The Duke Buys a Bride by Sophie Jordan

Author:Sophie Jordan [Jordan, Sophie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-07-24T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

The wolf feared he might be a hunter of prey, after all.

When Marcus returned to his chair in the parlor, he had no intention of finishing out the night in the arms of Gregoria despite Alyse’s scathing suggestion.

Even if he accepted the invitation he read in the maid’s eyes, it wouldn’t make him feel better. It might alleviate the ache in his groin that had started the moment he woke with Alyse, but it would not get Alyse out of his mind. Or wipe the taste of her from his lips. Or rid his ears of her voice.

No, soon he’d be back to wanting her and he would feel the perfect wretch for slaking his lusts on some hapless maid whose name he would not remember within the week.

He sighed. Wanting Alyse. He feared that was now a perpetual condition. At least until they got to Kilmarkie House. Then they would resume their proper and respective roles. He probably wouldn’t even notice her anymore. She’d do what housekeepers did and he would do what he . . . did.

He helped himself to another glass of whisky and brooded. Brooded. There was no other word for it. The fireplace burned, casting the comfortable parlor in a warm red glow that was almost demonic and fitting for his mood.

Gregoria entered the room and sashayed over to him, the invitation he’d read in her eyes from earlier still clear as day in her eyes now. She took his glass and refilled it. There was no mistaking her look or the hand that lingered on his thigh as she poured his whisky. She would be agreeable to a tryst. He considered it. Except, he soon discovered as he searched inside himself, that was not his desire, at all.

Nursing his drink, he stared blindly into the fire.

His father would not have turned down Gregoria’s overture. Hellfire, he would not have walked away and left Alyse untouched—well, largely untouched—in that bed. Not before slaking his own needs first. He would have used her and still refused to call her his wife. That was his father’s way. Take. Use. Leave.

“Bloody hell.” He downed the remainder of his glass, but it did no good. Two whiskys and he could still taste her.

He should not have touched her at all . . . should not have groped her breast the moment he grew aware of her rubbing against him. His father would have done the same thing, of course. He would have touched, grabbed and fondled her without invitation. Not Marcus.

He had stopped himself and he would be more circumspect in the future.

He and Alyse would resume their journey and even if they had to share a bed the entire way north he would not touch her. Even if she invited him, he would not go there. She could strip naked and launch herself at him and he would have all the restraint of a monk.

He wasn’t a slave to his base desires. He had more restraint than that.

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