hair, running through it.
Suddenly, he pulled away, leaving a few mere centimeters between them. Anna could see that he had been affected by it every bit as much as her, and her desperation was palpable. She wanted more.
She needed more.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him back. They connected again, and this time there was no trepidation in her. Once she had made it clear that she did not want him to pull away again, she allowed her own hands to explore.
She began with his broad shoulders, at last being able to enjoy feeling them as much as she did looking at them. She made her way down, and as she reached his elbows, he placed his hands on her hips and lifted her up, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist.
She wondered if he would carry her to his bed, but he instead lay her down on a settee, hovering above her with his hips pressing into her.
In the small space between them, he slid his hand in and opened her nightgown, playing with her breasts again.
She whimpered into him, her eyes tightly closed as she writhed against him.
She was desperate, and it was impossible that he did not know that.
“I want you,” she whispered.
“Do you now?” he teased, releasing the pressure that he had placed on her.
“Yes,” she begged. “Please do not stop.”
With a wry smile, he placed his hand on her waist instead, using his fingertip to trace patterns on her skin. As he did so, he kissed her neck, gently biting the delicate skin by her collarbone.
“You ask me so nicely,” he groaned. “It is charming how polite you are.”
“And as I ask you so nicely, you will do as I say, yes?”
“If you are willing to reciprocate.”
He back arched against him at the thought of it. She knew exactly what he meant, and what he was asking her to do, and she would have gladly done so if it meant at last feeling the pleasure that she had been so desperate for.
“How eager,” he chuckled, his fingers lowering until they reached her thighs. “There is so much that I want to do to you.”
“Like what?” she asked, voice louder than anticipated.
“I believe you could be more polite than that.”
She steadied herself, or at least attempted to. She did not want to be nice or polite. She wanted to be completely disgraceful, but if it meant he would continue, she was willing to do anything.
“What do you want to do with me, Your Grace?”
“Much better,” he teased, squeezing her thigh. “For a start, I would kiss more than your lips and your neck. I would make sure that every part of you is kissed and touched, so that you know exactly who you belong to.”
And when his hand rested at the inner top of her thigh, dangerously close to her most sensitive place, she knew there was no denying who that was.
Pressing her fingernails into his back, she felt tension rising in her stomach. She needed it to continue, but she also needed relief.
Neither happened.
Spencer pulled away again, grinning wickedly as he pulled himself to his feet. He adjusted his trousers, but left his hair in the state she had put it in.
“Unless you wish to experience everything you read about,” he warned, “we ought to stop here.”
Anna did not have the words to argue. She did not want to stop, but when she tried to say as much, she felt herself dizzying even more. He chuckled at her, deliberately keeping the small distance between them.
“Had I known that a kiss was all that was necessary to make you quiet, I would have done it long before. I may do it every day I am here, just to be sure.”
So he was going to leave her again. Her dizzy pleasure vanished into cold certainty.
Even so, she only wished to take the smug smile off of his face. It was infuriating that he knew just what to do to her, and she would come undone. She had gone to his room furious, and he had shown her such passion that she had let it go, but she could not allow that.
“This– this will never happen again,” she asserted. “I will not allow you to do that again.”
“Oh, but you will,” he chuckled, lowering himself again so that his lips were by her ear. “You will want this again, and you will beg me for it. I know you, Anna. You can fight it all you want, but there is no use.”
“You are insufferable,” she huffed, pushing herself into a sitting position and hastily tying her gown again.
“And yet, you so badly wish to suffer me.”
She left the room without agreeing aloud, but of course it was true. She wanted him so badly that it was only when she returned to her room that she remembered that she had gone there to argue with him.
She was merely glad that her maid had left, and she was alone in her torment.