Page 20 of My Cruel Duke

“He went into hiding, did he not? I am tired of this rascal and his games!”

Aunt Augusta and Lydia stifled their laughter, and Penny smiled.

Penny too had had enough of the duke and his attitude toward her. It had been seven days since their union and it was bad enough she did not know how she should face the staff in the house since it was as clear as day that the duke had been avoiding her. He was never home, and if he was, she did not see him. He had his dinner sent to his study, and twice she had knocked on his study door but he did not respond. Rufus had claimed the duke was not in his study to try and ease the situation, but she was not stupid.

Rhysand’s uncle, Harold Patterson, had been a breath of fresh air around the otherwise gloomy mansion. He made light jokes and even returned with gifts, which he shared amongst them. She also had not missed the sudden change Aunt Augusta underwent; she now wore her best dresses with appropriate jewelry around the house, and she paraded herself about as an elegant woman, the sort of elegance that was appropriate for a titled lady with influence.

Penny had spoken to everyone in the house except her husband, but that was going to change. If he would not talk to her, or consummate their marriage, then he might as well have her return with her family to her father's house. Penny took a deep breath with the invitation cards in her hands and knocked so loudly that even if Rhysand were dead, he would resurrect and open the door for her. Her lack of patience did not let her wait for a response from him. She pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside.

It looked the same way it did the last time she was here all those weeks ago. Nothing had changed, except then, Rhysand was not in the room when she entered, but now he was sitting behind his desk with his back to her.

“I figured you would be in here and would not open the door for me if I stood there, so I took matters into my hands.” At this, he turned and faced her.

Heavens.

She had forgotten how handsome the man was in his week of absence. She had expected him to grow a horn and fangs and his skin to sag, but it was quite the opposite. If anything, he looked more dashing than she remembered.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” He had started with sarcasm again. She took in a controlled breath. She had not come to argue. She came for business.

“I have only just gathered the invitations to balls we have received. The earliest one being a week from today. Will you be in attendance?”

He noticed she did not saywe; she usedyou, which meant whether or not he agreed to go, she had to go regardless.

He raised a perfectly arched brow.

“I clearly said I do not want balls hosted in my home; I did not say I would not attend other balls.”

“You also said you dislike music and decorations. There will be music and decorations at this ball. Will you be all right?” Impressive. She got a reaction out of him. “Are there other events you would like to attend? I need to know so I can better plan how to step out with Lydia.”

He hated her tone. It was strict and business-like. She sounded like… him. Had he infected her with his darkness already? He stared at her. Impossible. She had more fire in her brown eyes than hell itself.

“Why, dear wife, does it feel as though you are more focused on your sister and not on gracing me with an heir?”

She had promised herself that, while Rhysand locked himself up in his study or bedroom, she would step up and do for Lydia what she promised, with or without his help. She already had a title, thanks to him, and in the society they lived in, it was enough to get her sister married to a responsible and respectable man.

But instead of saying all this, Penny smiled.

“I am told the process involves both parties. When you want to produce your heir, you know where to find me, dear husband.”

The edges of his lips stretched in a fine smile. It was the first time since they met in this very room that he smiled positively, and it suited him. But as quickly as she had seen it, it disappeared, so much that she doubted if he actually smiled. She neared the large desk and dropped the invitation cards on it.

“Let me know beforehand if there are any events you do not want to attend.” He offered a curt nod, staring down at the stack of decorated paper. “Also,” he looked up. Striking blue eyes, giving her all his attention. “We are expected to act like a normal couple if we are to be seen out and about in public. If you have an objection to this, it would be difficult to keep the rumors that will spread at bay.”

“Tell me the details of how a normal couple should act in public.”

For the next week, Rhysand came out of hiding, following his lesson on how to act like a normal couple in public. Penny saw his reluctance, but she admired that he did not back away and simply said it was a way of holding up his end of the bargain. He had learned to not be curt with her and even scowled less. Little change was change nonetheless so she did not complain. They had not ventured into dancing because Rhysand vehemently opposed it, but he learned some manners, and that was sufficient for her.

On the evening of the ball, everything was set, and they all looked ravishing in their formal wear. Lydia was the most breathtaking one of them all in the rose gold fabric of her evening dress, paired with the same-colored gloves. It had been Penny’s choice. She loved the way the color complimented Lydia’s hair and skin tone. Penny wore a lilac dress she had picked only because she loved the black embroidery that followed it.

During his talk with Philip a little over a week ago, the marquess had urged Rhysand to pay Penny compliments, but he desisted from doing it because he knew what that would mean. Yet, he could not help himself. She looked beautiful in everything, ranging from the unusual updo of her hair to her dress. Worst of all, she smelled like a garden of beautiful flowers. Earthy and flowery. For a second, he imagined what she would taste like if he pressed his lips on her neck. Sweet? Spicy? A perfect mix of both?

His bodily response to her had resumed when they started speaking again. She had raised a white flag because she wanted to focus on her sister, and he adhered to it, but his body also adhered to her. The need to be buried deep inside her warm folds increased by the day, and at night, he fought the urge to release himself at the thought of her.

Rhysand was by no means a rake, but if he wanted pleasure, he knew where to find it. He never spent himself on his hands. It was a waste. At least, that was what he thought until a certain brown-eyed woman slithered her way into his mind.

“You look beautiful in that dress,” he managed. Her eyes widened immediately, but she smiled a sweet smile.

“And you look handsome tonight.” He released a grunt to keep him from smiling. It seemed easy, but it was difficult to do.

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