Page 15 of His Stolen Duchess
The Duke let out a sigh, and that was welcome because it showed he had some emotion.
“Three months,” the Duke said as he looked back out of the window.
“What?”
“We’ll live together for three months. Attend events together for three months. That should be enough to quiet theton’s tongues. After that, we go our separate ways.”
Georgina blinked, stunned by his detached manner. This was the man who had saved her from drowning—and ruin—and yet, he was cold… almost like Lord Abbington.
“Oh,” Georgina said. “I thought… I guess I didn’t know what I thought.”
“That’s not to your liking? Shall we annul the marriage, and you can take your chances with society?”
“No,” Georgina retorted. “No, I know you have done me an enormous favor. I’ll do whatever is required.”
Georgina joined her husband in staring out the window, marveling at how quickly she went from runaway bride to a convenient Duchess.
Chapter Four
“When shall we sire an heir?” Georgina asked.
Lysander was looking at the townhouses, passing them by as they rode back to his residence. He knew he had been harsh in his words, but it was all for the best. He lived his life a certain way, and that had worked out well for him, and he wasn’t about to change that now.
After a period of them traveling in silence, Georgina had cleared her throat, and Lysander closed his eyes, hoping no more talk about the weather was coming.
“You wish to talk about such things right now?” he asked.
“We’re alone in a carriage. No one will hear us.”
Lysander scoffed as he felt the twinge in his trousers. He was sure now she was saying all of this to rile him up, and he was annoyed at how easily it worked.
He could not deny that he’d thought about her body beneath her dress back at the lake after he’d pulled her from the water, and that he thought the same when he saw her in her finery at the church, but he would not give her the upper hand.
He studied her carefully. “I didn’t expect you to speak of duty so soon.”
“No?” she asked. There was some disappointment in her voice. “Why not?”
“Because the first time I met you, you were a runaway bride too careless to notice a lake in your path.”
She snapped back, “I was trying to get away. It was an accident.”
“Get away from what?” he asked.
She bristled. “You’re avoiding my question about wanting an heir.”
“And you’re avoiding mine about why you fled your wedding.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You answer first.”
He groaned, rubbing his temples before speaking. “We’ll do what’s expected. In time.”
“When, specifically?” she pressed.
“In time,” he repeated.
Her frustration mounted. “Most lords bed their wives on the wedding night, no matter the circumstances. Or do you think yourself different?”
His expression darkened. He leaned in, his voice a velvet rasp. “I only bed those who beg for it. And so will you, wife.”
