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CHAPTER SIX

T he sudden press of Julian’s lips against Anna’s brought with it a shock that ripped through Anna, stealing the air from her lungs and momentarily freezing the indignant retort on her tongue.

Her mind, recently consumed by frustration and exhaustion, went utterly blank.

It was in no way a gentle kiss, but rather a hard press of their mouths, an almost punishing assertion, an obvious attempt to silence her.

And despite the underlying aggression, there was a strange, undeniable heat that ignited a foreign spark deep within her.

Her hands, which had been raised to push him away, faltered and hovered uselessly in the air between them.

Julian pressed closer, working his mouth insistently over hers, and as his hand found purchase on her hip and another weaving through her neck, she shivered and clung to his shirt desperately.

She could feel his lips tug into a smirk just as he deepened the kiss and slowed the pace from urgent to lazy, sending a dizzying wave through her.

He tasted like the scotch, his tongue burning hers with each stroke and lick, but she chased after the heat, her senses clogged by the scent of his manly musk.

For a moment, she allowed herself to be mortified by how overwhelmed and intoxicated she was by his presence, his touch his taste, but forgot it all the next as she leaned closer, silently begging for more.

He must have felt her subtle surrender to his whim, because the hand which had been holding onto her hip slid across it, wrapping his arm around her waist. Before she could realize what he intended to do, she had been pulled forward and settled on his lap, her body flush against his.

Anna’s hands anchored themselves on his neck, relishing in the feel of heat emanating from his skin.

The pressure of his hand at the small of her back was commanding and possessive, keeping her in place as he stole her breath, her thoughts, and her desire.

It was as if every contentious word, every angry accusation, every unspoken resentment that had festered between them simply dissolved, replaced by a searing, undeniable string of water.

The world narrowed to the feel of his lips, the taste of his mouth, the dizzying awareness of his body pressed against hers.

A sharp, insistent rap on the dining hall door jolted them apart.

The sound jarringly loud in the sudden silence, ripped through the sensual haze that had enveloped Anna, leaving her breathless and disoriented.

Julian pulled back abruptly, his chest heaving, his eyes, dark and turbulent moments before, now held a flicker of surprise and something akin to self-reproach.

The maid’s voice, muffled but clear, pierced the lingering tension. “Your Grace? The cook has prepared a fresh meal for the Duchess, as ordered.”

Julian’s gaze, still dangerously dark, flickered from the door back to Anna, who was still frozen in his lap, her cheeks burning, her lips tingling from his unexpected assault.

He quickly lifted her off of him and deposited her back on the chair she had been in, his face taking on a mask of aristocratic indifference.

“Stay put,” he ordered, his voice clipped and low, a stark contrast to the passionate growl that had left his throat when his tongue had fought hers for dominance. “And do not think of defying me again.”

He cleared his throat, the sound of a rough rasp, and turned on his heel. He was already halfway to the door when Anna, found her voice and asked as she pressed her trembling hands onto her thighs.

“Where are you going?” The question sounded impulsive and immature and she hated herself for it.

Julian paused his hand on the doorknob and turned his head slightly to look at her over his shoulder. His eyes, in the dim light, seemed to darken further, the blue almost black.

“Since you saw fit to leave me to dine alone tonight, Duchess,” he retorted, his voice laced with a cold, almost cruel satisfaction, “I shall return the favor. Consider it… a punishment .”

The word hung in the air, a chilling echo that sent a fresh shiver through Anna, this one entirely of cold realization. His eyes had truly darkened when he said it, a predatory glint she hadn't noticed before, and before she could wonder what it meant, he opened the door and took his leave.

Now alone in the dining hall, the lingering scent of his cologne mingling with the aroma of the freshly prepared food, Anna felt a strange mix of humiliation and an unsettlingly – longing.

Her cheeks still burned, and her lips still throbbed with the ghost of his kiss.

She had been so completely, utterly lost in it, a sensation so foreign and powerful it had stolen her common sense.

Ellen bustled in carrying a tray laden with a steaming bowl of broth, fresh bread, and a small dish of stewed fruit. The maid smiled kindly to her mistress as she quickly set the food before her, the edges dulling slightly as she noticed the vacant look in Anna’s eyes.

