Page 15 of A Bride for the Cruel Duke (Claimed by Regency Devils #1)

Chapter Fifteen

A s Caroline dressed for supper, she could smell the intoxicating aromas drifting from downstairs. Indeed, all afternoon she had been able to smell them building so that by the time that she was ready for this feast which Anthony had planned for her, she was famished. What was more, she was excited.

She was also nervous. I should not be. No matter what Anthony has planned for me, or what he tries, I am not going to give in to him. I have more self-control than that .

Their breakfast had been on her mind all day. It stood in stark contrast to every other time the two had spoken or spent time together, such that she was both confused and intrigued all in one. Was that the real Anthony? Not the monster, the beast, the Cruel Duke as he was known. Rather, a kind, generous man who seemed to only want what was best.

No... it was all a game to him. He was trying to trick her, is what. He had his plan, his goal in mind, and he would not hesitate to act as he thought he needed so that she would break. And once he was done, he would do as she feared. He would discard her and pretend that she did not exist.

I will not break. I cannot, no matter what he tries... or what I feel.

It was thus that she made her way downstairs once evening set in, determined to get through tonight while being on her guard.

“There she is.” Anthony was in the dining room, waiting for her. He stood by the doorway, blocking the table from view. “I was just about to send for you.”

“Worried, were we?” she chided.

“It is a rather large home,” he said. “I thought perhaps you had become lost. I was ready to send out a search party.”

“No need to worry,” she said. “Where indeed the home is large, all I had to do was follow my nose.” She sniffed the air. “What was it you compared me to once? A stray dog?”

“A stray dog would have been here on time,” he joked. “Nor would it look as good as you do.”

She looked away, feeling her cheeks flush at the compliment. Such a small thing but it was so rare for anyone to comment on her looks, and she could probably count on one hand how often it had happened.

“Speaking of food,” she then started, changing the subject. “What is it that…” She trailed off when Anthony stepped to the side and revealed the spread that sat on the dining room table.

She had never seen so much food before. And such variety. From one end to the other, every inch of the table was covered, and with every dish imaginable.

Roasted chicken and duck. Baked pork and ham. Mutton chops, lamb, steaks, brisket, sausages and goose and indeed any meat she might think of. There were vegetables too, cooked in a hundred different ways. And soups and breads and pots filled with different types of stews which bubbled and hissed as steam wafted from inside.

Her jaw dropped as she stared.

“I take that to mean you are hungry?”

“What is this?” She edged closer to the table, her tummy rumbling.

“Dinner,” Anthony said simply as he came in behind her. He stood closer to her, his body mere inches away. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, and she shuddered and had to fight the urge to lean back.

“What is that saying?” she said, forcing herself to step around him so as not to be too close. “The way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach. I see what you are doing.”

He shrugged. “My thinking is that as you live here now, it would do to have an understanding of what foods you do and do not enjoy eating. So, I have had the cooks whip up every dish they can think of.”

She snorted. “And we are to what? Eat it all?”

A slight smile, the most he would ever give her. “We are to sample one of everything, together. Starting from the end of the table, we will work our way down. Think of it as a game.”

“A game?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Not a race, but a test of...” He considered. “Of endurance. We eat until we cannot stomach anymore. The first one to stop loses.”

“Loses?” She shook her head. “And what does the winner get?”

“Whatever they desire.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ah, now I understand, Your Grace —”

“Anthony,” he cut her off. “Call me Anthony.”

“Oh...” She blinked, surprised, and a little bit thrilled by the formality. “Anthony,” she said. “You intend to simply out eat me and then as a prize demand that I give you an heir, I must say, I am disappointed in your unoriginality.”

“You misunderstand me,” he said. “And frankly, we really need to work on your trust issues. I was being serious when I said that I wanted to give you a chance to get to know me better, and I feel that I have done nothing to prove otherwise so far.” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Oh…” She winced with embarrassment. “I… I suppose you are right. For now, anyway.” She raised an eyebrow back, determined not to appear as if she was giving in.

He is right, however, and perhaps it is time I stop being do distrusting. At the very least I need to give him a chance. Isn’t this what I wanted in the first place?

She looked back over the table of food and then dared to look at her husband. He was dressed in a dark suit, all black, which matched him perfectly. As always, there was a sinister nature to the man, a sort of danger which she sensed that he liked others to feel when around him. But there was something else...

There was a smile behind his eyes and on his lips. The suggestion that he was looking forward to this. That he was even excited. Again, she thought to this morning and how he had treated her, and now, not presumptive or overly charming. Kind and concerned, instead. It was a side to him that she was seeing more of, the complete antithesis to everything she had thought she’d known about him.

