Page 49 of A Duke's Unwanted Bride
“Very well.” Warner’s voice was hoarse. “I will see what I can do.”
Adele felt his fingers brush against the skin of her neck as he moved her hair out of the way. Gooseflesh covered her whole body, and she shivered.
“If you are cold, we can stand closer to the fire,” Warner murmured.
“I am not cold.” She wished her voice did not sound so breathy.
She felt tugs against the fabric of her dress and a releasing of pressure as it came loose. The warmth of his fingertips againsther skin stole her breath away. She shivered and tried not to shift her weight from foot to foot.
Warner cleared his throat, and Adele turned to face him.
“Do you need my help with your…” His cheeks flushed as his eyes darted across her face.
“I think I can do it; I have a little device somewhere in my suitcase. I made it when I was about fourteen because I felt so bad about having to constantly bother one of the chamber maids to help me — they were already so busy, and my parents did not see a reason to get me my own lady’s maid. And well…”Warner nodded but did not move away from her. Adele could count every one of his eyelashes; she could see the faintest line of stubble starting to form on his unshaven cheek and felt her fingers twitch as though to touch it.
She realised she was still babbling but could not seem to stop. “Though of course, getting it right took some practice, and I’ve gone through at least three iterations since I made the first one. It was rather complicated getting the right material and then figuring out the angles and all sorts of things.”
“Are you nervous, Adele?” he asked.
His eyes dropped to her lips, and Adele felt her heart stutter, and words fell from her mouth before her mind could process what she was saying, “Are you planning on kissing me?”
Warner’s blue eyes flashed and flicked back to hers. The dark emotion in them made them seem like vast pools of water at midnight with something hidden that pulled her towards them. Adele leaned forwards, placing a hand against Warner’s chest, though whether it was to steady herself or to resist the pull of his eyes, she could not tell.
His muscles stiffened beneath her touch, and he drew in a deep breath. The smell of him mingled with the fire in the room. He closed his eyes for a moment. Adele swallowed, feeling the pull ebb away, but then his eyes opened, and the dark hunger had deepened.
“No.” Every word seemed forced from his mouth through willpower alone, as though it cost him a great effort. “I will never kiss you.”
His eyes flashed, and he looked away. “Ours is a marriage of convenience. That is all it will ever be. You would do well to remember that.”
The spell was broken, and Adele stumbled backwards. “I had not forgotten.”
“Good.” He clenched his fist. “We should get some rest. We have a long day ahead of us.”
Adele nodded and fished her little device out of her suitcase, trying to ignore the ghost of Warner’s touch as it lingered on her skin.
That is all it will ever be.His words echoed in her head as she climbed into the bed and blew out the candle. She could make out the figure of the Duke on the chaise in the firelight.
It is a marriage of convenience.She wanted to feel reassured by his words, to feel comforted. She had never wanted a real marriage. She did not want it. But something treacherous stirred within her, spreading unease through her body.
Disappointment.
Eighteen
“What on Earth is that smell?” Warner walked into the Eastern drawing room with his nose wrinkled.
Or what had been the Eastern drawing room. He barely recognised it. In the week since they had arrived back at the estate while he had attempted to keep his distance from his new wife, she had turned the room into her sewing space and workshop.
Volts of fabric covered nearly every surface. The sofas and armchairs had been replaced with large desks full of paper and sketches and several chests. A very rickety looking sewing box groaned beneath several volts of fabric. At the centre of the chaos sat Adele with a bucket of some foul-smelling liquid that she was stirring with a large wooden paddle.
“Probably the dye.” Adele gestured at the tub, her own nose wrinkling.
“Is there a reason you decided to dye your fabric in the drawing room and not in the dyeing room?” he asked.
“We have a dyeing room? Where?” Adele’s eyes widened.
“Downstairs.” Warner gestured with his hand. “One of the old duchess’ was obsessed with her clothes being the latest fashion, and the Duke at the time decided it would be best to simply dye her existing dresses rather than commission entirely new ones.”
“The servants probably thought it was beneath my station to be shown such a place, and I have been too distracted with all this to explore much.” Adele waved her hand around the room, and Warner followed her movement.
