Page 40 of The Duke's Sinful Bride

She hadn’t eaten much, and the tension between them hung heavily in the air.

Her eyes met his briefly before she turned away, heading in the same direction as Maisie.

The subtle, defiant set of her shoulders made it clear she wasn’t finished with him, but she wasn’t going to make it easy.

Killian’s gaze followed her as she left the room, his mind racing.

He understood why she was angry, though he couldn’t bring himself to fully regret his actions. His priorities lay with the estate and his duties; these things always came first.

Still, Yvette’s coldness stung more than he cared to admit.

She was supposed to be his wife—respectable, dutiful—but somehow, it was starting to feel as though she wasn’t playing her part.

A flicker of irritation danced in his chest, but he pushed it down. He didn’t have time for petty arguments.

He returned to his study, determined to focus on the estate matters, but Yvette’s refusal to speak to him, the anger in her eyes, and her retreat from his presence haunted him. He wasn’t used to being ignored, dismissed.

His responsibility for his actions weighed heavily on him, but he wasn’t one to apologize without resolve. If Yvette wanted him to come to her, to fix things between them, he’d make it clear that he was in control of this situation.

However, after an hour of futile attempts to concentrate on paperwork, his mind continued to drift back to Yvette. He’d had enough of the silence. It wasn’t about her playing games or holding grudges. He simply couldn’t let this distance between them fester.

Standing abruptly, Killian strode toward the door of his study, determined to make things right in his own way.

Yvette had made it clear she was upset, but he wasn’t going to let her dictate the pace.

Yvette was finally starting to relax in the solitude of her drawing room.

The soft rustle of pages as she flipped through her book, the warmth of the tea she sipped gently, and the comfort of her quiet space allowed her to forget, if only for a moment, the tension of the previous night.

She had given herself permission to find peace in this rare moment of calm. Her fingers lightly touched the pages of her book as she read, but the intrusion of a door creaking open shattered that fragile serenity.

“Enter,” she called softly.

She glanced up, expecting perhaps one of the staff, but instead her gaze locked with Killian’s.

“Your Grace,” she said curtly.

He stood there—his tall, commanding presence filling the doorway— and for a moment, Yvette’s heart skipped before she quickly masked it with a scowl.

“Duchess.”

He stepped into the room with the grace and confidence of a man accustomed to commanding attention without even trying.

Her fingers clenched the book tightly, and she placed the bookmark in, as if the act could shield her from the emotions she didn’t want to confront.

“I shall give you privacy,” she said and rose quickly.

She had no interest in being in the same room as him—not after how he had behaved the previous evening.

However, as she moved past him, his strong hand shot out and grabbed her arm, halting her movement with a force that could not be ignored.

“Stay. Do not leave on my account,” he said, his tone low, with a certain softness to it.

“If you want to use the room, you can. I’ll leave, so I do not disturb you, considering you’re so busy,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

The words fell like daggers, intended to remind him of his earlier disregard for her and Maisie.

Killian closed his eyes for a brief moment, perhaps in an attempt to regain his composure, before opening them again, his gaze sharper than ever.

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