Tears formed in Madeline’s eyes. She was not hurt. No. If she were truly in pain, she would have eased from the Duke’s body hovering over her. There was enough space for her to slip out if she had wanted.
No. She was nearly crying because the moment was so intense, the dam inside her chest was close to overflowing. Shame once again washed over her. She had not once fought against the strikes. She had welcomed them.
“K-Kenneth,” she whimpered, no longer beyond begging. Her forehead dropped, supported by her arms. It was too close to the headboard itself.
“Yes, Madeline?” he asked, pausing the strikes for only a moment.
“I... I do not...”
“Tell me what you want. Speak.”
“P-please,” she begged, her fingernails digging hard into the wooden carvings. Through her blurry eyes, she saw tiny figures of bodies intertwined etched on the wood. Who had she truly married? Who was he really?
“Please, what, wife?”
“Please, Kenneth, touch me.”
His hand completely stilled this time. In fact, he withdrew from her. She felt the emptiness as he slowly rose from his position behind her. Madeline’s body trembled, and her skin flushed as if in a fever. She was dizzy, with her pulse pounding in her temples and chest. She did not know whether she needed a glass of water to douse the fire or to light it further—with more of him.
“You begged much sooner than I had expected,” Kenneth observed, much to her horror. Was he disappointed in her? Was he looking for a challenge?
Worse, the Duke’s voice was back to his usual calm stoicism. The only clue she had that something must have changed was the undercurrent of deep satisfaction in his voice.
Then, he stood up, completely releasing her. Madeline should feel relieved. After all, Kenneth did not seem in a rush to take her virtue. However, she was more deeply disappointed, as her body still thrummed with desperation and unfulfilled lust. Liquid had pooled between her legs, and her nipples were hard. She did not realize that such activities could do that to a woman’s body, but now she knew.
It was a struggle to turn around and face him. Her cheeks were still hot with shame and confusion. She saw him watching her with an impassive expression. No, she still could not read this man.
“You may go, Madeline,” he said, his voice losing all its warmth. It was almost as if they merely had a meeting about the estate’s financial status. “You have met your punishment. I have taken responsibility for what is mine.”
It was all that it was to him. Kenneth had to prove a point. He was emotionless, like his brother said. He would do anything to show that his wisdom and control were intact.
Madeline’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. She blinked her eyes furiously. The realization that this man would never love her somehow did not cool the desire within her. She smoothed her orange dress, her hands shaking and her legs feeling clumsy enough to fall.
She fled.
The hallway gave her much-needed cool air. She needed a bath to wash away the heat from her body. Or a walk. It was a shameher room was right next door. Soon, she was rushing inside to hide from the world, but the brief flight was not long enough to cool her desires.
In her room, she caught her reflection in the vanity mirror. Her hair was loose and wild. Perhaps it was a blessing that their rooms were adjoined. Nobody else would have to witness the madness in her eyes and the rumple in the fabric of her dress. One look at her, and other people would know.
What in the world just happened?
Biting her lip, she flung herself onto her bed. She was frustrated. She wanted more from her husband, and she could not hold back her feelings as well as he could. Her emotions were always clear on her face.
In her bed, Madeline was tempted to touch herself—something Kenneth had denied her. But would her hands be enough to ignite the fire?
She groaned into her pillow, still feeling incredibly frustrated.
Chapter 12
“Madeline, I need you.”
Kenneth kissed down the line of her neck and lower, dragging his teeth over the swell of her breasts until she gasped. Her gown was gone. His coat, his shirt, all of it gone, and there was nothing between his rough palms and her bare skin. He pressed her back into the bed and followed her down, his weight settling over her, pinning her hips beneath his.
“You are shaking,” he said against her stomach.
“Because of you.”
His mouth moved lower. When he reached the aching spot between her thighs, she cried out and fisted her hands in his dark hair.
