Page 36 of Wedded to the Ruthless Duke

It was the perfect plan though he felt Grace’s hand grow wooden on his arm.

Something tells me she is not looking forward to being alone with me again.

CHAPTER12

Grace shared a look with Diana in the carriage as they pulled up outside Diana’s house. They had managed a few short sentences between them about the opera, but they had not spoken much. The air between them was somewhat tense because of the man sat opposite them in the carriage.

The Duke of Berkley had said nothing the entire trip.

“Good luck,” Diana whispered to Grace as they clutched hands, and Diana stepped down from the carriage.

They waited, watching as Diana stepped in through the door. Once she was safely inside, the Duke tapped on the wall of the carriage. It was the signal for the driver to move off again.

The carriage rocked along the cobbles, making the one lantern that swung from the ceiling sway back and forth. The apricot-tinged light sometimes fell on Philip’s face. Other times, it merely lit the formal suit.

They rounded another corner before Grace could not stand the silence anymore.

“What you said at the opera house,” she began, pausing when the Duke jerked his head around to look at her, “about me belonging to you.”

“Yes?” he encouraged her on, the slightest hint of a smirk on his face.

Her hands knotted together in her lap beneath the cover of her shawl.

“I will not belong to you. I am not your possession,” she said coolly. “I may have to marry you, but I will not be at your beck and call. Not your pet.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her, the movement illuminated by the orange shine from the burning lantern.

“You wish to belong to another man?”

“What? No.” She shifted, her hands fidgeting together in her lap. “I will be free. As you promised me I would be.”

“So, you plan on taking a lover as soon as you can, do you?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant, isn’t it?” He suddenly moved off his bench.

Grace leaned away, flattening her back to the cushioned bench behind her as he leaned toward her. He planted his hands to the seat on either side of her, his thumbs buried in her skirt.

“You intend to belong to another man,” he said darkly. “Who?”

“What? There’s no one.” She lost her cool resolve and pushed hard into his chest, but he didn’t move back. “And I will not belong to you. I am not your plaything. Do you understand me, Your Grace?”

“You will belong to me in that bedchamber for the first few days. The first month, even. You agreed to that. It was one of our rules.”

“You never said anything about possession!” she complained loudly.

He looked away from her, reached toward the carriage window, then sharply pulled the curtain across.

“What are you doing?” she said in alarm.

“I’m going to remind you exactly why you will belong to me for that first month,” he said and reached toward her.

“Wait — Your Grace — hmm!”

His hand had curled around her neck and pulled her toward him. His lips claimed her own in such a heated kiss that she quite forgot what she had been saying. He parted her lips with ease, quite demandingly, as if he had done it many times before and not just the once.

It was like fire, the brush of his tongue, and all Grace wanted to do was be consumed by the heat. Her hands left her lap as she reached for him, her fingers hooking around the edge of his tailcoat as she fell into him because of the rocking of the carriage.

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