Page 19 of Stolen By the Duke of Stone

If he kissed her now, he would be tempted to lay her across the dining table and feast on her instead of the food his cook had prepared.

The force of his lust took him by surprise. Their marriage was a front, a means of providing William with a mother. They had nothing else in common.

“What of fun?” he asked, returning to the conversation.

“Young boys require fun. To be happy. Fun and laughter and love.”

“That sounds like a recipe for ill-disciplined, spoiled⁠—”

“Ensuring William is happy is not the same as spoiling him! But a child should have the things he wants and needs.”

“The things he needs, certainly. But no one should have all the things they want all the time. That is not how life works, Jessamine. If you spoil him too much, you are setting him up to fail. Believe me, I know.”

She drew herself up to her full height, looking up at him from dizzying proximity. “I would rather he be spoiled and happy than denied, neglected, and miserable. I will not allow you to be cruel to him!”

“You—”

She raised a hand, pressing her finger to his lips. Instinctively, he quietened, shocked by the intimacy and the confidence of the gesture. Her gaze moved past him, upstairs, listening. After a moment, he caught it, too: the slight sound of a baby’s cry.

“I should go to him,” she said, stepping away. “Do not try to stop me.”

Andrew did not. he stayed where he was, motionless, as her footsteps disappeared upstairs. Then he returned to the dinner they had ruined.

Sipping his wine, he thought about the days ahead and wondered, for the first time, how well he would weather them. Or rather, if he would manage to weather them at all.

Jessamine curled her legs up in bed, pretending to read the book in her lap but really glancing at the door between her suite and Andrew’s. It remained closed. Every time she thought about what might happen if he opened it, a new thrill ran through her.

A bad thrill. One which she did actively not want. Because she did not, under any circumstances, want Andrew to visit her tonight. They had agreed, more or less, that he would not. The marriage was one of convenience, and they had no immediate need for children. There would be no reason for Andrew to sire an heir—at least, not at present—and he had made it plain that his interest in her started and ended with what she could do for William.

And even that, it seemed, was limited, given their argument earlier.

She drew her legs to her body and hugged them, book forgotten.

If he continued in this awful, high-handed way, they were going to clash even more. Rebecca would not want her son to be treated as a little soldier, created only for the purpose of commanding and expecting instant obedience.

Rebecca was no longer there to advocate for William, but Jessamine was, and she would not fail him.

She glanced across at the open door leading to William’s room. For now, he slumbered, but if this was like any of the other nights she’d spent with him, he would awaken, needing to be fed or changed or perhaps both. And she would not hesitate.

“I miss you,” she whispered to the empty room, aiming the words at Rebecca. “How can your cousin be so very different from you? I thought he might love William, but I doubt that now. How can I continue in a marriage with a man who does not love your son? Our son,” she corrected. “He will always be your son first. But he is mine second. I have claimed him. I will always claim him, no matter what he truly is to me. Brother or not.”

She rolled over, blowing out the candle.

Next door, she heard Andrew’s footsteps creaking away.

He was not coming to her.

Good.

“I don’t know how I will survive this marriage,” she murmured as though Rebecca were right beside her. “What on earth am I to do about that, Rebecca?”

The empty room remained silent.

And Andrew did not come to visit her.

Chapter Seven

Andrew could not have been the duke for very long, but he evidently had a firm way of running things—she might even say strict—because for the first week, Jessamine felt as though she were a spare cog in a very well-oiled machine.