Page 63 of The Duke's Sinful Bride

“Colder… more mechanical, perhaps,” she admitted hesitantly. “Not so… consuming.”

“Good,” he had said simply, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to her temple.

Yvette pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks, trying to cool the warmth that had risen there. She had seen so many facets of Killian in such a short time, but she never imagined he’d have such a side to him. It was very different from his time with thedogs, or with Maisie the day before. This was something else entirely. He’d been so soft, so gentle, so attentive.

It gave her hope, a tentative yet undeniable hope, that perhaps their marriage would not remain a union of convenience. Perhaps it could become something more.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she shifted to sit up, only for a sharp pang to shoot through her thighs, the ache radiating up to the core of her being. Yvette bit her lip to stifle a wince, her hand instinctively brushing the silk sheets. She was sore, undeniably so, and the memory of how she had come to feel this way made her blush deepen. She reckoned a hot bath was the only remedy for the tension in her body.

Throwing the covers aside, Yvette swung her legs over the edge of the bed and reached for her silk robe. Wrapping it tightly around herself, she glanced around Killian’s chambers, the air still heavy with his scent. It made her ache for him in ways she had not anticipated. She traced her hand along the edge of the bed before resolutely heading toward the adjoining door that connected her room to his.

The moment she stepped into her chambers, she called for Daisy. The young maid appeared swiftly, her cheeks rosy and her apron neatly pressed.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” Daisy said with a curtsy.

“Good morning, Daisy,” Yvette replied, her voice still laced with the remnants of sleep. “Would you be so kind as to prepare a hot bath for me? I find myself in dire need of one this morning.”

Daisy’s eyes widened slightly, her gaze flitting briefly over Yvette’s disheveled hair and the flush that hadn’t quite faded from her cheeks.

“Of course, Your Grace,” she said, though there was a hint of curiosity in her tone.

As Daisy busied herself with drawing the bath, Yvette sank onto the chaise near the window, her thoughts drifting once more. The scandal she had endured, the years spent at St. Catherine’s, had instilled in her a deep-rooted fear of intimacy, of losing herself in another person. And yet, with Killian, it had felt natural, even right.

The faint sound of water splashing brought her back to the present. Daisy appeared moments later, her hands folded neatly in front of her.

“Your bath is ready, Your Grace,” she announced.

“Thank you, Daisy,” Yvette said, rising from her seat. Daisy curtsied and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Yvette approached the tub, the steam rising in delicate tendrils, and slipped off her robe. She sank into the water with a sigh, the heat enveloping her like a balm. As she leaned back, herthoughts returned to Killian. She couldn’t help but wonder where he was, what he was doing.

Did he think of her at all?

It was strange, this yearning she felt for him. It wasn’t born out of duty or obligation, but something far more personal, something she was only just beginning to understand. For all his faults, Killian had shown her kindness and patience, and last night, he had laid bare a side of himself she hadn’t thought existed.

Killian entered Braemore Castle, his boots clicking softly against the polished marble floors. He pulled off his riding gloves methodically, handing them to the footman waiting by the door.

The crisp morning air still clung to him, sharp and invigorating after his solitary ride. He rolled his shoulders, intending to head straight to his study when movement on the staircase caught his attention.

Yvette was descending, her hand gliding along the smooth banister. She moved slowly, her gaze fixed on him in a way that made him pause. There was something in her eyes—confusion, perhaps, or uncertainty—that gave him pause.

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the air seemed to shift. Killian’s lips parted, but no words came out.

The memory of the previous night surged forward—her soft gasps, the way her body had melted into his, her trust as she surrendered to him completely. It had been a night unlike anything he had ever experienced, yet here they were, and he didn’t know how to read the expression on her face.

He cleared his throat out of habit, breaking the silence.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice deliberately even.

“Good morning,” she replied softly. There was a slight hesitation in her tone, as though she was still deciding how to address him after what they had shared.

Yvette came to a stop at the base of the stairs, her gaze flicking over him briefly before returning to his face.

“I thought you had left for work.”

Killian raised a brow. “No, I went for a ride. It clears the mind.”

Her frown deepened, subtle but unmistakable. “So early?”

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