Page 19 of His Temporary Duchess

All around lay evidence of his bachelor behavior. Nothing could more clearly have signaled that he lived life as a rake, caring about nothing and no one but his comfort. Discarded clothes lay across clothes, coats tossed off and cravats thrown against cushions, the starched white vivid against the dark material of his woolen carpets. Then there were the drink decanters, many empty, that littered every available surface. Trays of partially eaten food lay piled on the other armchair, rendering both useless for their intended purpose.

Irresponsible. And, given the state of the place, he had evidently not allowed servants to enter and clean. No doubt she would have to do so at some point—and brave his inevitable wrath. But she would prefer that to knowing he spent his days in squalor.

“Your Grace,” she repeated, turning her attention back to him.

He cocked a brow. “I don’t recall giving you permission to enter my private space.”

Her face heated as she recalled the last time she had done that. His half-naked form, and the way he had loomed over her. Perhaps he had intended to intimidate her, but the difference in size between them had inspired very different emotions.

Ever since then, the adjoining door between their chambers had remained locked.

“I apologize, Your Grace,” she mumbled, ducking her head. “I merely came to inquire about the servants.”

“What of them?”

“They appear to have been… replaced?”

“Indeed.”

“I wondered at the necessity. My maid—”

“She has gone,” he interrupted, setting his pen down. “They have all been dismissed. You do not need to know why.”

Eleanor bit her lip. No doubt he wanted her to bow to his word and accept it at face value, and she very much wanted to, butAbigail had been the closest thing to an ally in this strange house with her mercurial husband.

“I appreciate you must have your reasons,” she said as calmly as she dared. “And I do not mean to imply that they are unjustified.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said with some irony.

“However, Your Grace, I must ask that you do not dismiss my personal maid, Abigail. She has served me well, and I would prefer to keep her over this new girl.” She ducked her head, doing her best to appear humble. Anything that would convince him.

She heard his chair scrape back, and footsteps approach. Her entire body tensed as his finger came to her chin and tilted her face to his. “You are very daring, wife,” he murmured, but although his tone was almost tender, the light in his eyes was not. The sight of it both terrified and excited her. “Do you mean to ask me to recant my word? To fire a girl I have just hired so I can bring back the old?”

“Merely retain Abigail as well,” Eleanor said.

“And if I do not?”

“I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” His brows rose, finger still under her chin. “That encompasses a great many things. Will younotbarge into my study at all hours of the day? Will you restrain your desire to ask me about my choices, even if they make no sense to you?” His thumb came to pinch her chin, none too gently, and as she stared up at the Duke, she saw his expression harden. “My motivations are none of your concern, and your audaciousness astonishes me. Did I not lay down the rules?”

In her urgency and confusion, she had forgotten about his rules. She closed her eyes, trying her best to suppress the anticipation buzzing in her stomach at the thought of what his punishment might entail. That question had been occupying her thoughts far more than it ought to have been. “I understand. You will have to punish me. I am very sorry.”

“Are you?” He brought a hand into her hair and tugged, firmly enough that it pinched and her eyes watered. And although she suspected it was deeply wrong—in simply every regard—something in her stirred in response to the vehemence. Something hot and aching in her lower stomach, that although she hated to admit, she knew was desire. “Are you sorry, Eleanor? Or are you simply determined to defy me?” When she continued to keep her eyes closed, ashamed at how she felt, and wanting him simultaneously to do more—do worse—he shook her. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and met his, and watched his expression change as he read what there was to see in her face. She had not known until now that she was so very different from other well-bred, polished, proper young ladies, but there was nohiding it now. She craved the roughness of his touch, for him to lay down the law and force her to submit.

She wanted to know how his punishment would feel against her skin. The harshness of his palm against hers, or perhaps even worse. Pain under his direction seemed like a distinctly appealing prospect, more so than she could ever have imagined before meeting him.

He released her and stepped back as though she had burned him. But although his eyes were wide and horrified—she could clearly read the terror—she thought she saw a flash of something else there. Answering heat that scorched through her, sending the fluttering ache in her lower belly lower still. A hot, liquid feeling.

“We are to attend societal functions together,” he said tightly, as though every word cost him. “Balls and routs and the like. We must be seen together, and you must be everything a Duchess is supposed to be. Do you understand me?”

Eleanor’s knees felt as though they might buckle. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Do not prove a disappointment.” He returned to his desk and sat as though he wished not to be standing a moment longer. “Leave me.” As she reached the door, he added, “And Eleanor?”

“Yes?”