“Madeline, you must remind yourself that you are the Duchess of Huntington. You have no business invading the kitchens.”
“Oh, is that so? I feel like being a duchess should at least give me more freedom of choice. A wife should at least be allowed to feed her husband,” she replied, smiling at him. It felt strange playing the seductress. However, she was curious enough to see what he would do when pushed a little too far.
Just as she said the last word, the door opened and a young kitchen boy entered with a silver platter. He set it directly in front of Kenneth before scrambling out of the room as if it were on fire.
Kenneth looked down to see what was laid before him. It was a small tart, garnished with a small leaf and drizzled with a rich, red syrup. It certainly looked beautiful, Madeline made certain. She used a mold to make the perfect circle of what looked like a strawberry-and-chocolate confection.
“Go on. I was told that you like chocolate and strawberry flavors, do you not?” she asked, a little teasingly.
The flavors were supposed to be simple, almost juvenile. They were the sorts of treats children loved. What could go wrong?
“I do prefer them,” he admitted, a little ruefully, as he took a spoon and began to dig in.
Kenneth did not notice that Madeline was watching him with almost feral intensity. She watched him as he took that first bite, waiting for him to react to the taste. It was because she knew that the pretty surface was a facade, hiding the fact that she deliberately used salt instead of sugar and added vinegar and crushed mustard seeds. It was all in her goal to see his handsome face twist into a look of utter revulsion. That was the sort of human reaction she wanted from the often stony-faced duke.
Kenneth was eerily quiet. He placed a small slice onto his tongue and chewed slowly. Madeline held her breath, her fingernails digging into her palms. She waited for him to break, but all he did was chew. His face was serene, almost as if he were eating a regular dessert. Nothing spectacular. Nothing disgusting, either.
“Well? What do you think?” she dared ask.
He kept eating. Madeline’s eyes could not help but bulge at the sight of that. He did not even reach for his wine. Instead, he took another slice and ate just as slowly and deliberately.
“It is... nice.”
What! How can he say that?
The tart could not have just magically become palatable. Could it?
Madeline took her fork and stabbed the remaining slice of tart. She shoved it into her mouth, perhaps driven by the almost disinterested way in which Kenneth ate his dessert.
Suddenly, all the nasty flavors she expected burst into her mouth, attacking her taste buds. It was all the wrong ingredientsin the wrong amounts exploding into her senses, making her gag. She coughed into her hand. She then grabbed his wine glass and took large gulps to rid herself of the terrible taste.
“How can you eat that?” she exclaimed, her eyes still wide from the shock of the horrific taste that she herself concocted. “How can you eat this thing without being utterly disgusted?”
Kenneth did not move. He did not flinch from her outburst, either. He just sat there, with the taste likely lingering on his tongue.
“I knew what it was from the first bite,” he admitted.
“Then, why did you finish it?” she asked, almost angry. Part of her was more concerned. What was wrong with him? “Why did you not push the plate away? Why were you not upset at all or disgusted?”
Kenneth pushed his chair back and rose from it. His height towered over her, and she remembered just how intimidating he could be.
“Why? Because you made it for me,” he said simply, stepping out from behind the table. “Despite your attempts to provoke me, I have no desire to offend you. I would not reject something you made with your own hands.”
Madeline opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She had always wanted to matter to someone. She had not expected it to look like this, to have her husband eat her disgusting tart rather than make her feel foolish. It was a small thing, but it undid her anyway.
“Kenneth, I was merely trying to—”
“Oh, of course, I know what you were trying to do,” he interrupted. He was now so close that his shirt brushed against her dress.
The dessert had no effect on this man, but his scent overwhelmed her within seconds of his proximity.
“You wanted a reaction,” he continued. “You wanted to see if I would lose control. I am starting to believe that you like it when I do.”
Before she could reply, Kenneth reached for her waist. His large hands were hot, searing through the purple silk of her dress. Then, he quickly and effortlessly lifted her off her feet and placed her onto the dining table.
“What... what are you doing, Kenneth?” she demanded. “The servants may return at any moment and see us.”
“The doors are locked, Madeline,” he whispered, as he pulled her to the edge of the table, bunching her dress up her thighs. “But I do not really give a damn if they see. After all, I am emotionless, am I not, Madeline?”
