Duke of Desire (Maiden Lane #12)(49)

But it wasn’t until he saw her open her eyes—those blue-gray eyes, those stormy eyes, those too-knowing eyes—and look at him that he felt his seed boiling up.

He gritted his teeth, throwing his head back, his own eyes slitted but watching her still.

Even as his come exploded out of him and splattered across her ivory thighs.

Iris lay awake and listened to Raphael’s deep, even breathing.

He’d made love to her, brought her exquisite pleasure—pleasure she had never felt before—but he hadn’t entered her.

He’d spilled his seed on her but not in her.

She stared into the dark, thinking, trying hard not to weep.

He’d told her he didn’t want children. He’d been most frank on the subject. And yet she realized now that somewhere in a corner of her mind she’d held out hope that when he came to the point, his animal urges might overcome him.

What a fool she.

She inhaled very slowly, careful not to make a sound.

The thing was … Well. The thing was, she yearned for children. Desperately. A child at least. A single babe to hold in her arms, to cradle against her breast. She’d be content with just the one, really she would. It was one thing to be married and childless through no one’s fault. While married to James she’d resigned herself to childlessness. She was his third wife and he had no children. He’d suffered a riding injury that made it difficult for him to achieve fulfillment in the marital bed sometimes. She’d simply assumed after the third year …

She sighed. She wanted this. She wanted a marriage with Raphael and she wanted his children.

She just didn’t how she was going to achieve her dream.

The next morning Iris woke alone in bed—actually, alone in the room. Raphael was nowhere to be seen.

She frowned to herself, but was distracted by a maid knocking on the door with fresh hot water. After making a hurried toilet and dressing herself, she opened the door to find both Ubertino and Valente outside on guard.

Ubertino bowed. “Good morning, Your Grace.”

Iris nodded. “I’m in search of breakfast.”

“Ah, then let us escort you,” Ubertino said solicitously.

He led the way while Valente followed, and Iris realized that they intended to guard her.

She sighed silently. Raphael had been worried about attack even before the assassination attempt by Mr. Dockery. She understood the need for protection, but she couldn’t help but think that being shadowed by two large men might become tedious after a bit.

She’d hoped to find Raphael in the private dining room, but he was absent.

Iris shook her head and ate alone—a cold meal of ham, cheese, and bread.

When her guards walked with her out to the waiting carriage, she rather expected it to be empty as well.

And she wasn’t wrong.

However, she wasn’t to travel alone.

Ubertino made an apologetic face. “I will be sitting with you, Your Grace.”

“Of course,” Iris said, trying to sound gracious. After all, it wasn’t the manservant’s fault that her husband was apparently avoiding her.

She huffed in exasperation as she climbed into the carriage. Was he going to avoid her for the rest of the trip to London? They had at least another day and night before they made the capital. She frowned at the thought. Good Lord, would he take a separate bedchamber from her tonight?

The thought was a melancholy one. She’d enjoyed herself last night—and she was under the impression that he had, too. True, she wasn’t terribly sophisticated in the matter, but she had been married for three years.

Raphael had gone to sleep looking very pleased.

Then why leave her to ride alone today?

She pondered that question off and on for the rest of the day, in between chatting with Ubertino and reading from the books she’d borrowed from the abbey library. Although it was hard to concentrate enough to read when she had no idea what her husband was thinking.

By the time the carriage stopped for the night at an inn, Iris was tapping her fingers on her knee—a nervous habit that her old governess would’ve rapped her knuckles for. Raphael had even managed to eat with his men during luncheon.

It was with a bit of relief, then, when Ubertino escorted her to her room for the night and she found her husband already there.

Raphael turned around from the fireplace and nodded to Ubertino. “Thank you, you may go.”

The Corsican bowed himself out.

Iris raised her eyebrows. “Are you to stay with me tonight?”

“Of course,” he said with a small frown, as if he couldn’t understand her sharp tone.

She very much felt like rolling her eyes. “I’m afraid it was not obvious to me, since you never spoke to me today.”

He grimaced. “Iris—”

A knock at the door interrupted him, and the inn maids tromped in bearing their supper. The maids briskly arranged their meal on a small table before the fire and then curtsied and left.

Raphael looked at her and pulled out one of the chairs at the table. “Please.”

She sat down, watching as he took a chair opposite.

There were two plates of roast beef with gravy and potatoes, as well as bread and butter and spiced stewed apples. To the side was a bottle of wine, and Raphael picked it up and poured her a glass.

“Thank you,” Iris said, and took a fortifying sip. The wine was atrocious, but that really wasn’t important right now. “Do you mean to live apart from me?”