Page 48 of My Demanding Duke

Edwina’s satin-gloved hand rose high in the air as she sighted her daughter-in-law, her smile of excitement contrasting sharply with her son’s impassive expression and set jaw.

“Hugh has returned for the second-half,” Edwina whispered, as Anna reached their side. “As have all the other husbands. I’ve never known so many men to takesolong going for a cheroot.”

“Men are seldom where they say they’ll be, or who they say they are,” Anna answered glibly.

She turned her back on her husband, ignoring his penetrating gaze, and allowed Edwina to lead the way back to their seats. As the Misses Hargreaves resumed their shrill mockery of harmony, Anna sat still, her expression serene—her thoughts anything but.

The carriage ride home was fraught with tension. Anna tucked herself into one corner of the compartment, unwilling to allow her thigh even brush against her husband’s. The more she tried to ignore his presence, the more it filled her awareness. He was the moon and she was but the tide, drawn toward him despite herself—happy to dash herself against the cliffs at his command.

“I spoke with an acquaintance regarding your father earlier.”

Finally he spoke, after long minutes of silence.

Anna tilted her head to indicate that she was listening, her breath catching with nerves.

“Lord Mosley has not been seen in London, since the wedding,” Hugh continued, his eyes watching her carefully. “He has run up no new debt, that my connection knows of.”

Anna nodded, both relieved and made more anxious by his words. If her father was not gambling and indulging his vices, then where was he?

“Do you think he is dead?” she whispered, voicing the worst of her fears. She thought on Gravesend’s testimony; that when last sighted, her father was a broken man. Broken at the hands of the husband seated opposite her. Destroyed men did desperate things.

“No,” Hugh’s answer was delivered so confidently, that Anna felt a moment of relief.

“Someone would have discovered his body,” he continued, when Anna cast him another searching look.

“Of course,” she inclined her head graciously, both galled and gladdened by his blunt honesty.

“I have sent a rider to Whitby, to see if he has simply returned to his estate,” he finished, shrugging his wide shoulders. “Perhaps your father learned his lesson.”

“You were glad to teach it to him,” she stated, tilting her chin as his gaze swept over her.

“I find no pleasure in another man’s misery,” he replied, his voice low, deadly. “But I do not regret plucking you from his careless grasp.”

Blood flowed through Anna’s veins; anger mixed with unspent desire. He was so cool, so powerful, so utterly composed—she longed to undo him. She longed for him to express even some of the tempest that raged within her whenever he was near.

The carriage drew to a halt, killing the acerbic retort at the tip of her tongue. Hugh opened the door to assist her out. When her slippered feet landed on the footpath, he did not release his grip on her elbow.

Silently, purposefully, he lead her inside. Through the front door, the dimly lit entrance hall, and up the stairs to her bedchamber.

“Josephine your services are not required this evening,” Falconbridge informed Josie, who had materialised from the dressing room at the sound of their arrival.

Josie blushed, unable to meet Anna’s eye, and scurried away quickly.

As the door clicked shut, signaling that they were now alone, Anna whirled to face her husband.

“Your arrogance knows no bounds,” she whispered, mortified that Josie thought herself dismissed on account of their passion.

“My arrogance?” the duke remained his usual cool, composed self—but his voice held a note of anger, that terrified Anna a little. “This from the woman who not only disobeyed my only order but did it flagrantly in front of me.”

“I am not your subordinate,” Anna scowled, not denying his accusation. Her finger—of its own accord—reached out to prod his chest. Like the rest of him, it was rock hard, unyielding.

“You do not get to issue arbitrary orders and expect me to fall in line,” she continued, prodding him again. She knew that she was provoking him but she wanted some sort of reaction from him—something to prove that he was not made of stone.

Hugh’s hand came down and engulfed hers, before pulling her against him. He brought his face close to hers, his breath ragged, his eyes burning.

“I am trying to protect you.”

A moment of silence followed his rasped words. Both were utterly still as he held her in his arms, like two predators waiting for the other to make the first move.

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