Page 44 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke
He would not make her cower. She was not a little doe.
Again, silence hummed in the room.
Marianne clenched her hands, trying to hide the tremors.
Finally ending her torture, he bent close to her ear, his lips grazing it gently, his breath on her skin. Her eyes closed instantly, beyond her volition.
“No.”
“What?” she blurted, her eyes flying open.
“I don’t want it to feel like an obligation,” he said. “I told you, I don’t want you cold and trembling beneath me. If you come to me, you’ll come because you want to. Because the little doe stops running.Needsto stop running.”
Marianne gulped. Her skin sizzled, her breathing quiet yet shallow. Her toes curled on the rug as she felt his words inflaming every nerve in her body. She tried to tame her desire, the way her hips wanted to rise and fall over the bed. Her core pulsed, tight and coiled.
Then, he backed away. Disappointment washed over her again and again.
What was wrong with her?
“I accept your terms, little doe,” he continued. “You shall have your family visit as often as you’d like. I don’t want anything in exchange, except for your proper behavior. Nothing else.”
Her throat went dry. Was this what deer felt like when rifles were aimed at them? No room to run, no chance of escape.
In just a few, quick strides, the Duke was at the door. He paused with his hand on the knob. Marianne wondered if he was battling with himself as she was.
He glanced over his shoulder. “You’re my wife, Marianne. Not my prisoner.”
With that, he turned and pulled the door open, disappearing into his chambers.
Marianne sat frozen on the edge of the bed, the thin fabric of her nightgown clinging to her skin. Alone and burning.
Chapter Nineteen
“Good morning, Your Grace,” she greeted.
Marianne was nervous. She stood a few feet from the breakfast table with proper posture and an impassive face.
On the outside, she was a calm and composed duchess. However, the real her trembled and shivered, focused on behaving as she was supposed to.
For the sake of their deal.
Frankly, she hadn’t had any trouble bargaining with her husband. He would not force her to go to bed with him. Not all husbands were that humane, she reminded herself.
This time, the Duke was already seated at the table. He was the epitome of relaxation, his legs crossed and a cup of tea in one hand. Achilles and Beowulf lay on either side of him, lifting their heads only when she approached.
He looked up. “Good morning,” he replied coolly.
Marianne took the seat opposite him. A servant poured her a cup of tea and offered her slices of toast and some eggs, which she gratefully dug into.
She did everything with care, as she promised to be well-mannered, just like a duchess was expected to be. Still, the silence between them was suffocating. She almost craved her husband’s arrogance and the annoying way he liked to call herlittle doe.
She cleared her throat and looked at him pointedly. “Did you sleep well?”
“I did,” he replied, returning his attention to his breakfast as if nothing else would ever interest him.
“Do you, uh, have plans for the day?” she asked, struggling with questions to ask.
“Administrative tasks, mostly.”
