Page 54 of The Duke Who Claimed Her

Then he remembered the night of the ball, how he felt when he saw her dancing with Lord Carlisle. After that, it was their argument, followed by their kiss, paired with a feeling that had erupted between them unlike any that Caspian had experienced before.

It was more than passion. It was more than pure desire. It was… completion, whatever that might mean.

Bella was a passing fancy. Safe. With her, Caspian would enjoy the night, knowing that nobody would get hurt. But Arabella was the type of fulfillment that Caspian had for so long avoided, but now wanted like he had never wanted anything.

For the first time ever, he dared to dream that such a thing was possible, and that he might not only have it, but that he deserved it.

“Well?” Bella pressed as the silence stretched between them. “Might I have your name?”

Caspian looked at her with disgust; that being disgust for himself. Even talking to her felt wrong, as if it were a betrayal of his wife. An act like this was something his father might have done; was that not exactly what Caspian wanted to avoid?

I am not my father, and dammit, it is time I prove it.

“No, you may not.” Caspian pushed his mug of ale away and stood.

“You are going?” Bella looked aghast. “Where?”

“It was lovely to meet you, Bella,” he said. “But I am afraid I must return home. Have a pleasant evening.” With those words spoken, Caspian hurried from Boodle’s Club without looking back.

Caspian could still not say what he meant to do regarding his wife. Would he accept his feelings? Would he give his marriage a chance? Those were questions for later.

What he did know—and this stayed with him as he rode home that evening—was that he had deep feelings for his wife that he did not want but could no longer deny. Feelings of lust. Feelings of desire and passion. Feelings that haunted him like a specter, making it impossible to outrun or ignore them.

Like it or not, Arabella had ensnared Caspian in her web, and the harder he struggled, the tighter her trap pulled him so that there was no way out.

Chapter Twenty

As was common, Arabella supped alone.

Although she had not asked, one of the footmen told her that Caspian had gone into London for the evening and was not expected to return until late. And where a small part of Arabella was saddened that her husband was still set on avoiding her, another part was relieved.

She had not spoken to him since the night of the ball, nor had she dared to speak to him about her father’s threats.

It was ironic in many ways that if she and Caspian had not done as they did, if he had not purposefully avoided her as if to remind her that he wanted nothing to do with her, then she might have been more willing to approach him. Until that moment, she had been so sure of who she was growing into, so determined to be a woman in control of her fate and her position in this house.

However, after being so utterly shamed by her father and ignored by her husband in a way that was brutally humbling, she found herself without agency, without confidence, and without a clue what to do.

If I tell Caspian, will he be grateful? Or will he blame me somehow? Will it only serve to make things worse between us…

As if things could be worse!

“Will there be anything else, Your Grace?” the footman asked her as he took her empty plate.

“Oh…” She smiled at him. “No, thank you.” He was about to walk away when a thought came to mind. “Actually, you said that His Grace is out this evening?”

“That is correct.”

“At what hour does he usually return?”

The footman considered. “It varies, Your Grace. But mostly, it is well after midnight.”

“Midnight…” She nodded her head as an idea formed.

The idea was a dangerous one. It was the kind of idea that, a few weeks ago, she would never even have considered—it would not have even occurred to her, such was the danger. But Arabella was not who she had been then. Yes, she had taken a few steps back, and yes, she was lately feeling chastised and weak. But that did not mean she was the same little girl her father seemed to think she was.

If I want to be seen as someone to obey, I must act like it.

It was subtle, hardly felt at all, but Arabella willed a sense of confidence through her body that she desperately needed. She pictured the Dowager and what she might do. She imagined herself possessed of that same level of ability. And then, with nothing else for it, she acted.