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A week had passed since that abnormal conversation. Philip spent his nights in a hell of unfulfilled desire and his days in bitter frustration. He’d been rough with the staff, bad-humoured with his friends and excessively combative in Parliament. Worse still, she’d been avoiding him like the plague.
And, hell, he missed her, like a shipwrecked soul. How could it be possible? It’d never happened to him. Women constituted part of life, not a big one at that. She occupied his thoughts as no one else. Worse still, he wanted no one else, ever. She had this power to monopolize his attention, his desire, his…guts! A fever in his blood. That had to be the only explanation.
Tired of playing this cat and mouse game, he summoned her to the library. Big mistake, he concluded, as she knocked and came in. She looked delicious in that grey dress. The sight of her made him think only of taking her upstairs.
“You wanted to talk to me.” Her vivid green eyes focused somewhere beyond him.
“Yes.” He imprinted authority in his tone. “It’s time we resumed our previous…conditions, so to say.”
He would not ask her. Beg her? Never! He was the duke, she was a woman, his woman, supposed to do his bidding.
“I don’t think so, Your Grace.” Perfectly composed, her hands laced in front of her.
Staring closer at her, she appeared paler, with dark circles under her eyes. So she also paid the toll, did she now.
“Your actions are completely unreasonable.”
“Unreasonable?” Her brows pleated, her hands flew to her slim waist. Not so composed are we.
“Yes, that’s what I said.” He provoked. Oh, damn, but he wanted to do more than provoke. The sofa lay so close!
“You insulted me in that despicable way and here you call me irrational!”
“A marriage proposal is supposed to honour, not to insult!” His patience slipping away, the badly slept nights, the frustration, everything coming to the surface.
"Of course I'm insulted!” She paced closer to his desk. “You've mistreated me, taken me for a low born gold and title digger.” Her cheeks flushed. “Then you touch my maidenhead and propose!” What kind of gentleman are you, anyway?” Her green eyes flashed anger. “If I had been just the average widow, what then?” Her chin lifted defiant. Oh, blast, but she aroused him! “I'
d be good enough for a tryst?” Her face became very serious. “I'm not marrying you. Not for the reasons I think you have. You show no respect for me!”
“I understand your point of view after your reasoning.” He tried to remain calm and cold. Impossible looking at her. She had a point he had to admit. His attitudes towards her didn’t recommend him in the least. “What should I have thought of you, then?” He insisted. “A young woman,” beautiful and tempting like no other. “Married to a man trice her age.” He never asked her why, but the reason seemed clear enough.
“Haven’t you come to know me better, perhaps?” She asked with so much dignity, it impressed him.
Know her? Oh, yes, in the biblical sense, no doubt. But…yes, he’d got to interact more with her and he could say she didn’t seem the materialistic type, she didn’t go shopping as often as other women; hid in the blasted library every time she had the opportunity. She’d learned a lot there, he remembered that afternoon in the manor, before they came back to London. No! Do not go there! His body reacted to the memory so furiously he had to remain seated.
“I have.” He conceded. “My marriage proposal meant no insult.” His eyes perused her greedy. “It stands.”
Selene stood at the very end of her strong willed intention to remain away from him. These last days were sheer misery! During the day, daydreams and memory interfered in all she did. In the night, cravings and heated dreams haunted her. Her decision faltered; living in the same house made his allure definitely unbearable. She had no idea as to how she’d cope. She must, though. Her pride and dignity didn’t allow her to lower herself giving in to someone who had such a bad opinion of her.
“Thank you. The answer is still the same.” She said resolutely.
Moreover, she thought, he fast became a threat to her peace of mind and the integrity of her emotions. As their bodies entwined in the night, so did her emotions. She had to put distance between them for fear of losing her depth. So many things happened underneath when their bodies talked their own language. Tenderness, empathy, consuming yearning, a connection beyond anything rational and explainable. On her part. She knew that for him it would be no more than good and convenient pastime. He’d turn his attentions elsewhere in due time. Married to him, she’d have no way out. Bitterness would be her destiny. One she must avoid at all costs.
“Fine!” He stood restlessly and paced the study. Twice refused by the most infuriating woman on the planet! Did he have no pride? Little where she was concerned, it appeared.
“Don’t be angry.” She sounded like she attempted conciliation. “I am not suitable for you, you know that.” She inhaled deeply. “You need to find an unmarried young lady of high breed for your lineage.”
“To the devil with suitable!” He raked a hand through his sleek black hair and she followed his fingers enviously. “I abhor those starry-eyed debutants, whose mamas advise to endure a husband’s attention like motionless mummies.”
He saw all her skin flushing, not in shame, certainly.
“I want you!” He continued. “Your passion, your fire, your…participation!” He didn’t care if she noticed his discomposure, he’d gone farther than that.
“I won’t be your wife and tarnish your family line.” She answered coolly, despite the rise and fall of her bosom. “I come from the petit-noblesse and fortunately no children came from my marriage to your uncle.”
Oh, but she gave herself to him, Philip, and she was his, either she liked it or not. And he’d bring her back to his bed. Soon. He was approaching ebullition point. The need of her consumed him to breaking point. He knew she felt it too, he saw it written all over her delectable person. Or he’d plead, beg, beseech! Even on his knees, he’d swallow his darn pride and yield. He thought her worth it; don’t ask him why, he just did.
“Am I dismissed, Your Grace?” Oh, he hated when she put so much distance between them, that she called him by his title!
