Page 9 of The Virgin Duchess

“W-What are you doing?”

Charlotte’s voice was so small. It barely reached Frederick across the few short inches separating them. Her head felt fuzzy, as if she’d had too much of the drink, and even more, Charlotte could hear each frenzied beat of her heart screaming in her ears as the booms slammed against her ribs.

“You,” Frederick rumbled, his deep voice scarcely a whisper, “are something I’ve never encountered, Charlotte. You are headstrong and wild, and I find that I cannot wait another moment before I claim my wife completely.”

She was frozen in place, under the spell of some sort of trance. Frederick moved in all the closer, and before she could think to speak again or think at all really, his lips found the crook of her neck. The sensations were dizzying. Charlotte had never been kissed as such before, and her eyes rolled closed as she fought back the whimper that threatened to break free.

The feel of his teeth playfully biting her neck rocked Charlotte to her core, forcing her from whatever spell he’d cast.

“No,” she pushed back from Frederick, putting several inches between them, “you will not.”

Frederick cast her a confused look, his brows pinched together and low over his dark eyes—eyes that appeared to be trying to eat her up, swallowing her into the depths of the cool grey color.

“Why do you push me away? I can see the want in your eyes?”

Charlotte felt her cheeks burn, and she broke their eye contact, staring at the floor. After a moment, she looked back up at him, her resolve restored. Holding her chin high, she straightened her spine.

“I will not share your bed, Frederick. You will not get me to lie with you, no matter how many of your tricks you decide to use.”

No visible emotion passed over her husband’s face, and Charlotte didn’t know what to make of it. He was as calm and stoic as she’d seen him become that night. When he wasn’t peacocking himself like the rake she knew too well to expect, the man had an awful habit of surprising her with how steely he could be.

“Do you intend to deny me my husbandly rights during the entirety of our marriage, Charlotte?”

No disappointment nor amusement. His voice held no clue as to what he wanted her to say. So, Charlotte only stood firmer in her resolution to keep the fiendish rogue at bay for as long as she could.

“Yes.”

He stepped closer again, and Charlotte felt dwarfed by how he towered over her.

“Why?” Frederick’s gaze had yet to lighten, his dark stare pinning her down. “Why do you wish to stay so far from me?”

Her throat felt dry, and Charlotte took a step backward, feeling the bed hit her at the back of her knees.

“That is none of your business.”

She would not discuss why the thought of siring children to a dastardly rogue hit her so profoundly. He needn’t know about her father.

But then Frederick chuckled low, the sound dark and too beautiful. She wanted to hate the sound. She wanted him to laugh like some out-of-tune crow or a squeaky train wheel. But he didn’t.

Charlotte’s throat was as dry as the inside of the fireplace, and she forced herself to swallow. As she did, Frederick moved closer, stepping to the side to take a seat on the mattress. He leaned back on one hand, casual and comfortable onherbed. Frederick’s brow rose as he glanced up at her, as nonchalant as ever.

“And of your duty to produce an heir. Am I to assume that you would not be acquiescing to the traditional tasks given to wives?”

It was so businesslike, the way he talked about an heir as an asset to the household and not like the actual child that would result from their union.

He’s only concerned with his reputation, his family name. Worse, he’s only thinking with his pecker, ready to stick it anywhere he wishes for little thought of the child he would sire.

Glaring so much that an ache formed within her skull, Charlotte was ready to bust when the words flew from her mouth.

“My wishes might not matter to you,Your Grace.” She bit out the words as her only weapons. “But if you choose to try and take what I have not given you, I will fight you every step of the way—until one or the other of us is left bleeding and broken.”

Frederick’s brows shot up to his hairline, and for the first time all day—perhaps ever—Charlotte could see the look of genuine shock painted all over his face. She held his stare with everything she had, gripping the sides of her dress so much that her knuckles screamed in protest.

He flew up off the mattress, standing before her with a horrendous grimace painted over his features.

“What kind of man do you think I am? Do you truly believe I would do such a thing? Take you by…force?”

Charlotte’s jaw trembled, so she bit down on her molars to stop it shaking. As she met Frederick’s stare, she reeled backward, blinking several times.

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