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As a matter of fact, the managing of the household had been under her responsibility since she’d got married and it hadn’t changed much after the new duke took over. He had this terrible habit of overseeing everything he possessed; he contradicted her orders to infuriating point. Her eyes darted shards of anger he pretended to ignore.
First course served, Philip dismissed the staff.
“Judging by the length of time you conversed with the pauper earl, I presume, he’s proposing.” Philip begun, before a forkful of his dinner.
“Remarrying is not on top of my list.” Her voice steady.
“Oh?” He looked attentively at her. “How is that?”
“I’ve already been married, I can take a break.”
“I see.” He drank his wine, and rang for the next course.
They waited in silence as Jenkins and the footmen moved around and then left. A long silence ensued, both concentrating on their plates. Selene felt rather awkward eating so near him. Yesterday evening would be branded like fire in her memory. The waltz, the carriage ride, the clinging in the night. It’d unsettled her like nothing had before, not even the fact that her father forced her to marry. She’d awoke at the first lights and hurried to her room to put her wayward thoughts in order. Or try, at least. Unsuccessfully. Still at a loss what to think, she spent the day wondering the house as a ghost. Philip had gone to the club, giving her some reprieve.
Her mind, her memories, her body had been very concentrated in these last weeks. She’d been living her life in a daze of rippling emotions, consuming desire and disordered thoughts. He and all he evoked, provoked, incandesced in her kept rounding her thoughts over and over. She couldn’t concentrate in any task. Reading, sewing, society had become hard chores. She felt languid, needy. Wanton. Her whole being concentrated in their fervent nights, when their bodies entwined and she lost her soul to the darkness.
“You’ve been rather scarce today.” He lifted his clove eyes to hers. “I woke up to a cold bed.” He drawled.
“That’s how it’s supposed to be!” She said firmly.
“It doesn’t need to be that way.” He lifted his eyebrows.
“How so?” She tilted her head inquisitively.
“Marry me.”
Her eyes widened on him. That had to be the last thing she’d expected to hear from him. Ever. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”
“Absolutely not.” His rich velvet voice casual. “Have you stopped to think you might be pregnant?”
She blanched. She’d never thought about the possibility. Goodness Gracious! What would she do if it came to that?
“I never did anything to prevent it.” He added.
“Prevent it?” How uninformed could she get?
“Yes, withdraw before…” He paused, seeing she’d flushed violently. “I’m usually half mad when I am…” With you? Inside you? Dancing with you? She didn’t care what he’d say.
All she did was stare at him dumbfounded, her body reacting intensely to the images he evoked.
“The sensible solution would be marriage, naturally.”
“Sensible?” Her eyes wide, her brows pleated. “It’d fall like a cannon ball in the ton!”
His clove glare hardened. “I don’t care what others think! If you have my heir, you’ll have my name.” He shrugged. “Not that you don’t already have it, you know.” The crux of the question fell exactly in this irony.
She gazed him, her mind racing. What the darn was happening here? Marry him? Risk ostracism? Scandal? Someone got crazy here and it wasn’t her!
In the beginning, he suspected her motives, bullied her, misunderstood her, tantalized her. Then he discovered she had been a virgin and now this. What would have he done if her marriage had been consummated? She’d be the widow at hand? The convenient mistress? The live-in paramour? His proposal insulted the hell out of her. She wasn’t a dame in distress! She didn’t need saving! Princes in shiny armours existed only in novels. He’d be the last candidate she’d conjecture for the role, by the way! For sure, he proposed only because of the blasted hymen!
Feigning a calmness she felt miles away from, she folded her both hands on the edge of the table and ogled him stonily. “You insult me with your proposal, Your Grace.” She sipped her wine with finesse. “I don’t want you to touch me ever again!”
She rang for Jenkins. “Jenkins, I am indisposed. Please, serve His Grace. I am retiring for the night.” She stood and left.
Bloody hell! Bloody blasted hell! Philip thought, as he watched her stomp out of the dining room, hips swaying deliciously. What had he done now? As far as he knew, proposing marriage figured amongst the honourable thing to do by any woman! Not by this one, it seemed. Why did she think it an insult? There were dozens of starry-eyed debutantes who would kiss the floor he walked on for the chance of marrying a duke. Alright, so she already had the title. That was it then. She had the title, the money, the freedom. Would she think him a hassle in her life? What went through the damned woman’s mind? On top of that, she’d leave his bed. What was he to do? Go insane, certainly.
Chapter 11
