Page 51 of The Duke’s Unwilling Bride

Whatever it is that causes this gap between us, it’s no longer about the dresses or the damned wedding. In truth, I no longer feel as if it has anything to do with his theory that I forced this marriage, seeing as his anger burns even hotter than the rage he felt after all that commotion. No, this is something different, something worse in his eyes.

After speaking with Mama Foxford concerning these matters, I know it must be something else. There’s an air of sulking about him that wasn’t there during any of our other interactions. This is worse somehow. No doubt it’s his way of paying me back for not sharing his bed, but how can I when he’s still such a stranger to me?

The fact that he’s treated me so poorly doesn’t make me rally to his cause, either. If he would just talk to me… But no. He remains silent, sulking about as if some toddler on the verge of a tantrum. I cannot, will not, reward his behavior by giving in, no matter how badly I want to feel his touch.

Glancing down at the paper, I study the large phallus, judging the length and breadth. It’s as close to an approximation as I’ll be able to give, seeing as I only had the chance to look at it a few times in our interlude. Heat swamps my cheeks as I add a few more details before starting on the cross-section.

In true, scientific fashion, I label what I can, using descriptors instead of actual anatomical terms. Though I know what the parts are called on animals, I have no clue if they transfer to humans or not. In fact, I’m still not sure if the member changes from Alphas to betas, and so, I leave off the names save two—cock and knot.

Those are the terms I’ve heard Foxford use, and as such, whether or not they’re slang or accurate, I affix them to the areas they encompass and draw lines so that no one is confused. I’m sure when Cynthia asked me to assist her in this endeavor, she was not expecting a full compendium on the subject. But I feel it is better to give too much information than none at all.

The only issue I face is where and how to hide these drawings and how to get them to Cynthia. Surely this is not something I can leave up to the post. I could perhaps ask her to come calling, but then, I’m sure the man watching me will want to sit in, just to make sure nothing untoward is happening. In fact, that will probably happen whether it’s her calling on me or me calling on her.

Resigned, I sigh and gather up the papers and walk over to my dresser. So far, I’ve been keeping them stashed away, hidden under a false drawer he seems to know nothing about. If only I had something like this at my old house. I’m tempted to hide my other treasures there, but now that my drawings reside, I don’t want to chance messing them up.

Groaning, I walk over to my bed and study the covers. Though the maid had been in here this morning, and I’d not touched them since then, they still look unkempt. At least to me. She did her job, yet something is just not right about it.

I tug on one of the edges, thinking that it’s just off a little, but that doesn’t fix it either. Leaning back, I worry my lip with my teeth, unsure of what the problem is. Scratching at my arms, I force my brain to think of other matters, such as why I feel so achy and hot.

I have never been sick before in my life. At least not that I have any remembrance of. I’ve always been a picture of health. Why is it now I seem to be afflicted with some unknown ailment? I would have thought it might be pregnancy, but I have no other signs or symptoms.

Before I can figure it out, Foxford’s voice drifts through the door separating us. Curiosity eats at me as I creep closer, resting my ear against the wood. Though I can’t make out what he’s saying, I can tell he’s having a conversation with his valet. No doubt he’s going out again tonight. More nights than not, he squirrels away, heading to parts unknown.

Anger burns through me as I slip away from the door and put on my redingote, covering up the breeches and shirt I managed to take off the line and hide in my room until such an occasion. Hurrying to my bed, I climb in and cover up. As always, before he leaves, Foxford comes in to check on me.

Most would see it as a sign of affection, proof he cares about my well-being. But I know the truth. It’s nothing more than to make sure I’m safely tucked into bed while he carouses and does whatever it is he pleases. Meanwhile, I’m resigned to be a prisoner of this house, watched over day and night so I have no freedom. This ends tonight.

Like clockwork, the door opens, sending a shaft of light into the room from his gas lamp. Closing my eyes, I keep the covers tight against my chin so he does not discover me fully clothed. I deepen my breathing, forcing my heart to stay slow and steady.

As an Alpha, there’s no doubt he’d hear any fluttering and wonder after the cause. His boots thump across the floor, and despite all I can do, my heart thunders in my ears. He must hear it. How can he not?

Another step and my heart trips over itself in my panic. Why did I think this was a good idea? One more step. Oh, God. He’s going to hear it. One final step, and he’s at my bedside. If he hears the rapid staccato of my heart, he makes no mention.

Instead, he runs his hand over my hair. “Is my little doll having a nightmare?” he murmurs, driving guilt into my heart.

Soon, a soft vibration fills the air. He’s purring for me? After all this distance between us? It makes no sense. Why would he do this for me?

I long to throw the covers off, to tell him my ploy, but that would only drive a wedge further between us. And so, I lie there, my heartbeat slowing with each long stroke of his hand down my hair where it fans out over the pillow. And then, before he leaves, he plants a soft kiss on my forehead.

He pauses a moment, his nose running along the side of my temple, so gentle I almost don’t feel it. But then, in the silence of the night, I can hear him scenting me. Though it’s almost imperceptible, I hear it, feel it even.

It makes my insides squirm at so intimate an action, and yet, I cannot bring myself to toss back the covers, revealing my ruse. I lay there, locked in this torment as his gentle touch stirs a hellacious heat in my body. Until this moment, I never knew any part of him could be so tender, and his actions cause me to wonder if I’ve misjudged him.

My insides melt at the action, ramping the guilt up even further. “If only you weren’t so hell-bent on making us both miserable.”

With those words, he leaves, and all tenderness I felt goes with him. It’s not just me making things worse between us. It’s him as well. If he would just tell me what it is I’ve done so wrong, then maybe I could put it to rights. I know I’m not innocent, but between the two of us, I feel as if he’s more to blame than I.

Besides, I’m not the one gallivanting around town several nights a week, going to God knows where and doing God knows what. The things I’m hiding from him are more for my preservation than anything else. Though it’s true I lied about my skills, that was before I knew I’d be married to him, and he’d find out.

In my defense, when I acted as if I had no ability to go head-to-head with the milk and water misses of the Ton, it was to knock him down a peg. I wanted to thwart him and his asinine ideas. But other than that, I’m a paragon. Even his mother loves me.

So why is it he thinks I’m the one to blame? Gritting my teeth, I shake my head, my mind filling with thoughts as I try to figure things out. But nothing immediately comes to the surface.

This ends tonight. One way or another, I will force him to talk to me. If it means offering my body again, then I will do so. We cannot continue like this, and I have no other ammunition besides my feminine sex. That is, if he still desires it after I’ve denied him for so long.

With renewed determination, I fling the covers off and slip into his room. It takes no time at all to twirl my hair in my hands and stuff it into one of his hats, disguising myself as a man. Glancing over at his closet, I make the quick decision to shuck my more feminine redingote and instead opt to put on one of his outer jackets.

I fairly swim in the mass of fabric as it overwhelms my body, swallowing it up. I don’t have time to fix it, but I hope that anyone seeing me pass by will not look too closely and think I’m just a man about business.