Page 33 of My Ruthless Duke

Inhaling sharply, she attempted to muster courage the best that she could. What was the worst that could happen? He could shut her down again, and things would be exactly where they were right now.

“Dorian…”

She did not mean for her voice to sound quite so small when she spoke.

“What is it?” Dorian answered as he slipped his legs into his breeches and started to tie the laces around his waist.

Cordelia swallowed, suddenly feeling more vulnerable. “When are we going to talk about… us?” The question hung in the air between them, heavier than she had thought.

Dorian stilled, his fingers pausing. His expression grew guarded, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he turned away from her. “What about us?”

Cordelia sat up, clutching the edge of the blanket. “Are we to have a real marriage, Dorian? I… I do not know what this is supposed to be between us.” Her words tumbled out in a rush,each one laced with uncertainty. “Do you… care for me? Or are we simply fulfilling obligations?”

Dorian’s eyes darkened as he turned toward her, his usual composure slipping for just a moment. But then, as quickly as it had appeared, the emotion was gone, replaced with that familiar mask he wore so effortlessly.

“Cordelia,” he began, his voice steady but evasive, “I have given you everything I can. Is that not enough?”

She shook her head, feeling frustrated by his deflection. “I am not asking for material things, Dorian. I want to know what I mean to you. You never talk about your feelings or…” She trailed off, changing tactics. “I feel like I am in the dark.” She hesitated, then pushed forward. “I deserve to know some things about you.”

His gaze flickered again, tension pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Trust me, it is better this way.”

“No,” she countered, her voice firmer now. “I need something, anything. If you will not tell me how you feel, at least tell me something about your past. Why will you not talk about it? About your father, about the things you have endured? I am your wife, Dorian. I have a right to know.”

Dorian exhaled sharply, a muscle in his jaw tightening. “Some things are better left buried.”

She felt the familiar pang of frustration and helplessness rise within her, but she was not going to let it go. Not this time. “All right,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less insistent. “When can we talk about the greenhouse then?”

Dorian’s brow arched. “What do you mean?”

The way his gaze raked over her semi-nude frame, he knew what she was hinting at. She was talking about the time that they spent there together. Her face flushed, her body warming with the suggestion despite how serious the topic was.

“I mean… why do you keep it chained and off-limits?” Cordelia asked.

There. It was out there. She had asked the question. She could not take it back.

However, the silence in the room instantly grew very uncomfortable as he angrily pulled his shirt over his head. “I do not wish to talk about it.”

“You cannot avoid telling me the truth forever, you know,” Cordelia said gently, hoping that she did not trigger his temper. It was not as if she felt he would lash out, but she did not want to have the subject closed in her face all over again. “You promised not to lie.”

Dorian paused, lingering where he stood before sighing heavily and pinching his brow. “This is not a subject that you are just going to let go, is it?”

Cordelia shook her head.

He crossed the room and sat on the edge of her bed, facing away from her. She was sorely tempted to close the distance between them. Whatever the reason was, it was obviously a memory that was still painful to him. She did not wish to be rejected if she attempted to offer him comfort. No doubt, it was a foreign concept to him.

“You will not speak of it. Your sister will not speak of it; there is clearly a story there, and nobody will tell me, and I just…” Cordelia attempted to explain why she wanted to know, knowing that she was over-explaining herself.

“My father was a very violent man,” Dorian admitted in a soft voice, but it was very clear that he did not wish to even share that much.

It was an olive branch made of spun sugar. She felt that it would shatter it if she so much as breathed.

“He…” Dorian sighed and shook his head. His hands curled into fists in his lap, pressing into the tops of his thighs like the motion alone was grounding him in the present. “I was something of a soft child. A trait that my father abhorred more than anything else. He would not tolerate anything that he perceived as weakness, least of all from his heir.”

It was such a drastic difference from her own upbringing. Her father was always doting on her, bringing her little gifts and trinkets from his travels. Her mother was not anything like the woman she presently was; she was full of light and loved nothing more than to invent fun little games for them to play together.

“I had a love for animals and farming. I wanted to learn everything that I could about them. Something he thought was wholly foolish and a waste of time. I was… seven or eight when I found a little lamb. He followed me everywhere, and, at night, I would sneak him into my bedroom so that he could sleep with me where it was warm. I do not know what I was thinking. He was the closest thing to a friend that I had had at that age. It went on for weeks, but a boy cannot conceal a lamb’s manure under his bed for long before being discovered by the servants.”

A sense of dread was building in Cordelia’s stomach. No matter where this story went next, it was going to be horrible.

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