Page 34 of His Temporary Duchess
“What,” he demanded, his voice cold, “do you think you are doing?”
She looked back at him with rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, and he fought back the memory of everything that had happened between them the previous night. The way she had sounded in the carriage as he had tormented her, bringing her to her peak and refusing to tip her over the edge. The wet, hot feel of her against his fingers. He had longed to use more than just his fingers then, and he did even more so now.
His irritation roared at the persistent lust flooding his body. If only he had never met her. Or if he had just married one of her awful sisters. Then he might at least have had some peace inside his mind, even if not inside his house.
Eleanor gave him neither.
“Good morning,” she told him sunnily.
“I did not ask if it was a good morning. I asked what you are doing.”
“What do you think I am doing?” She gestured at the curtains, the stately green replaced by a pink-and-white print. “I thought these might be a little brighter. And, you see, they tone beautifully with the wallpaper, so there is no obligation to change anything else in the room unless we should wish it.”
“I told you not to change anythingat all.” He nodded at the footmen attempting to pin the material in place. “You may leave us.”
They bowed immediately. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Sebastian turned to Eleanor. “You persist in defying me.”
Her cheeks turned a deeper color. “You make it hard not to, Sebastian. Either I do as you say and get no part of you, or I resist your instructions and I get far more of you.”
“And why do you want more of me?”
“Why do you think?” Her head tilted to one side. “You are my husband. What else should I want?”
“A life separate from me. Away from me.” He found he had stepped closer until her backside pressed against the edge of the table. “Why do you persist in trying to have a relationship with me when I have made it plain I wish for none with you?”
“Do you?” She rested a hand against his chest and looked up into his face. “Do you really wish for nothing to do with me?”
Yes. He knew what he had to say. One simple word that was close enough to the truth that he could pretend it encompassed all of the truth. A half-lie that he could convince himself he meant utterly.
And yet, he could not bring himself to say the word. His entire plan hinged on having nothing to do with her in the slightest. To push her away to such a degree, in fact, that she would be prepared to annul their marriage and leave him to his life of solitude.
He would be safe there.
He was no longer certain he wanted to be safe.
Her gray eyes sparkled as they looked up at him, soft lips curving delightfully. How could he ever have thought her nothing morethan reasonably pretty? She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful lady of his acquaintance. Stunning, compelling in every way. The soft dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks that he wanted to kiss. The delicate point of her chin. The lashes that arched up to her browbone, as dark as her hair.
He had not seen her face the previous evening in the carriage; it had been too dark. But he knew now, looking down at her, precisely how she would have appeared.
He craved her.
To silence his urges, he took a lock of her hair in his hands, running it through his fingers. Just as soft as he had imagined, perhaps more so.
“You deserve more than I can ever give you,” he said quietly. “You would be better placed elsewhere as another man’s wife.”
“Then why marry me in the first place?” When he said nothing, she reached up onto her toes, her face dangerously close to his. “Tell me, Sebastian. Tell me why you want nothing to do with me, and I will go. But unless you do, I will fight. Anything to make you notice me. Anything to make you punish me. If that brings you joy, you may do it as often as you like.”
“And deny you every time?” He caught her hair in his hand, tightening his grip until he saw awareness of the pain pass across her features. “Is that what you would prefer, my dear? To never know the glorious rush of climax? To always be left wanting by my hand?”
“Better your hand than any other’s,” she whispered.
He dropped her hair abruptly and stepped back. This had gone too far. He needed space to breathe and come into himself. Perhaps he would need a new plan. Punishing her, after all, had been a punishment for them both, given he had needed to force himself not to touch her and give her pleasure. All it had done was inform him of how much he wanted her pleasure, and how much more important that was to him than his own.
He had not been thinking clearly.
He just feared if he was, then he might not choose to force her to leave.