Page 27 of Unraveled By the Duke
“Are people always happy?”
“No. But when portraits are commissioned, it is unusual to accept one that shows such an emotion. Did she have cause to be?”
“I must confess that I do not know,” Alexander answered honestly. “Her name was Margaret Warren, the thirteenth Duchess of Cheverton, and she was, by all accounts, formidable.”
Perhaps there will be a painting of me somewhere in this gloomy prison one day, looking equally miserable.
“Why are you so interested?” Alexander asked, a hint of challenge in his voice.
Celia threw her hands up in exasperation. “We are married. I am sorry for the confusion that led to us being found in a compromising position, but it is done now. Neither I nor my family are out to trap you in any way!” she exclaimed. “And I am interested because it is a painting of great subtlety and skill. I am interested in the art, as it is a passion of my own. Does that satisfy you?”
She did not wait for an answer, but opened the door to the suite of rooms assigned to her and went inside.
Tears stung her eyes. They were born out of frustration as well as unhappiness. Alexander drew her in even as his attitude repelled her. She wanted him in a physical, primal way and had been privileged to taste some of that desire with him. Privileged or cursed because after tasting that forbidden fruit, she was now denied it.
Denied his touch and faced with the very real prospect that he will seek intimacy elsewhere.
She hugged herself as she stood in the middle of the room. A fire had been left blazing merrily in the hearth, but she felt immensely cold. The kind of cold that mere flames could not dispel.
Behind her, she heard Alexander enter the room and close the door softly.
“I am trying to maintain a distance between us because it serves no purpose to invite closeness that will ultimately be frustrated,” he said, stepping closer to her.
“Why must it be frustrated? We are man and wife, are we not?” Celia whispered.
“Not by choice.”
“Does that matter?”
“Yes, I believe it does.”
Celia rounded on him. “Am I to be the only woman the infamous rake does not wish to seduce?” she demanded, her frustration and anger boiling over. “Am I to be condemned to a life of cold isolation until you are ready to annul our marriage on the grounds of non-consummation. Is that the plan? Wait out the scandal and then discard me?”
Alexander’s face darkened. “Do you wish to be treated so? To be the latest lover of the Duke of Cheverton, from whom the daughters of the gentry are locked away?”
“Yes!”
The word burst out of Celia. It was an involuntary outpouring of desire that had been welling up within her and now demanded release.
Alexander’s eyes widened, and then he moved. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.
The air rushed out of her lungs, stolen by the fury of his kiss. She closed her eyes, her arms falling to her sides, rising on her tiptoes.
Every muscle in her body tensed. Her thighs quivered, her back arched, and her neck stretched. A sensation of subdued, building ecstasy bloomed within her, beginning from the very heart of her womanhood and spreading outward like the warmth of a crackling fire.
Alexander’s hands dropped to her waist, and he lifted her with no visible effort, his strong arms enveloping her.
He carried her across the room, but Celia was only aware of it thanks to the motion and then the soft embrace of the bed.
She sank into the layered bedclothes, Alexander’s hard, muscular body pushing her down, pressing against her. She clutched at him, finding use for her arms, which had been as limp as rope. Now, she held him as tightly as he held her.
The hardness of his muscular body thrilled her. It made her think of primitive men like the ravening Vikings or the savage Goths who had broken down the walls of Rome. Like the Romans of antiquity, she could not resist her barbarian conqueror.
His mouth moved from her own to her cheek, lingering there as though to taste her. Then it trailed to her neck, biting gently but with enough force to make her gasp in pleasure. His hand, immutable and irresistible as stone, cupped her breast, squeezing and exploring its shape. The pressure eased, and she felt his fingers tracing its outline, feeling the shape of her nipple through the fabric of her dress.
At that moment, she hated the garment. Hated all clothing that denied her the feel of his hands on her bare skin. She wanted him to rip the dress off her, strip her naked in the most brutal way. She longed for it.
“Is that how you wanted me to behave?” Alexander asked breathlessly, lifting his head to look into her eyes.
