Page 25

Dominic inclined his head without a word and rose. She stood up as well, her chin jutted, and strode down the hallway ahead of him. He followed, his stride precise, controlled, but his jaw was tight.

They stopped only once they were well away from the servants and her sisters, the low light of the corridor casting long shadows between the paneling.

“You shouldn’t have spoken to Victoria like that,” Marianne said, spinning around to face him, her voice low, edged with anger.

Dominic folded his arms. “She crossed a line.”

“She’s a girl,” Marianne countered. “A curious, talkative, headstrong girl—but still a child.”

“I expect a measure of respect in my house,” he said, calm but firm.

“She’s twelve.”

“And I indulged far more questions than anyone else ever has,” he pointed out, his gaze sharp. “You know I did.”

Marianne exhaled, clearly struggling between loyalty to her sister and her rising frustration.

“You can’t bark at her the moment she touches something raw. If you want respect, you must offer a little grace in return.”

“I’ve offered plenty of grace,” Dominic replied, stepping closer—not threatening, but unyielding. “I have made room in my quiet life for chaos. For animals. For sisters. For you. I am trying, Marianne.”

“And do you think I am not?” she shot back, now standing with her back to the wall as he loomed nearer. “Do you think I dreamed of being married off without a word in the matter? I was bartered away like a parcel because you walked into my father’s study and said my name.”

He stared at her, unmoving. “I did not choose you like a parcel.”

“Then what?” she challenged. “Because I was not Elizabeth, but I was still convenient?”

His voice dropped. “You were not convenient. You were the opposite of convenient.”

Her breath caught.

“You think I don’t know you didn’t want this? That I don’t see you watching me like you’re waiting for the trap to close? I know what it’s like to feel caged, Marianne.”

They were inches apart now, her shoulders pressed against the wall, his presence like a storm cloud looming overhead. But not once did he touch her.

Until she didn’t move away.

And then, finally, slowly, he reached out, brushing a loose curl from her cheek. His hand didn’t leave her face. He leaned in, his mouth a hairsbreadth from her own.

“You say I know nothing of affection,” he murmured. “But what do you know of it, little doe?”

Her breath stuttered. “I… I…”

“Yes?”

“Dominic…”

His name on her lips undid him.

He kissed her.

It was fierce, searching, but controlled. When she didn’t resist, his hands moved. One braced against the wall above her, the other settling at her waist.

She rose on her tiptoes, meeting him with a hunger of her own. Fire roared between them, but not chaos—something sharp, focused.

His mouth traced the line of her jaw, lower, to the delicate curve of her neck. She curled her fingers into the fabric of his waistcoat, grounding herself. A gasp slipped past her lips.

Then—

“Ahem. Your Graces?” came a voice from down the hall, sheepish and urgent.

Dominic froze. Marianne blinked, dazed, then turned her head just slightly.

One of the junior footmen stood ten paces away, wringing his hands. “P-Pardon me, Your Graces. B-Beowulf is chasing Serafina again.”

Neither of them spoke for a long beat. Then, Dominic stepped back and straightened his coat with impeccable care.

Marianne pulled away immediately. The spell was again broken, and it had Dominic pulling his hair in frustration. Meanwhile, his dear wife was quick to leave him, half running to separate the animals.

At this point, all the animals loved her. Of course, they’d obey, but they also had to take his wife from him.

Again.

He wondered if Marianne would ever be his wife beyond just in name.

After Marianne had managed to separate Beowulf and Serafina, she went back to dinner and then hastily said goodnight to her sisters.

In her room, she could still feel the heat of Dominic’s kisses. They were more urgent than the first one they’d shared, and there was something within her that had enjoyed it thoroughly.

Her lips still felt swollen from his kisses, and she could still feel his warm, hard body pressed against hers. When he backed her up against the wall, she was not afraid of him. Instead, she was afraid of herself—how she wanted it so badly. How she wanted to give in to him.

In bed, she tossed and turned. She could not sleep. She pressed her thighs together, remembering how his kisses and caresses made her feel hot and bothered. Wet. Her nipples had been hard points.

She wondered if he knew. Of course, he knew. He was older and more experienced, and he must have smelled her arousal.

Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door.

Could it be Dominic?

Dominic . That was his name.

She’d known that for some time, but earlier that night, she’d whispered it to him, and he…

He’d kissed her. And she’d wanted more.

She bolted out of her bed, shivering with anticipation. Her skin felt warm to the touch even though the night was chilly.

What would she do if she opened the door and saw him outside, waiting?

Waiting for what?

Waiting for her to beg him to come inside and finish what they had started. She could not even bring herself to be angry with him for the way he had spoken to Victoria.

Marianne pulled the door open, and her breath came out in a whoosh. It was not Dominic at all.

Instead, Daphne stood in the doorway, twisting her nightgown in her hands.

“Can I sleep in your room tonight?” she asked sweetly, looking worried, probably unsettled by the unfamiliar environment.

Trying to hide her disappointment and relief, Marianne smiled at her sister and beckoned her inside. “Of course, darling. Come in.”