Page 89 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke
Marianne bristled. She hadn’t come to London to flirt. She’d come for her sister. She was doing her best, navigating a world that had shifted under her feet. And now she was being accused, when she hadn’t even wanted this marriage in the first place.
“So what if I did like it?” she challenged, lifting her chin. They were standing too close. She could feel his heat, his breath, the full weight of his attention. “Do you plan to drag me away from every man who dares to look at me? Do you think I’m so weak I’d humiliate you in public?”
“It’s not about weakness,” he bit out. “And I don’t give a damn what people think of me.”
His hand gripped her waist more firmly, his fingers digging into the fabric of her gown—branding her through it. She realized how easily he could take more of her. All of her.
“It’s about him, Marianne. Not you. Linpool isn’t harmless. He’s apredator.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. There was something in Dominic’s voice—something deeper than jealousy. His skin vibrated with tension. Rage, yes. But also… fear? Possession?
She believed him. She did.
“You warned me,” she said, her voice softer now. “And I’m listening. I believe you. I can see how much you hate him. But think about this: one, we did not marry for love. Two, you do not own me. Three, I am not fragile. Stop hiding things from me. Be direct with me, Dominic. I can take it.”
She meant it. Shecouldtake it.
But what came next still took her by surprise.
She opened her mouth to say more, but his was already on hers.
Chapter Thirty
The kiss was anything but gentle—and everything she had expected from him.
Dominic’s kisses were hungry and possessive. He was desperate, taking and taking as if she alone could satisfy some acute craving.
His hands slid up her back, his fingers searing against her spine as he pulled her into him.
She melted. She wasn’t going to fight it, not when a part of her had been aching for this.
For hours.
For days.
For far too long.
And she wasn’t the only one who wanted it. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, seeking more. She didn’t entirely understand the wild urgency of it, but her body did.
Then, suddenly, the kiss broke. Too soon.
A wave of cold washed over her skin at the loss—until Dominic rested his forehead against hers. The connection, though quieter, didn’t vanish. It pulsed in the shallow breaths they shared. It throbbed in the way he looked at her—so close, so vulnerable.
He panted like a man possessed. Because ofher. Because ofthis.
“Marianne.” He groaned her name almost reverently. “I’m not jealous. Believe me, I’m not.”
Something in her unraveled, tight and delicate. Hopeful. Playful.
“What are you then, Dominic?” she asked, managing a shaky smile. “Because this doesn’t feel like indifference. You want me. You like chasing me. Or has the novelty already worn off?”
His blue eyes bored into hers. He didn’t answer. Not with words. Instead, he took her hand—his new favorite habit—and pulled her down the hallway toward a closed door.
Her heart hammered, but she didn’t resist. Curiosity thrummed through her veins. Desire flared. Whatever he had planned, she suspected she wouldn’t want it to stop.
He led her into a small, dimly lit room. Sparsely furnished. Just a large couch, centered like it had been waiting for them.
Dominic closed the door behind them. The latch clicked into place. The sound felt final. Intimate. Dangerous.