Despite herself, Caroline felt her excitement grow as she started to believe that maybe, just possibly, there was more to this marriage than she had expected… so much more.

“Shall we begin?” Anthony said, walking down the end of the table.

“After you,” she said, unable to keep herself from smiling and her mouth from salivating.

They started on the roast chicken, basted in a sweet glaze, paired with sweeter jam. It was succulent and moist and after having only a mouthful, she wanted more.

“Ah, ah,” he stopped her from going for a second bite. “Do not fill up on the first dish.”

“What’s the matter? Afraid I will win?” she shot back coyly.

“A part of me hopes you do,” he said simply.

She rolled her eyes at that but could not keep herself from smiling.

They moved down the table together, going from one plate to the next. Duck was the second option which they sampled, followed then by foie gras. After that, it was steak, and then brisket, followed by roasted lamb which he told her had been on the spit all day.

Her stomach began to groan but the food was simply too good to stop.

They ate vegetables in between the meats too, of course, most baked and sauteed, and all cooked to absolute perfection.

“What is the matter?” she chided as they took a spoonful each of baked carrot and brussels sprouts, sizzling in gravy. “Do not tell me, full already?”

“I could go on all night.”

They did not talk as much as she thought they might, but there was no need. Most of their conversation pertained to the food available, and they stood side by side as they ate. She did most of the talking, making sure to compliment and even laugh at those times when she missed her mouth or made a mess of herself.

“Careful...” Anthony stepped into her quickly and she gasped, leaning back, but unwilling to back up because she did not want him to have the upper hand. That’s what this was all about, after all. “You missed your mouth.”

“Oh...” She could feel some grease on her chin and moved to wipe it.

“No.” He snatched her hand and held it by her side. “Allow me...”

He stood over her. His large frame seeming to wrap around her like a shadow from which she could not run. One hand holding hers, the other moved up slowly and traced his thumb across her lips. Down her chin next, wiping up the grease, and then back to her lips. Despite herself, knowing it was the wrong thing to do, she opened her mouth, and his thumb ran itself over her tongue, which she licked clean.

A moan escaped her. Her eyes closed. Her lips wrapped around his thumb, and she sucked... her hand, which he held, squeezing his... his chest rising and falling... his breath across her face... she sucked and licked and cleaned his thumb until there was nothing left...

“Are you quite done?” he asked after some time.

Her eyes snapped open and she realized what she was doing. “Oh. I...” She turned away, embarrassed, her heart racing. “I did not realize how hungry I am.”

“Famished, by the looks of it.”

They continued down the table and she became more and more aware of the duke beside her. She could not help herself from glancing at him, watching his lips wrap around pieces of meat, teeth tearing, tongue working, the muscles in his jaw grinding.

Is this his plan? To seduce me with food so all I can think about is that mouth of his and what it might do? Truthfully, it’s not the worst plan...

Things came to a head when they reached the pork chops. Caroline had never told anyone this, but she hated pork. And ham. And any meat from pigs. She did not know why, but the taste always made her feel sick to her stomach. Annoyingly, growing up as she had done, she had never had the courage to tell her mother, assuming she would not care. She had been forced to eat it at least once a week and simply deal with the tase.

“Your turn,” Anthony said as he took a bite of a pork chop that looked succulent, but she knew would taste foul.

“Right...” She eyed the pork chop, used her fork to stab at it, brought it to her lips... “I am...” Her stomach began to turn. Her brow began to sweat. She was quite full, but she could still eat more. “This looks so... so tasty...” She grimaced as she went to eat it, opening her mouth, only to find that she could not go through with it. “Alas, I am afraid that I am feeling quite full.”

Anthony frowned. “You are?”

“Sadly, I am.”

“Caroline...” He clicked his tongue. “You disappoint me.”

“Not the first time, I am sure.” She tittered quietly and put the pork chop down, then pushed it away, eyeing it with a curled lip because she could not help herself.

She then caught Anthony watching her. His brow was furrowed, and he looked between her and the pork chop, his mind at work. “I guess that makes me the winner,” he said finally.

“Please, be gentle,” she sighed, laughing bitterly. “When you collect your winnings, I mean.”

Anthony said nothing at first. He wore a curious smirk which he held on her, and Caroline prepared herself for the worst, certain he was going to ask for something that did not cross the boundaries of their agreement but danced around them ever so dangerously. What could he possibly ask for? And will I have the will power to deny him ?

Their eyes held and she felt a lump rising in her throat. Facing one another, less than a foot apart, she tried not to flush as she pictured his request, as she imagined how far she might be willing to go without crossing that line. She needed to be strong. She needed to be?—

“You!” Anthony commanded suddenly at a member of staff who stood in the corner. “Fetch the head cook. Now!”

