Duke of Desire (Maiden Lane #12)(40)

Leaving him alone with his wife.

Raphael cleared his throat and reached for the bottle of red wine. “Will you have some wine?”

She leaned forward, her expression determined. “Do you mean to sleep with me tonight?”

He looked at her.

She was like a dog that would not leave a bone. She sat across from him in his mother’s old yellow dress—the same dress she’d worn ever since he’d risen from his sickbed. He couldn’t wait to clothe her in brocades and velvets. To present her with everything she deserved as his duchess.

Now her rose-pink lips were pressed into a line as she awaited his answer, her brows drawn together. She watched him very seriously.

And dear God, he wanted to kiss her. To pull her from her chair and taste her sweet mouth again. To make love to her until she gasped and panted.

Instead he poured wine into her glass and said calmly, “I will share your room, certainly.”

“And my bed?”

His eyes flicked to hers, so stormy. “If that is what you wish.”

Her lips crimped together and she lifted her wineglass to take a sip.

He filled his own glass.

She put hers down. “Do you like women?”

“What?” he growled, impatient.

She took a deep breath. “Do you prefer men?”

“Ah.” He understood what she asked now. He watched in amusement as her cheeks pinkened, but she kept her gaze determinedly on his. “No. I prefer women.”

“Then please explain to me why you won’t bed me,” she said.

“I have no wish to continue my line.” He clenched his jaw. “To continue my father’s blood. You know what he was. Do you really want children of his bloodline?”

“But—”

“Have some chicken.”

“Raphael—”

“I do not want to discuss this matter.”

“I am your wife.”

“And I am your husband.” Raphael found himself on his feet, leaning across the table, breathing in his duchess’s face. Her lips were parted, her eyes wide. He closed his own eyes. No. This was entirely unacceptable. “Your pardon.”

He pushed back his chair with a horrible scraping sound. He could not remain in this room with her. This line of discussion had stretched his control thin.

“Where are you going?” she called behind him, sounding anxious.

“For a walk,” he muttered. “I need air.”

He yanked open the door to the room and found Valente and Ubertino outside. He nodded to them. “Keep guard over her. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Ubertino answered for them both.

He strode through the inn, past a maidservant who stifled a shriek at the sight of his face, out through a knot of locals in the front room, and into the cool night air, several yards away from the entrance.

God.

Raphael tilted his face up to the heavens. The moon hung high in the sky. They’d driven late into the night because the journey to London was several days and he wanted to get there as swiftly as possible.

He turned, gravel grinding beneath his boot heels as he walked. The stables were beside the inn, and he could hear his men’s voices.

Bardo looked up as he entered. “Your Excellency.”

Raphael nodded. “You’ve found enough room for the men?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“Good man.” Raphael clapped him on the shoulder before moving down the row of horses and Corsicans.

Ubertino had helped him choose his men, and most of the Corsicans had been with him for several years. He knew each by name, and he felt a little calmer now that he was walking among his men. Some were still grooming or watering their horses, but a few had finished and were sitting on barrels with lit pipes.

Raphael made sure to stop and say a few words or give a nod to each man. He paid them generously, but it was important that they see him and know he took care of them as well.

They were guarding her life.

It was an hour later when he finally made his way back to the inn. He looked for her first in the private dining room, but it was empty. She must have already gone up to their chamber.

He mounted the stairs and found Valente and Ubertino sitting on stools outside the room. They stood when they saw him.

He halted. “Is my duchess inside?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Ubertino said. “She retired half an hour ago.”

Raphael nodded. “Have you eaten?”

Ubertino grinned. “I sent Ivo to get us some dinner. Bardo said he’ll send men to relieve us at midnight.”

“Good.” He pushed the door open.

The room was dimly lit, only the fire and one candle on a small table providing light, and for a moment he didn’t see her.

Alarm raced through his veins.

Then he noticed the mound in the bed.

Softly Raphael shut the door and slid home the bolt. He walked to the side of the bed and looked down at her.

Iris lay there, her eyes closed, her golden hair spread on the pillow, half-turned toward him.

She must’ve been exhausted to have fallen asleep so swiftly.

The candlelight sent shadows spilling from the tips of her eyelashes, made her brow and cheeks glow, and left the valley between her breasts in darkness. She was so lovely it felt like a hook digging into his heart, tearing a jagged hole.