Page 14 of My Ruthless Duke

There was no invitation for further questions about it either.

Before she could think better about it, she asked. “Does it have something to do with the murder?”

Matilde stopped walking and turned to face her properly. “I know there are a great deal of rumors surrounding His Grace, but I beg you to do him the kindness of asking him yourself. He is your husband now.”

Yes, he was her husband.

That did nothing to quell her fear of him being a murderer.

“Is there nothing that you can tell me? I have heard so much speculation. I simply wish to know if I am safe here… if I need to fear my husband,” Cordelia asked in a small voice. The limited encounters that she had had with him so far did not make her think she ought to be. But if he was a man capable of murder… he did not seem like it.

But what did she think that a murderer would truly look like? Was she merely being naive? If Matilde had been comfortably employed here all of this time, he could not be so bad, could he?

“I confess I do not know much myself. As you can imagine, it is not a subject that is brought up here.” Matilde sighed. “I do not know how it happened. I know that Monty, the butler, was present when the body of the late duke was found. He was dead, on the ground, and His Grace was over him.”

Matilde shuddered, seeming to push the memory away. But now, it was all that Cordelia could imagine. It was such a vivid picture in her mind that she could not shake it. She did not know if she wished to know more that would make the image even more real than it already felt.

“This is where I leave you, Your Grace. Your door is second on the left there. Unless you require anything else?” Matilde asked sweetly. She had such a warm, comforting presence even with the heavy subject matter they discussed.

“No, I shall be all right. Thank you for your assistance,” Cordelia said in what she hoped was a reassuring tone of voice. She smiled softly as the housekeeper turned and headed back down the hall. Cordelia briefly considered continuing her exploration, but perhaps it was best if she at least attempted to rest. The feeling of unease would not dissipate. She moved into her room, unable to shake the image of Dorian standing over a faceless dead body.

She clicked the latch into place and spun slowly—only to nearly faint once more.

There was somebody in her room.

Chapter 7

“You scared me half to death!” Cordelia gasped, clutching at her chest once more. She braced an arm against the door she had just closed as she attempted to steady herself.

“I do not understand your surprise, wife. This is our wedding night, is it not?” Dorian said flatly with an insinuation that she did not immediately place.

“And you are standing half-bathed in shadows! Do you have no concept of how terrifying that is?” Cordelia responded instantly. His only answer was to arch his brow at her in curiosity. As if it was perfectly natural for him to be standing here in the first place.

Silence stretched between them, and she found insecurity starting to creep into her mind once more. He did not offer any explanation or words that might put her at ease. It was almost as if he relished in her discomfort.

“I thought that this was simply to be a marriage of convenience,” she said finally. It was the only reason that she could think of for him to have come into her room like this. Though, if he expected her to perform her marital duties, she was wholly and utterly unprepared. She did not know what to… Cordelia severed that line of thought right away. He had already told her that he had no intentions of siring an heir.

“What gave you that idea?” Dorian asked, stepping toward her just enough that the silver beams of moonlight peeking in through the parted drapes licked over his profile, giving him something akin to a glow. What was it about him that she was so drawn to? “I do not recall any part of our limited conversations in which I said that I did not desire to consummate this marriage properly.”

She felt rooted to where she stood on the carpet. It was hard to breathe when he was so close. Perhaps, on some level, she ought to have been afraid of him, but she simply was not. Even after his housekeeper had assured her that the rumors of his being a murderer were all but confirmed.

Dorian lifted a hand, letting his knuckles run down the outside of her arm but not moving any closer than that. Goosebumps erupted in the wake of his touch, and she did not dare shudder. The last thing she should want to do was to invite his attention further, but even in this low lighting, he was so handsome. It ought to have been a sin to look the way that he did while having such a dour personality.

“Do you doubt who you belong to, Cordelia? You vowed yourself to me, body, mind, and soul. It was only this afternoon. Do not tell me that you have already forgotten?” Dorian said in a low tone, his words smooth like butter as they rolled off of his tongue.

He had done this last time as well. This strange transformation into somebody that set her skin aflame the moment that they were alone together.

“I am more than happy to remind you if you need it,” he said, his eyes lifting from where they had been watching his fingers trace over her skin and snapped up to meet her gaze.

Cordelia’s breath hitched as if being trapped under his gaze was enchanting; it enthralled her and set her heart pounding. What a silly reaction.

“Di-did you truly murder your own father?” She blurted, unable to stop the words from tumbling out. It was the only thing that she could think of that would lessen… whatever that was that was building between them.

It worked.

She might as well have dumped a bucket of water over his handsome head. Dorian’s hand dropped, and he nearly jerked a half step away from her. His hands moved to clasp together behind his back. That fire that had been burning so brightly in his eyes a moment ago was absent now. “Yes. I did not do anything that my father did not deserve.”

She blinked. Knowing that it could be true and hearing the words from his own mouth was another thing entirely. He did not seem even the slightest bit remorseful. Was it truly so easy for him to extinguish a life? Had it not left a mark on his soul as it would for most others? The small, tiny part of her that had been clinging to the hope that it was all merely rumors fizzled out.

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