Page 32 of My Demanding Duke

Anna jumped, turning to find Falconbridge awake, propped up on one shoulder, openly admiring her body. She made to cover her breasts with her hands, to shield them from his impudent eyes.

“It’s a little late for modesty, my dear,” Falconbridge advised, his tone kind but his expression mischievous. “I have already seen them and committed them to memory. On my death bed, they shall be the image I conjure as I slip away to meet St Peter.”

“I do not think it is he you shall be meeting upon your death,” Anna answered with a sniff, as she finally sighted her old nightrail folded on the chest of drawers.

She snatched it, throwing it quickly over her head.

“My old friend,” the duke commented, eyeing the garb with amusement.

He slid from beneath the covers, to reveal himself shirtless but—mercifully—wearing his trousers from the night before. Conscious that she had scolded his earlier ogling of her, Anna made a concerted effort not to stare at his broad shoulders, strong chest, and lightly muscled stomach. Unfortunately, upon said muscled stomach, a line of dark hair ran tantalisingly from his naval to beneath his breaches, and Anna felt a desperate desire to see where it led.

Dash it, but he was devilishly handsome, she thought with despair.

“Last night was wonderful,” he continued, crossing the room to take her hand. “There is no shame in desire, Anna. What we did was a perfectly natural act between husband and wife.”

“Y-y-you did not take your pleasure,” she stuttered, her tone a little accusing. It was easy to say not to feel ashamed when he had not lost himself completely in front of her. He had not even taken off his trousers.

“I told you,” Falconbridge shrugged, as he lifted her hand to his lips, “I will take it, only when you ask me to. Now, I shall give you some privacy. I am needed in The House of Lords this morning to vote on a Member’s Bill. We will dine together this evening.”

“I am being relieved of my breakfast duties?” Anna could not help ask, quirking her brow.

“You did say that you don’t take breakfast,” he shrugged, “I am not a complete autocrat.”

“Just a partial one,” she replied, before she could help herself. She was not usually so smart-mouthed, but something about his calm composure—especially when he made her so flustered—urged her to it.

Falconbridge raised a brow of amusement, his eyes impudently traversing her body from top to toe.

“I have changed my mind about your nightrail,” he finally declared, his eyes dancing, “In this light it is completely see-through. I can’t recall if I said this last night, but your nipples are utterly beguiling.”

“You rogue,” Anna squeaked, bringing her hands up to cover her breasts from his gaze—whilst hoping that he had not noticed how hard her nipples had become at his words.

“Indeed,” he grinned, “You’ll find I’m a partial autocrat but a complete rogue—I’ll make a for a very demanding but satisfying lover, once you allow it. Until this evening, my sweet.”

With a short bow, Falconbridge took his leave to his own chambers. Anna waited for the door to shut behind him before she allowed her hands to stop their attempts to hide her modesty.

“Until this evening, my sweet,” she mimicked him irritably. His words and his shameless gaze had awakened that same sweet, agonising need within her, and a part of her wished that he had stayed to show her again that world-shattering pleasure.

Just once more, then she would return to being aloof with him…

Exasperated with herself for failing so spectacularly at her mission to keep her husband at arm’s length, Anna stalked to the mirror to view her reflection. Her nightrrail remained, she saw with annoyance, just as modest as it had always been—he had been teasing her!

“That man,” Anna muttered again, making for the washstand. Upon this stood a jug of water and a basin, which Anna used to wash herself. She dressed quickly, donning one of her “old” dresses, made of cambric so worn that the colour had faded somewhat.

“Lawks! What are you wearing that for?” Josie cried a few minutes later as she entered, carrying a breakfast tray.

“What’s wrong with it?” Anna questioned, feeling defensive.

Josie had seen her in the same dress countless times and had never once raised a complaint.

“The staff will think you want to muck in with the cleaning,” Josie fretted, throwing a terrified glance over her shoulder at the closed door, as though afraid one of Falconbridge’s servants was eavesdropping. “Why don’t you put on one of your new ones?”

“Because I don’t want to,” Anna answered, her tone firm.

She craved familiarity and comfort—and that would not be found in a new gown she felt too afraid to move in. Nor would it be found in this house, which still felt so strange to her.

“We will go for a walk, Josie,” she declared, her heart suddenly set on the idea.

She would not find anything as comforting in London as the windswept cliffs of Whitby, nor would she see heather and stone walls stretching to the horizon—but at least she would have a chance to burn off the restless energy coursing through her.

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