She frowned at the suddenness of the request. “What are you doing?”

“You will see,” Anthony said as he looked away from her, watching where the staff disappeared into the kitchens. A second later and he returned with an older-looking gentleman who was wearing an apron, covered in all manner of foodstuffs; his skin was drenched in sweat and oil, the consequences of having been at it all day.

“Your Grace...” He bowed nervously. “I hope that everything was to your liking.”

“Alistair.” Anthony faced the cook. “The food was well cooked beyond even my expectations. You have outdone yourself.”

“Your Grace!” The cook, Alistair, looked stunned by the compliment. “Thank you, Your Grace. I am pleased to hear that?—”

“However, from now on there will be some changes. You are no longer to serve in this home any meal that contains even a modicum of pork, ham, or any other cut from a pig. Is that understood?”

“I...” Alistair blinked in confusion. “I believe I do.”

“I find I no longer have a liking for it,” Anthony explained simply. “And I trust this will not be an issue.”

“I will ensure it is not.”

“Good,” he said. “As to the rest of this...” Anthony swept his hand across the table, still well over filled with food. “We are finished for the evening. Eat what you wish and dispose of the rest.” He waved the food away. “

“Your Grace! Thank you, Your Grace.” He offered a deep bow. “We will.”

“Good.”

Caroline stared at Anthony, confused by what she was hearing. On the surface, it was clear enough what his purpose was, that he was simply doing a kind thing having noticed that she didn’t eat the pork chops, thus guessing she wasn’t a fan of any meat from a pig. Yet it felt like more than that.

“You don’t have to do that on my account,” she said. “Truly, there is no need.”

“You think I did not notice you this morning? Your face when trying to stomach the pork. And now, the pork chops. Correct me if I am wrong, but my sense is that you do not like meat cut from swine.”

“You... you noticed that? This morning, I mean?”

“Of course.”

Caroline didn’t know what to say. Or how to feel. For her entire life, she had been forced to stomach ham and pork and bacon nearly every week, never daring to voice her objections to her mother, while wondering why her mother had never cared to notice her clear dissatisfaction. That the duke had seen her eat once and realized this about her, it was... she felt her cheeks flushing and she looked away.

She felt seen. Noticed. For once, the center of attention and not a mere background character. And it wasn’t the first time that Anthony had noticed her either. Such that it was starting to become commonplace…

In a bid to change the topic, as she suddenly felt embarrassed, she cleared her throat and spoke up. “Your prize,” she said. “I cannot wait to hear what you ask for.”

He shrugged. “My prize? There is only one thing I want.”

She looked at him flatly. “And here it is...”

“I want you to have whatever it is that you wish for,” he said. She frowned and blew through her lips, sure that he was teasing her. “I do not need anything,” he continued to explain. “You, however, living in a new home, my sense is that there are a dozen things you might wish for. So please, ask for anything.”

“But... no,” she argued, just because she felt that she should. “You won. You deserve a prize. That was the promise!”

“My prize is your happiness.”

Had the night gone differently, she might have rolled her eyes and dismissed him out of habit—another attempt for him to try and lure her into a false sense of trust. By now, however, Caroline felt herself moving beyond this mode of thinking.

The duke was not who she had thought he was originally. Nor were his motives ill—aligned or malevolent. She could see now that he had been nothing but truthful with her from the beginning, and this new arrangement that he had made was further proof of that.

The only downside she could see was that it would make it harder for her to resist him when the time came, which for now she still very much intended to do. At least it is easy to tell myself as such…

“I do not want anything,” she said.

“That is not true.”

“I did not win!”

“And I do not care.” He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Speak now, Caroline, for I am not one to have his mind changed once it has been decided. Do you wish for a puppy? A new horse? Perhaps a lock on your door to keep me out. Anything and it is yours.”

“Anything?” she asked.

“Anything,” he said.

She pushed her lips together as she considered. She had never been asked before what she wanted. She had never been offered anything out of goodwill or pure generosity. Needless to say, the whole thing was confusing.

It was as she thought through the offer, that a memory came to mind from years ago. When she was a little girl and Violet had been taking lessons on the pianoforte, Caroline had asked her mother if she might also, only to be dismissed because her mother did not wish to waste the extra money on a tutor. It was just one instance of Caroline being denied something by her mother, for no other reason than she was the middle child. But it had stung her, nonetheless.

“A pianoforte,” she said. “I would like one very much.”

“You play?”

“No,” she said with a casual shrug. “But I might learn. Unless that is a problem…”

“Not at all.” He did not even hesitate. “Consider it done.”