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“Yes. You clearly need help.” Her aunt had let out a snort worthy of a thespian. “Or a good round of blanket hornpipe to work out all that tension.”
The marchioness had reared back, face going puce. “Good Lord, must you be so vulgar? Don’t think I don’t know what you and that sordid Frenchman are up to in this very house!”
“Mustyoube so straitlaced?”
They’d stared at each other in strained silence, mirrors of each other in appearance and yet so firmly opposite in nature. Bronwyn had shaken her head. Her mother could stand to let loose, and Aunt Esther, well, she could do with some boundaries, but they were both rather set in their ways.
“He’s a duke, Mama, and he outranks Lord Herbert,” Bronwyn had interjected before the twins started shedding blood. “Shouldn’t you be happy? I shall be a duchess.”
“AScottishduke,” her mother had muttered as if the very thing was blasphemy.
Bronwyn had almost laughed at her aghast expression. “Don’t worry, you still have Stinson and Florence. Perhaps they will find the blue blood you so desire, and you can balance out us scoundrels in the family.”
In truth, it didn’t much matter what her mother thought. As much as Lady Borne had given birth to her, some of her opinions as well as her behavior were truly execrable, and the way she treated Courtland was unforgivable. It was difficult and disappointing when such intolerance was in a family member, but sometimes space needed to be taken. Bigotry was an ingrained thing—brought on by a lifetime of privilege—but that didn’t mean people could not change, and Bronwyn meant to lead by example.
One day, her mother would learn. It wasn’t Courtland’s job to educate her on his heritage; that wasBronwyn’swork, if she chose…and she did. Because it meant something. Broadening a single person’s point of view could make all the difference.
“What are you thinking about, Duchess?” her duke asked, coming to stand beside the bed and staring down at her with an appreciative look. “You were frowning quite fiercely.”
“Privilege…and my mother…and the fact that she might never learn.”
He lifted his brows. “Heavy thoughts.”
“Sometimes necessary ones.”
Her duke tugged at the edge of the sheet, bringing it dangerously low on her hips. “But not in bed, however.”
“One of these days, Your Grace, we will have to leave this bed and get back to the real world.”
“But I love it here.”
Bronwyn shook her head at him as he pouted that full bottom lip and looked positively edible. This was the problem with them. One sultry look and her brain dissolved into mush.
“Will you release me?” she asked, jangling the cuffs.
“You look like theVenus de Miloin repose with the sheets draped just so,” he said, his golden eyes darkening as they took in her exposed breasts and belly with undisguised relish.
“That statue has no arms.”
He smiled. “Yours are restrained. Seeing you thus does things to me.”
It did things to her, too. A forgotten memory of her adolescent fantasies flitted across her thoughts. She let out a low laugh. “Did you know I used to fantasize that I was Andromeda chained to a rock waiting for the sea monster to come?” She licked her lips, cheeks heating. “Only the monster was you.”
His eyes flared with desire at the image. “Was I fearsome and…large?”
“Now you’re just fishing for compliments,” she replied laughing. “Yes, very well, the largest I have ever seen. Actually, the only one I’ve ever seen. I’ve no basis for comparison with other sea monsters, you see.”
“Yes, I see, and we shall keep it that way,” he growled with possession in his voice. He kicked off his trousers as though he meant to stake his claim—again—then and there, and Bronwyn’s eyes went wide, her throat dry. Monster, indeed.
“Good God, Your Grace, surely you have tired yourself out by now? Your duchess is famished and needs to be fed.”
“I need to be fed.” He climbed onto the edge of the bed with a playful growl and tugged the sheet off, his mouth going slack. Gracious, she loved the way he looked at her. Bronwyn had wondered as the months had gone by if he would ever tire of her or lose interest, but his eyes always glowed with that scorching combination of lust and love. “Not even theVenus de Milocan compare to your perfection.”
She rolled her eyes, though she blushed at the praise. “I think the Duke of Thornbury is addled with hunger as well.”
“Hunger for you,” he said, climbing up her naked body and kissing each of her breasts and then her lips. With a deft twist of his fingers, he released the locking mechanism on the handcuffs and placed them on the bedside table. He brought her arms down and she moaned softly as he massaged her wrists. “Sore?”
“No, but that feels good.”
