Page 39 of Wedded to the Cruel Duke

She had always believed that a new day brought forth new opportunities and if she failed at her attempts at seducing her husband that night…

Well, did she not just discover whatnotto do if she wanted to attract him to her bed?

Perhaps she could simply find some other way to get him there.

Or perhapsDaphnemight know a way.

She narrowed her eyes as she pursued that thought. Did Minerva not just tell her how much success her sister enjoyed in just this Season alone?

Perhaps it was time to expand her education to Townsend Manor…

“Absolutely not.”

To her credit, Phoebe stood her ground andabsolutelydid not tremble in the slightest when Charles shot her a chilly glare when she told him of her intention to visit Townsend House.

“But it is practically next door!” she argued. “Surely, you cannot mean to keep me a prisoner here at Wentworth Park!”

Men had been killed for simply walking out their front door. How much more if she casually traipsed over to the house next door?

Charles shuddered to think of what could happen to her—of those warm brown eyes dead and lifeless, her soft, sensual lips pale with the kiss of death…

He could not—wouldnot allow it.

“You are not a prisoner in Wentworth Park,” he told her. “But you may not come and go as you please. This house hasrules.”

“Far too many of them,” he heard her mutter under her breath.

When he glared at her again, she just raised her chin defiantly.

Good heavens, the woman was determined to exasperate him at every turn. He had just spent the better of the night tossing and turning with what appeared to be the most durable awakening of all time—no thanks to her antics at dinner—and now, sleepless and unable to think straight, she would demandthisof him?

What was a man to do? Of course, he would not allow it!

“But—”

“My decision isfinal, Phoebe.”

This time,sheglared at him and the sight of it strangely made him feel as if he was an errant schoolboy once more. Nobody—nobody—had ever gone against his wishes ever since he stepped into adulthood.

Why was his wife so determined to bait him at every turn?

And why did he find it strangely alluring?

Charles shook his head inwardly. He had to be going mad—that was the only explanation for it.

“Very well, My Lord,” she seethed, her tone icy. “I shall not inconvenience you any further with my presence. Besides, I just meant to inform you of my intentions.”

He nodded noncommittally. “Consider myself informed, then.”

He heard her utter a sound of complete and utter feminine frustration and then, with a swish of her skirts, she turned around and exited his study, that gorgeous head of hers raised high, sensual lips drawn into a disapproving line.

How was it that even her anger was utterly titillating? Just now, he had been sorely tempted to bend her over his desk and…

“It seems you have invoked the displeasure of the Marchioness,” Huxley remarked softly as he entered the study mere moments after Phoebe left.

Charles let out a soft sigh. “I am doing my damnedest to keep her safe, but—”

“But Her Ladyship has plans of her own,” the butler finished for him with the most annoying grin Charles had ever seen.