Page 66 of The Duke's Sinful Bride

She had gone to the drawing room to clear her mind, to gain some semblance of control over the situation. She had tried to make sense of what Killian had said about their sexual relationship being physical and nothing more.

It grated against her, the idea that their connection should be stripped of any emotional depth. She wanted to question him, to ask him why, to demand that he explain his reasoning. Butsomething held her back. She didn’t want to come across as weak, to beg for something that, in the end, might never come. If she wanted to maintain any shred of dignity, she knew she had to keep a calm exterior.

With another sigh, she pushed the thought aside. There were more practical matters to consider. She had told him she didn’t share the same sentiments as him, but if she could accept this arrangement… If she could compartmentalize her emotions enough to separate them from the physical side of their marriage…

Then perhaps there was some way to make it work.

After all, she had always been a woman of resolve. There was strength in accepting the reality of her situation.

And the idea of returning to London, pregnant, would not be such a horrible idea. It would quiet any gossip, any rumors about their families. It would put to rest whatever whispers there might be, silencing them with a single, undeniable truth.

Yvette’s knitting needles clicked softly as she worked, the rhythm returning to her as her mind settled on her decision. She could do this. It wasn’t perfect, but nothing about their marriage ever had been.

As she completed the first section of the sock, Yvette paused, inspecting her work. A small sense of accomplishment filled her chest. There was satisfaction in small tasks like this. At least at this moment, with the quiet of the room surrounding her,she could pretend that things were simple—that they could be simple.

She smiled slightly to herself before picking up the second part of the sock, the rhythm of her hands steadying once more as Daisy returned with the tea she’d asked for.

By the time dinner was upon them, Yvette and Maisie were already seated at the table, the soft clinking of silverware against porcelain the only sound filling the otherwise quiet room. Yvette glanced at Maisie, who, with her wide, expectant eyes, seemed to be waiting for something. The little girl looked up at her.

“Has Papa returned yet?” Maisie asked, her voice carrying a note of curiosity.

Yvette offered a small, reassuring smile, though her heart was not as steady as her expression.

“Yes, love. He has.”

The simple reply seemed to be enough for the little girl as she bobbed her head, a smile on her face as she looked towards the entrance to the dining area.

But as the minutes ticked by, Killian still hadn’t appeared, and Yvette’s calm façade began to crack. She glanced toward the door, almost willing him to appear.

Every now and then, a faint sound of footsteps or a muffled voice would reach her ears, but still, there was no Killian. Her brow furrowed as the minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity.

When she looked back at Maisie, the little girl’s face was scrunched in innocent confusion.

“Why isn’t Papa here yet?” she asked, her small voice filled with concern.

Yvette suppressed a sigh. The last thing she wanted was to show her irritation in front of Maisie, but she was growing increasingly frustrated. Her words came softly, laced with a calm she didn’t feel.

“I think he’s very tired, dear. I’m sure he will join us soon.”

Maisie nodded but she didn’t seem fully convinced. She continued to stare at her, her small face etched with the same confusion that was now gnawing at Yvette. After a moment, Maisie asked again, her voice so quiet it almost sounded like a plea.

“Duchess, do you think Papa will join us?”

Yvette’s hand clenched around her silverware, her nails biting into the handle, but she quickly masked the frustration bubbling inside. The last thing Maisie needed was for her to react in anger. She rose from the table, her gaze softening as she approached the little girl.

“Come, darling,” Yvette said, taking Maisie’s hand gently in hers. “Perhaps Papa is too tired to join us this evening. But you and I will go upstairs, and I will tuck you into bed.”

Maisie, trusting Yvette’s calm demeanor, simply nodded, but Yvette could see the uncertainty still lingering in her eyes as they ascended the stairs to the little girl’s room. As they entered, Yvette settled into the chair beside Maisie’s bed, a bedtime story in hand. The words tumbled out easily, an escape from the disquiet in her heart. Maisie’s eyelids drooped as she listened, the comfort of Yvette’s voice slowly lulling her to sleep.

Once Maisie’s breathing had steadied into the deep rhythm of slumber, Yvette stood, careful not to make a sound. She leaned over her stepdaughter, brushing a soft kiss to the top of her head before quietly stepping out of the room.

But now, with Maisie asleep and her patience at an end, Yvette’s annoyance flared once more. She marched down the hallway, her footsteps firm and purposeful as she entered her room, not stopping until she reached the door that connected her room to Killian’s.

Without thinking, she opened it and entered, her breath catching in her throat as her gaze locked onto him.

There he was, sitting shirtless on his bed.

The sight of him, his body relaxed yet undeniably commanding, only added to the tension that had been building inside her all evening. The flickering firelight cast shadows on his chest,accentuating the strength in his muscles. He turned his head at the sound of the door creaking open, his deep breath drawing her attention for the briefest of moments before his eyes met hers.

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