Page 67 of The Duke and the Accidental Bride

Chapter Twenty-Two

It had been three days since Isabella had learned about Duncan’s past and in those three days she had noticed two distinct changes in their relationship.

The first was that Duncan and she had started talking more. Having actual conversations. Revealing things about one another. Treating the other as one should be treated in a marriage. He would ask her about her studies, the library he had shown her. He would show real interest when she began to explain something new that she had learned or read, even if it might have bored him, he attempted interest. He even apologized for how he had behaved after revealing the tale of Andrea to her, apparently embarrassed by the way he had walked off and left her.

It was a sign of growth, she thought. An indication that perhaps Duncan was willing to try in this marriage as she also wanted to. The marriage had happened. They were together now forever. So why not at least attempt to find happiness?

That was the first thing and the next three days passed in a way that had the two growing closer and closer with each moment. To the casual observer it might have even looked like they were happy.

The second thing, however, and by far the most important, was that in those three days Isabella and Duncan did not have sex. Not once.

At first, she told herself that this was Duncan’s effort to get to know her better. To put their squabbles aside so that they could build a relationship. But as the days went on, it felt different to that. If they were to have a real relationship, why could they not have both? Why did it have to be one or the other?

“Are you excited about tonight?” Duncan asked as they broke their fast together.

“Oh yes, very much,” she said politely as she buttered a piece of cake.

“Have you given any thought to what you might be wearing?”

“Oh.” She blinked. “I confess, I have not. But I have a dozen dresses to choose from so --”

“That won’t be necessary,” he said with a genuine smile. “I took the liberty of having one made for you.”

“You... you did?”

He shrugged. “I remembered how much you appreciated it the last time. And a lady can never have too many dresses, no?”

“That is... thank you.”

It was kind. Too kind. Tonight was the Clementine Ball, an event which they had both discussed and were equally looking forward to attending. But not once had Duncan mention that he would be buying her a dress, likely enjoying the idea of surprising her.

It reminded her of the last time he had done so, but with one noticeable difference: this time, it was sincere.

“Although I confess, there was a selfish motivation behind it.” He pumped his eyebrows at her. “I rather like the idea of walking into that ball room with the most stunning woman in London on my arm. It makes me feel a whole lot better about myself.”

She cocked a derisive eyebrow at him. “Are you saying that I would not have looked as stunning wearing one of my own?”

“A man can’t be too careful,” he joked. “Although truth be told, you could wear a potato sack, and the same effect would be achieved. So, you can choose between the new dress or the potato sack. I will not mind which.”

She tried her best not to smile. An eyeroll would have been better. A sneer and a shake of the head; letting him know that such flattery would not work. But alas, the smile came, andIsabella looked away, her cheeks flushing in a way that delighted Duncan who watched her closely across the table.

Why is he being so nice! And why is that a problem?

It should not have been. If she had been anyone else, her sister for example, she would have crooned over the gesture and counted herself as lucky to have married such an amazing man as Duncan. But she wasn’t anybody else. Nor was her husband, for that matter.

This was not them. Yes, Isabella appreciated the kindness and the generosity and the efforts to grow closer in ways that they had not tried before. And yes, this was what she had thought she wanted – to better know her husband.

So what am I even complaining about?!

She missed the passion. She missed the fire. She missed being put over Duncan’s knee and spanked until she was begging him to forgive her and her smart mouth.

Mostly, it was how false it all felt to her. Yes, she missed the sex, but that wasn’t what troubled her. This version of Duncan was not the man whom she married, but one whom he seemed to think that she did. She knew that Duncan could be both, the sweet and the kind and the caring man who wished to get to know her better, while also letting the beast out of its cage from time to time. Surely that was not too much to ask?

“I should warn you,” Duncan continued. “Lady St. Vincent is likely going to be there tonight.”

“Oh...”

“But I will do what I can not to speak with her. And if she approaches me, which she may well do, I promise to do everything in my power to dismiss her. Without causing a scene, of course.”

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