Page 24 of The Duke's Daring Bride

“Can I assume, since you mentioned needing to marry for the dukedom, you will expect intimacy in our—in a marriage?”

Holding her gaze, Alistair dropped his chin, wondering if she could see just how much he was looking forward to said intimacy. Desiring it. Needing it.

Her lips parted in an adorable little oh. Yes, she had spotted—

“And…and once you have a son? Sorry, two sons, isn’t that the way these things are done?”

He raised a brow, his way of asking for elaboration.

Her little pink tongue darted out across her lips nervously. “Will…ah, once you have children, would you still expect intimacy from-from me?”

Ye’d better fooking believe it!

He knew he should be a gentleman, be polite, promise never to touch her once the second son was delivered. But Alistair had to speak—share—his mind.

He forced himself to nod again, slower.

This time, he was certain he heard her whimper.

Christ Almighty, he wanted to hear her whimper like that, again and again!

He wanted her in his lap, across his desk, in his bed. He wanted her.

But instead of falling into his arms, she stumbled backward, eyes wide. Away from him.

Of course.

Of course.

“I—You said I could think about it? I’ll stay here, if you’d prefer. I just—I need to check on the paper and my editors.”

That wasn’t revulsion in her eyes, it was fear.

Disgusted with himself, Alistair turned back to the papers on his desk—the papers covered in his scrawled, one-sided conversation—and reached across them for the stupid bell.

It made him feel like some kind of ogre, ringing for his next victim, but it worked.

Hiro was prompt, as always. Bastard must’ve been waiting outside the door for his summons. “Your Grace?”

Alistair jerked his chin, indicating Miss Wilson should go with his butler.

“Ah… The Duke has kindly offered me lodging, sir.” She glanced back at Alistair, uncertainty in her gaze, but he did nothing to ease her discomfort. “Perhaps…perhaps you could arrange it?”

Hiro bowed again. “Right this way, Miss Wilson.”

God knew what went on after his butler shut that door—Alistair stared at it, unblinking, wondering what in the hell he’d got himself into this time—but only a few minutes went by before it opened again and Hiro slipped inside.

“What in damnation, Alistair?” he snapped, his staid demeanor disappearing now it was only the two of them. “Miss Wilson is nervous as a worm on a hook. I put her in the pink room.”

Christ, Hiro knew how much he detested the pink room. He’d likely put her there on purpose.

Frowning, the duke stood, swept up the papers with his proposal, and thrust them toward his friend and sparring partner.

Hiro whistled as he read the words penned there. “You are going to marry her?”

She was desperate.

It was safest this way.

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