“Here you are, Your Grace,” Betsy mumbled, looking a little unsure of herself suddenly. “The cook made it special, just as His Grace requested.”

Anna merely nodded, her voice still caught in her throat. She found herself staring at the food, her stomach rumbling a protest at the long hours she’d gone without eating.

Julian might be infuriating, arrogant, and prone to alarming fits of temper, but he had ordered her a meal, recognizing her hunger even as he punished her with his absence. It was a bizarre, contradictory gesture that added another layer to the enigma that was the duke she had married.

“Are you all right, Your Grace? You look a tad flushed. Have you fallen ill?” Ellen asked, worriedly.

“No –” Anna cut off her words to clear her throat. “I-I’m fine. Just… tired.”

“Shall I prepare you a warm bath? To help you sleep after your meal?” Ellen offered sweetly.

“That sounds lovely, thank you.”

The maid curtsied and left the room quickly, the sudden solitude pushing Anna to do what she could to ignore it.

Obediently, she ate. The warm broth soothed her sore throat, and the simple, hearty food filled the gnawing emptiness in her stomach. She ate slowly, trying to gather her scattered thoughts, but her mind kept replaying the kiss, the unexpected heat, the almost desperate strength of him.

When she finished, Gretchen came to clear the tray and Anna asked,

“Where is Nicholas?”

“Asleep in the nursery, Your Grace. He has been resting soundly for about half an hour now. You needn’t worry about him, Your Grace. Regina is with him now and soon, I will go to watch over him as well. You can get some rest, Your Grace.” The maid responded with a small smile.

A weary sigh escaped Anna. “I will do just that. Thank you, Gretchen. You may retire.”

Walking down the familiar hallway to her own chambers, Anna felt a strange detachment, as if she were floating slightly above her own body.

The house was quiet now, with the staff having retired for the night.

She entered her spacious bedroom, the familiar comfort of the familiar space offering little solace against the swirling chaos of her thoughts.

The bath had been prepared, with light pink rose petals floating atop the water. Ellen was setting Anna’s nightgown out when she arrived and suddenly, the duchess was in need of some solitude.

“You may go now, Ellen. I will handle the rest myself.” She told the younger girl.

“Are you sure, Your Grace?”

“Quite. Thank you, dear.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” she said and took her leave after curtsying.

Once the door was closed and Anna was truly alone, she pressed a hand to her lips, her eyes wide, staring at her reflection in the darkened window pane.

The ghost of his kiss still lingered a phantom pressure that sparked a blush across her skin.

It was shockingly real, the memory vivid and unsettling.

Slowly, she stripped and sank into the warm bath water, letting her mind wander a bit.

She had never been kissed before, but she had often imagined what it would feel like. She had expected a shy, tentative peck, or maybe a lingering press of lips, heavy with affection. But never would she have expected it to feel like that.

That raw, consuming force, that desperate heat that had completely stolen her ability to think, to resist.

And what surprised her the most had been how much she had enjoyed it. She had liked it.

“Oh, I must really have lost my mind, she muttered to herself,” the admission in the quiet room, sent a fresh wave of heat through her, along with a mixture of shame and bewildered fascination.

She had wanted it to continue. She had wished they had not been interrupted.

But… Why had he done it? Was it truly just to silence her, to punish her consistent defiance? Or perhaps… was there something more?

She recalled the way his hand had found the small of her back, the possessive way he’d pulled her against him, the depth of his groan as she’d responded the way he had likely hoped.

He had seemed as affected as she was, perhaps even more so in that fleeting moment before the knock on the door.

His eyes, usually so controlled and cold, had been dark with an edge she couldn't quite decipher.

A flicker of her usual resentment returned. She still didn’t wholly trust him. He had abandoned her, left her to face their marriage alone, and then a mystery child who had been brought to their door.

And the child… Nicholas. Julian’s vehement denials still warred with her ingrained suspicion.

How could a baby simply appear on their doorstep, perfectly healthy at a time when she had finally gotten completely comfortable with the life she had built if he weren't somehow connected to Julian? It was too convenient.

Yet, a softer voice in her mind countered these accusations.