Page 48 of Trapped with her Cruel Duke

He returned to her, holding her nightgown, and she felt an odd desire to cover herself. As if he heard her thoughts, he slowly peeled her robe off her shoulders and pulled her nightgown over her head.

As the fabric slid over her head and his face was revealed to her again, the distance in his eyes had waned, and she was flooded with relief.

“That was wonderful,” he said, his tone genuine. “I told you we could still give each other pleasure without breaking your rule.”

Louise smiled faintly. “Will you sleep here?” she asked. But as soon as the words left her lips, she knew the question had been a mistake.

Christian’s easy manner evaporated, and he stepped back, glancing at the window.

It was almost four o’clock in the morning, but it was still dark outside. The street below, usually rumbling with movement, was utterly silent. Louise shivered as a chilly draft seeped through the window.

“No, I shall return to my room.” The words sounded forced, and the smile he gave her was not the easy, genuine one he had given her only moments ago. “I hope you enjoyed yourself.”

Does he know how dismissive that sounds?

Christian straightened, leveling her with a thoughtful stare. “This marriage is what we intended it to be,” he added. “It will be nothing more than a respectful agreement. Pleasure can still be involved, but we don’t have to act as if we are in love. It is not as though that will exist in our future, is it?”

Louise felt cold to her core. It was true—they did not love one another, but she felt as though he had used her and cast her aside when he was finished. Anger flared in her gut.

“And sleeping in my bed means you are in love with me, doesn’t it?” she snapped.

He laughed it off as he picked up his coat and draped it over his arm, smoothing it until it was perfectly straight.

“It would set a precedent neither of us is interested in.” She opened her mouth to say more, but he raised his hand to silence her. “No buts, Duchess. I expect you to obey me in this.”

And with that, he walked out the door, leaving her uncomfortably flustered in the quiet room.

As sadness bubbled to the surface, she began to regret everything they had done together. But as the embarrassment threatened to overwhelm her, she heard a faint meow coming from the floor and looked down to find the kitten circling her feet. She bent down to pick it up and held it close to her chest, feeling the softness of its fur.

She climbed into bed, and the kitten made a little nest for itself on the pillow beside her. She stroked its fur until it was settled and then pulled the sheets over them both.

Not entirely alone, after all.

The next morning, Louise woke up with a headache.

Her maid came to dress her, but there were many delays due to excessive fussing over the cat. Despite her melancholy, her maid’s excitement at having a pet in the house did bring a smile to her face.

It was early, and she had not slept very well. As the first light of dawn had crested the horizon, its faint rays had woken her from a fitful sleep, and she’d lain awake, watching the sunrise.

I knew Christian was detached, but I never expected such clinical precision when we lay together for the first time.

She sighed as the buttons on her gown were fastened, and she picked up the kitten and took it downstairs. Christian was not up yet, and she breakfasted alone, pleased to have a respite from his company.

She was frustrated with herself, unable to stop thinking about the night before and how much she had enjoyed it. As she cut some sausage for the kitten and put it in the small bowl beside her, she felt a familiar pulse in her groin at the memory of Christian’s tongue on the most intimate part of her body.

I did not know that men could do that or that it could feel so wonderful.

Pushing away the thought, she forced down some toast and listened to the bustle of the servants around the house. It sounded as though a bell rang, and she quickly rose from the table to leave before Christian could come down and disturb her.

As she left the breakfast room, she checked the corridor for any sign of him, finding that she had an intense desire to avoid him today. With the kitten cradled against her chest, she made her way to the library. She opened the door to the silent solitude of books and closed it behind her with a sigh of relief.

There was a large armchair before the fire, and she made for it, sitting with her feet up and the kitten in her lap, watching the tiny creature navigate the undulating terrain of her skirts.

She lifted the kitten and looked into its large green eyes. “We must find a name for you, I think,” she said thoughtfully.

The kitten mewed, the black tufts of fur on the tips of its ears quivering with the sound.

“Perhaps I should name you Christine,” Louise mused. “Christian would be most displeased.”

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