Page 34 of The Duke’s Indecent Scandal (Indecent Dukes #1)

Chapter Thirty-Three

T iffany

Spinning around the dance floor in her husband’s arms, Tiffany found that she could not look up at him and meet his eyes. It was impossible to waltz with him without remembering their engagement ball; it was also impossible to dance with him tonight without remembering the ladies he’d been dancing with before.

She was stiff in his arms, and she could feel his gaze on her, knew that he realized something had happened… but she could not dissemble. The monkey had only provided a small distraction from her roiling emotions, her jealousy. Being back in his arms as he whirled her around, the urge to cry because she wanted to be the only woman in his arms, ever, confirmed her growing fear.

She was in love with her husband.

She did not want the normal ton marriage with him.

So, she could not look at him because if she looked at him, she would cry. It was not his fault that he did not return her feelings. That had not been part of their marriage bargain. He’d done everything he should as a true gentleman of the ton. Well, after he’d compromised her, but even that did not reflect poorly on him since he’d also done the honorable thing and offered for her.

She was the anomaly.

As a lady, it was her role not to burden him with the unwanted feelings she was experiencing.

Shoving her feelings down was not a new experience for her, but it had been years since she’d felt so raw. So vulnerable. And it was so much more difficult with him holding her, touching her, examining her so closely.

“What is wrong?” he asked in a murmur that she could barely hear over the music. “Sinclair the monkey will come around, I am sure. After being with Lady Hatchett, he is probably wary of the ladies, even if it was the lord who was chasing after him.”

Tiffany shook her head, still avoiding eye contact with him, though she managed to put a smile on her face. Her heart was breaking because she’d realized she was in love with him, and he did not love her back. But he was concerned a monkey had hurt her feelings. So, at least, he cared for her in some small way. It was so very Gregory, and it just made her love him all the more.

He might not be in love with her, but he cared for her. Far more than some husbands cared for their wives. She would have to learn to be content with that and look the other way when ladies importuned him. At least now, she had a group of friends to help distract her. She’d enjoyed beginning a friendship with Miss Little, who had shyly given permission to be called Kalina when Baroness Ashfield insisted they call her Delilah.

She’d invited them over for tea on the morrow, all three ladies. Knowing she could invite them to visit her at home for a private gathering and that her mother-in-law would be nothing but supportive made her far bolder than she’d ever felt before.

Now, she was thankful she’d have them because if Gregory did not want her in his bed tonight or he went to visit another woman’s… she was going to need all the distraction she could get.

His hand squeezed hers a little tighter, the hand on her waist pulled her in a little closer, and she felt the shift in his demeanor. Peeking up at him, she dropped her gaze immediately as she recognized the hard look on his face. The same one he’d had in the bedroom when he’d been ordering her about. The charming, flirtatious man he showed Society was no mask, she knew that, but the other side of his coin… and he had just flipped.

“Tiffany.” His voice was low, demanding, the same way it had been in the bedroom.

Keeping her head ducked down, she shook it again.

Which… did not turn out the way she’d anticipated as the dance ended. Instead of letting her go or leading her back to her circle, she found herself being whisked away toward the exit. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Astrid looking after her—though she was no help; she winked and waved at Tiffany.

She supposed at least no one saw anything unusual in her and Gregory rushing away so quickly. Perhaps everyone else would attribute it to their ‘love match’ and their need to return to each other’s company.

“Tiffany!” Her mother’s sharp voice made her automatically wince, her head swiveling around.

But it did not matter. If Gregory had heard her mother calling out to her, it did not slow his pace at all. His hand remained firm on her back, propelling her forward. Tiffany only caught a glimpse of her mother’s face, going from disapproving to shocked when Tiffany was unable to stop and go to her.

Relief made her nearly limp when she realized she was not going to have to face her mother yet.

The Duke and Duchess of Windham were just leaving their places at the front as Gregory and Tiffany went past them. Gregory barely paused, nodding and thanking them for their hospitality. The two smiled approvingly, seemingly not at all put out by the early departure of two of their more prominent guests.

“Remember when we could leave early?” the duke asked, watching Tiffany and Gregory as they passed.

“It is our party, ” the duchess responded reprovingly to which Tiffany heard the duke’s sigh before the two were out of earshot completely.

Her chest ached in envy. The two of them were obviously a love match and had remained in love. She wished her path to happiness could be as easy as theirs, but she doubted that’s what lay in her future.

Gregory got them out the door, and there was not a long wait before their carriage came round, but it felt like it took forever as they stood there in silence. The only blessing was that they were alone other than the footmen. None of the gossipmongers were there to see them standing silently for the minutes it took for the carriage to return.

He packed her into it in short order, and she had barely settled into her seat before he was across from her. Even in the dim interior, she could see his stern gaze in the moonlight.

“Tell me what is wrong.” It was not a question; it was a command.

“Nothing is wrong.” Nothing that he could do to fix. He could not help his feelings or lack of them, and she did not blame him. She was the problem. She was the one who had succumbed to an unlooked-for attachment. Somehow, some part of her had forgotten it was all pretense.

Or perhaps she would have fallen in love with him, anyway. Because, pretense of love or not, Gregory was her ideal man. Charming, kind, generous, attentive… that he was these things to everyone only showcased his character. That she yearned to be singled out, to have some things solely focused on her, that was her own failing.

Always so selfish. Her mother’s voice whispered in her mind.

Tiffany pressed her lips together as the carriage began to roll forward, rocking them slightly in their seats.

“I can tell something is wrong, little swan.” His voice had lowered, darkened. “You can tell me now, or you can tell me over my lap.”

