Page 35 of A Virgin for the Duke of Depravity (Ton’s Beasts #2)

She crossed her arms over her chest, the only defensive move she could make to put some space between her and Leo. Narrowing her eyes, she glared at him and tried to match his tone when she responded.

“That is what you are showing me. If there is one thing the sisters taught me, it is that actions speak louder than words.”

“And what actions were those?” He looked at her curiously now.

Without a conscious thought, she took a step closer to him. What she had to say, she did not want to shout. She would not want the servants to hear. She would not want the girls to hear them argue.

“You did not come to my room last night,” she said. “You left the girls with me at breakfast. You hurried out of the sitting room when you saw me there. You have gone out of your way to avoid me.”

“This is your proof that I did not want to marry you?”

“What further proof would I need?”

Margaret threw her hands up, irritated that he could be so calm while her blood was boiling with anger. They had been married not even for a full day, and they were already arguing so loudly that the entire mansion might hear them.

“Why did you marry me if you do not want me?”

Leo circled her, his eyes traveling up and down her body. It was the same hungry look he had given her at Olympus, his gaze darker than usual. She did not move a muscle as he took her in.

“Was I just a bet to you?” Her voice came out smaller than she had intended. Margaret swallowed hard to keep the tremor out of her voice. “A—A joke?”

He did not answer her, so she kept saying the words that were willing to pour out of her as readily as her tears.

“How does that joke go, may I ask? ‘Let’s make the little nun come undone, and never touch her again?’” She bit out every word so that they fell like blows.

Leo flinched, but he did not pull back from her.

“Do you want me to touch you again?” he asked.

He stopped circling her and stood directly in front of her. He brushed his fingertips along her cheekbone, heat blazing against her skin.

“You liked me better when I was temporary, is that it?”

Margaret pushed him back from her as she drew a ragged breath. His hands flew up to encircle her wrists, pulling them away from his chest. He lowered her hands back to her sides.

“Careful, wife,” he warned.

“No, I am so tired of being careful.” Her tears fell freely now. “I have been so careful since my mother died. I have had to hide and stay away from everyone I cared for. And now you are asking me to do the same?”

She could not help pushing him again. Her fists found their way to his chest, and she punched him as hard as she could. He allowed it without so much as taking a step back.

But then he grabbed her wrists and pulled her into him. He tucked her into his chest, her head nestled beneath his chin. Releasing her wrists, he wrapped both arms around her and held her close so that she could feel his heart racing beneath her cheek.

She let the sobs tear from her throat as she shook in his arms.

How foolish of me to find comfort in the one person determined to avoid me.

Even though she knew that it was foolish to pretend that her new husband wanted anything to do with her, she melted into him.

“It pains me that you think I do not want you,” he murmured into her hair.

She pulled back to look at him, feeling the cool air kiss every place where he no longer held her. He pulled her down onto the settee. He sat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“I have been in agony,” he started.

She looked at him, surprised that he was willing to be honest with her. Margaret knew Leo to be two things: emotionally distant and domineering. Yet, his voice now was gentle but firm. He meant the words he spoke, never saying anything casually.

“I was burning for you before, or do you not remember?” Leo asked, running a hand down his face.

She blushed at the memory of his covered manhood pressing against her. The color in her cheeks must have been enough to let him know that she did remember what he had shown her.

“I am burning for you now.” He laughed a little, but there was no mirth in it. “I cannot exist without thinking about you. Don’t you dare think that I do not want you.”

Margaret opened her mouth to respond, but words failed her. Her husband was sitting in front of her, confessing that he felt for her a small fraction of what she felt for him. Heat pooled in her core at the mere thought that he might touch her again.

That he wanted her.

But that did not explain why he did not come to her last night. It did not explain his coldness today, just one day after their wedding. It did not explain why he did not kiss her at their wedding—the one tradition Margaret had been looking forward to.

“You did not kiss me at our wedding,” she said bluntly.

“Because I knew that if I touched you then, I would not be able to stop myself.” The words came out in a rush, and he finally looked at her.

When their eyes met, Margaret could feel him reaching for her without him lifting so much as a finger. There was a thread between them, connecting them without the need for touch. She did not know what it was or how it happened.

She leaned toward him, his pull drawing her in without telling her what to do. Her shoulder brushed his, and he started at the touch. She noticed that he did not pull away from her, though.

“Stop torturing me, wife.”

There was that word again, the one that she could not get enough of hearing from his lips.

At the thought of his lips, she looked down at his mouth, before her gaze flicked back to his. But his eyes were trained on her mouth, his face angled toward hers.

Margaret knew he wanted her, but would he let himself have her?

She leaned in further until there was only a hair’s breadth between them. She paused, allowing him to decide what to do. A bark of laughter escaped him, and she felt it against her lips.

“I hate that I cannot stay away from you,” he said, still not pulling back from her.

“Why would you want to?”

Margaret lifted her hand to his face. She stroked his cheek and felt his strong jaw. The muscle twitched where she touched him, but she noticed that he closed his eyes and melted into her touch.

For a moment, she gave him the space to speak as she traced his features. She ran her fingertips over his closed eyes, down the bridge of his nose, around the full lips that she was desperate to kiss.

“What happened to you?” She finally asked the one question that had been burning in her mind since their wedding. Maybe even long before that.

There had to be a reason that he could not give himself to her, could not let himself love her, could not let their marriage be as it should have been.

Leo opened his eyes. Margaret let her hands drop to her lap so that he could focus on what he wanted to say, but the word was simple on his lips. It took her by surprise when he said it.

“Love.”