Page 33 of The Duke and the Scarred Bride

Sheshouldbe wary because the feelings storming inside him were nowhere near controllable, and the restraints on his self-control were growing lax with every moment she stood in his study.

When he loomed over, her pupils dilated with desire, and her breath came out in short pants. His eyes fell on her lips, the pink succulent flesh that had almost driven him to cause a scandal.

His mind tortured him, reminding him how good she felt and tasted and why he should kiss her again. He might have given in if it were not for the sounds of the distant footsteps of a maid or someone else in the hallway.

He slowly released her, not surprised when she demanded that he join her for dinner.

His fiery wife was bossy, and somehow it stirred a different kind of lust in his blood that told him she might not be entirely averse to the kind of entertainment he enjoyed.

He quickly dismissed that idea before it could take root in his mind and be actualized.

He wondered just how long he could stay, keeping himself in check while playing companion to his delectable wife. Just how long did he hope to keep his desire under leash while spending that much time with her?

Even if he managed to bring his aroused body under control, what about her? What right did he have to keep her in this marriage with no chance of satisfying her sexual urges?

Louisa was a passionate woman. She might not know it now, but in the future, she might look for means to relieve that sexual tension, and married members of the ton took lovers every day.

She might decide to take a lover. She seemed the loyal sort, but sexual frustration could push one to do things they never thought they would. Percival also reckoned that other gentlemen could recognize her innate passion with time and pursue her, seduce her until they shattered her resolve.

The thought of her taking a lover made his blood boil with fiery rage.

He would die before he allowed any man to touch her skin, kiss her delectable lips, and sink himself into the sweet warmth of her body. He could not bear it. She was his. She washis wife. She belonged to him, and no one was allowed to touch her.

That begged the question of what he was going to do. He could not very well force her to stay in a passionless marriage with him to feed his ego and possessive tendencies. That would not be fair to her. It might be selfish, but he admitted that if any man were to touch her sexually, it had to be him.

So, the question remained—was he going to consummate their marriage despite the consequences for his young, innocent wife?

It was difficult to make a decision when his aroused body was fervently arguing in favour of taking her.

To distract himself, he straightened and walked around his desk to retake his seat. Just to his right, he could see the pile of correspondence that required his attention. He had ignored it the previous night, unable to concentrate enough to sort through it.

Pulling the bundle towards him, he unraveled the string that held the letters together.

The first one was a letter of congratulations from the Duke and Duchess of Northwick, as well as several others, written by many members of the ton.

While it was tempting to feel flattered by their congratulatory messages, Percival knew the truth. This was their way of reminding him of their presence and establishing some sort of rapport with him.

While they did not care when he had sequestered himself in his home right after returning from the war, now they were scrambling to regain his favour. He was, after all, a duke, and while they might have little respect for him, they did have a healthy respect for his title. After all, who in polite society did not want to brag that they had connections to a duke no matter how dysfunctional he might be?

It sounded cold, thinking about it that way, but it was the dark reality outside his manor.

Humans were, in fact, selfish to the root. People hardly made connections unless they had something to gain, and Percival was not offended in the least.

He had seen even worse displays of this innate selfishness on the battlefield. After all, the war had started because of the selfishness of an aristocrat.

Many families were now without fathers, sons, and brothers because a man or a group of men could not control their greed.

Percy took a deep breath, hoping to distract himself from the dark turn his thoughts had taken. He sorted through the bundle, only to realize that they were all congratulatory messages, just as he had expected. But the last letter bore a familiar crest—that of the Baron Gillingham.

It was surprising because Eli was not one to write letters, apart from the occasional missive when they had to meet.

Percival picked it up, reached for his paper knife, broke the seal, and read it. By the time he got to the end of the letter, he was even more puzzled.

Why exactly did his half-brother require his help to gain entrance to the Duke of Ravenmoor’s ball?

Granted, the ball was usually exclusive for members of the Royal Family, dukes and their wives, and whatever aristocrats they deemed worthy.

It was a snobbish affair, in his opinion, and he didn’t really care for their events. He would have sworn that Eli was not interested as well, were it not for the letter demanding his help to get in.

---