Over his lap? She did not understand, and her brow furrowed. She’d sat on his lap several times. Twice while they were naked. That had been very enjoyable. But she did not think that was what he meant.

It did not matter either way, she supposed, since she did not plan on telling him. She wracked her mind, trying to think of some explanation for what would be wrong, but other than realizing she was in love with her husband and he was not in love with her, the ball had been wonderful. Even being rejected by Sinclair the monkey had been amusing, not at all hurtful, though she’d wanted to pet the cute little thing.

Admitting her feelings was out of the question. Humiliating herself to admit to such a thing when he did not return them was bad enough, but worse would be if he felt sorry for her. If he was sympathetic. Or would it be worse if he pulled away so as to help save her?

She did not know. She did not want either… or, rather, she did not yet know what she wanted and needed some time to think about it. Time that she was not certain she was going to get because she had not been able to dissemble well enough to hide her consternation from him. He was able to read her emotions better than anyone, even better than her mother or Sebastian. Which made it all the more difficult.

“Last chance, little swan.”

Tiffany metaphorically dug in her heels and shook her head. His lap was not a bad place to be, and she did not understand why he thought it would convince her to tell him anything.

Perhaps he was not being serious about questioning her? Perhaps he really had rushed her out of the Windham ball because he wanted to bed her? In which case… she could not mind. She would much rather have him in her bed—for as long as she could keep him there—than in another ladies’.

“Very well.”

Tiffany was not surprised when he reached out and tugged her hand, pulling her toward him. She was surprised when he did not pull her straight across. Unable to anticipate his intentions, she indeed found herself over his lap. Head and arms on one side, legs on the other, bottom in the air with his hand tugging her skirts up.

Her protest was lost in a shriek when his hand came down on her bottom with a hard smack that burned. It was the hardest swat he’d ever delivered to her backside.

“Gregory!”

“Are you ready to talk, little swan?” He rested his hand on her bottom, rubbing the spot he’d just spanked. Tiffany hesitated.

The physical pain of a spanking or the emotional pain of admitting her feelings to someone who did not return them?

She hesitated too long, and Gregory made the decision for her, his hand going back up and coming down hard on the other side of her bottom.

“Let me know when you’re ready to tell me what is wrong,” he said, bringing his hand down over and over again in between his words. Tiffany covered her mouth with her hands to stifle her shrieks.

It hurt .

There was something very wrong with her because despite the sting, despite the growing burn, despite the fact that these were not playful swats, her body was reacting as if they were. She wriggled on his lap, her insides clenching, panting as both the pain and her arousal began to climb.

But even her growing desire did not stop the burn from growing, especially when his hand came down on the sensitive crease between her buttocks and her thighs. That burned like fire, and Tiffany jerked in place, trapped by his hand holding her side and her skirts hiding her upper body and head.

“Ow! Gregory, please!” She bucked against him, and he halted, rubbing her bottom, making her moan as he dipped his fingers into the slick heat of her pussy. Her sensitive tissues burned in an entirely different way, her body aching to have him inside her, but instead, his fingers moved up to her bottom hole. “Gregory!”

Squealing, she was unable to wriggle away as the slick length of his finger pushed against that tight little hole. It was a stark reminder of how vulnerable she was to him, how much of a command he had over her body and senses. He was pushing his finger into her in a most unnatural manner, yet it made her nerve endings sing as the discomfort of being stretched open mixed with the burn in her cheeks.

“Time to talk, little swan.” His finger pumped gently, moving in deeper. “Or do not. I am happy to explore your tight little arse while I wait.”

Oh, goodness… he meant to go deeper. Her face flushed hot and not just from the physical warmth of being trapped under her skirts. She knew he could not see her reaction, and she felt faint as he pushed his finger in deeper, invading a hole that had never been meant to have anything go into it.

In some ways, his inability to see her face was what finally made the decision easier.

He could not see her, and neither could she see him. She would not have to see his reaction.

And if she spoke up now, he would remove his finger from her bottom.

Taking a deep breath, she covered her eyes with her hands, even though she was well hidden beneath her skirts, and shouted out the truth.

“I have fallen in love with you!”

The words hung in the air, fraught and far too honest, and Tiffany wished she could die as she felt his finger halt its forward progress in her bottom. Her muscles clenched around it. She could only imagine the look of horror on his face.

The finger retreated, and she did not have time to rejoice over its disappearance nor quail over Gregory’s reaction because he was pulling her up to face him. She was still on his lap but sitting on it now. The moonlight coming in from the window danced across a face completely lacking in horror, though he looked shocked down to his bones.

“What did you just say?”

She would have tried to look away, but the hand that had been holding her body in place for him came up, cupping her chin and forcing her to keep her gaze on him. His fingers were too strong for her to pull away, even if she wanted to.

The most awful feeling was rising in her breast.

Hope.

Such an ephemeral feeling. So fragile. So delicate. So easily broken, leaving devastation in its wake. And the stakes were far higher than they had ever been in the past.

But she could not help it. He did not look horrified. He looked as though he wanted to hear her words again. She could not find the breath to say them, though; she was too caught in her own fear, her own hope, the combining turmoil making it impossible to loosen her tongue and repeat herself.

His hand on her chin gentled, reaching up to brush a lock of hair out of her eyes.

“Did you say you’ve fallen in love with me?” he asked. His hand settled around the back of her neck, holding her head in place so she still could not look away. Not that she was sure she wanted to now.

Hope, that devilish little flame, actually wanted to see his reaction.

Just in case.

But her voice had fled the scene, so instead of saying it again, she nodded her confirmation.

Heat flared in his eyes, and he pulled her lips down to meet his.

“Oh, thank God.”

At least, that’s what she thought she heard him say, right before their lips touched, and pure joy flashed through her.