“I can make you feel even better.”
Feel better? Kenneth seemed able to do it only with his mouth and fingers. A sudden chill flooded her mind, even as his fingers soothed her between her legs. When she met his eyes, she could only see dark desire in those heavy-lidded eyes. She realized just how completely she had lost herself in this purely physical relationship.
At home, she had been ready to throw all caution to the wind. It was understandable. But here? Anyone could walk in, and she was prepared to give him everything. What was happening to her?
Kenneth needs a wife to manage his brother’s children. I am nothing more than a convenience.
The thought leaped from the cruelest parts of her brain, buoyed by the woman’s sharp words from just moments ago. It made her remember that he thought she looked well, not beautiful, ravishing, or even pretty. He was like a physician judging her hale and good.
With a sharp inhale, Madeline pressed her palms against his chest and pulled away from him. He blinked, looking confused and unfocused. He reached out for her waist as he caught his breath.
“What is it? Did I do anything wrong?”
She stood before him, her chest heaving from the kiss and her confused emotions. Her silver-blue dress remained stained, though a similar, smaller blot now appeared on his shirt. She looked at him, the most beautiful man she had ever seen, a man who was difficult to read.
“You do not dislike me,” she whispered.
“I do not dislike you, Madeline,” he agreed.
She took a few more steps back, making his hand drop from her waist.
“But you do not love me, either, right?”
Kenneth froze like a statue. He opened his mouth, and Madeline waited for words to come out. She wanted him to tell her that no, he did love her, but nothing came out.
“I... I cannot do this anymore, Kenneth.”
Silence stretched uncomfortably between them. He looked at the floor, jaw clenched. He was, again, a handsome, powerful statue, but a statue, nonetheless. He would never love her.
“Madeline,” Kenneth said, using his usual flat register. The man was control personified, while she was unbridled chaos with him. He did not look up as he retreated a few steps away from her. “We have been happy in our own way. Surely, what we share privately can be enough. I was clear about my intentions from the very beginning. You know what I can offer you. I give you what many women seek in a marriage: my name, my wealth and protection, and my fidelity.” Kenneth raised his eyes to meet hers, and she could see how deep and guarded they still were, even in this intimate conversation. “I do care for you deeply. It is no secret to you that I desire you. Why can that not be enough?”
All hope she ever had faded. She smiled sadly. He was right. She did not owe anyone her smiles. Her happiness. But she also did not owe him her kisses. Her love.
He had been clear, and in that regard, he was fair. She was the one who had ignored the warnings. She knew she was falling intoan abyss of false hopes. The bitter truth became clearer to her.
But Madeline also did not owe her husband kisses. Her body. Or her love.
“This arrangement might be enough for you,” she whispered sadly, “but it is not enough for me.”
She did not wait for any more words to come out of him, if there were any, because she could feel tears building again. She gathered her stained dress, then turned and left the library without looking back, leaving Kenneth in the semi-darkness.
Chapter 22
“Ibelieve I have tried everything possible under the sun,” Madeline muttered to herself.
What was it with Kenneth that had her talking to herself in her bedchamber? She folded her arms across her chest, feeling her throat tighten.
“Dessert. Pretending to be ill. An afternoon picnic. What else can I do? What do I have to show for my efforts? A beautiful, stained gown, and this... this ache...”
She stopped herself. There was the bitter joke of it, the part she could not say aloud even to her own reflection. She had set out to make Kenneth feel something. She had schemed, provoked, and tempted him at every turn, certain she could crack his cold composure and prove there was a heart beneath it. And she had failed at that entirely. The only heart her plan had cracked open was her own. Somewhere between the picnic and the night he held her while she wept, she had fallen in love with her husband—hopelessly, completely—and he had not fallen at all.
“Kenneth is not just behind the walls of Huntington House,” she whispered. “He hasbecomethe walls.”
Madeline had wondered how she might push him further, so that he would feel more. More emotion. More for her. When he had held her, she had been certain he was on the verge of saying something more than that he did not dislike her—that the word he was reaching for was a far warmer one.
But perhaps the fault was hers. Perhaps he was capable of love after all, only not for her. Perhaps it belonged to someone else entirely. The thought left her more wretched than she could ever admit aloud.
She looked out through her window before going downstairs, spying on Malcolm running with his children. His laughter blended with theirs under the bright morning sun. He seemed to look lighter, as if his burdens had been lifted even for a moment.
