Page 51 of The Duke and the Scarred Bride

“Yes, I did,” she replied, coming to stand in front of his desk. She handed him the list. “The manor has been quite dreary of late. I believe we will do well with a bit of colour. Besides, I think it prudent that we begin the repairs for the safety of everyone in this manor.”

Percival’s pupils dilated with heat, and she would wager that he was remembering what it felt like the previous night when he gave in to the temptation and ravished her.

She felt an answering warmth bloom in her core, her eyes fixed on his full lips as she remembered the pleasure they had wrung out of her. With conscious effort, she tore her gaze away, staring at a point above his shoulder.

“I trust that my uncle has paid my dowry. We must use it to fix the manor. Please take a look at the list—I’d appreciate your insight on the matter.”

With that, she stepped away from the desk and turned to face the bookshelves that lined the room. Louisa would have never claimed that her husband was the reading type, but the shelves here were full of books ranging from topics like History, Science, Arts, Plays, and Poetry.

Suddenly, Percival’s study became more interesting. She would not mind spending time here if it meant she could get access to the books.

Distantly, she could hear Percival giving Tobias instructions about the estate. The sound of the door opening and closing told her that the butler had gone to carry out his master’s orders.

“They are arranged in alphabetical order. My brother had a very unique system. I would prefer to have them arranged by genre—it would be easier that way, in my opinion,” he said from beside her, the heat of his breath making goosebumps spread across her neck.

“Then why didn’t you arrange them according to genre, as you would have preferred?” she asked quietly.

There was a pause, long enough that Louisa thought he wouldn’t answer.

“It appeases my sense of order,” he replied. “So, there is no need to change it.”

Louisa suspected that there were other reasons behind his reluctance to make more changes, but she decided not to pry.

“I’m borrowing this one,” she said, taking out a book of Byron’s poems. “I promise to return it where it exactly was.”

With that, she walked away from him and the conflicting emotions he evoked within her.

Chapter Fifteen

“Her Grace has requested that dinner be brought to her chambers,” Tobias said when Percival inquired about his wife’s absence in the dining room.

“Thank you, Tobias. Please ensure that she has her meal sent up to her,” Percival instructed in a calm voice that belied the storm brewing beneath his breast.

Since the passionate night they spent together, his wife had become withdrawn and a shadow of her usual vivacious self.

It might have something to do with the cruel way he had rejected her after their delicious interlude. Even now, he could still taste her on his lips, and his fingers itched to touch her satiny skin.

All he could say now was that he was right. One kiss, one touch hadn’t been enough. Instead, now he had filthier fantasies that tormented his sleeping and waking hours.

He had always desired his wife, of that much he was aware. His adventure into pleasuring her seemed to turn that desire into a blazing furnace that was threatening to consume him whole.

Perhaps it was best that she was avoiding him, saving him from himself and the nearly uncontrollable urge to ravish her without any thought for the consequences. When he stood next to her, mesmerized by her scent and the maddeningly distracting gown she wore, he knew he would have given in to his desire if she had not left when she did.

This was not what he had imagined his convenient marriage would look like. For one, he had not expected that he would be this consumed by desire for his wife. No matter how he thought about it, she was at fault. She was the one tempting, teasing, and seducing him with every minute movement of her hands, her delicious smiling lips, and her thickly lashed warm brown eyes, which he could drown in a happy man.

He had done his best to stay away from her, to give them a fighting chance to maintain the chastity of their marriage. But his stubborn wife had insisted on him joining her for at least one meal every day, effectively placing him close to the temptation that was her.

He had endured—oh how he had endured—even when every movement of her lips as she ate sent a bolt of heat to his groin until he was perpetually aroused and increasingly envious of her cutlery and the way they rested between her lips, where his tongue longed to be.

Now that he had gotten attached to eating with her and watching her eat, she had the guts to suggest they go back to staying apart. The rational part of his brain argued that it was best for his peace of mind, but the other part of him that was consumed by her wanted to spend any time he could get with her, no matter how brief it was. She could not just decide to deny him that pleasure just because she could.

He was the head of the household, and if he wanted her to come down for meals, she was going to, even if he had to drag her down the stairs.

He stood up, ignoring the sound the chair made against the floor, and went upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time until he was standing in front of her chambers.

He raised his hand to knock but then halted when he heard a faint sound. Listening closely, he realized with horror that it was sobbing.

His wife was sobbing.

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