An Uncommon Duke. Laurie Benson
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finger.
He nodded and plucked a string off his sleeve. ‘Yes, it’s new. Mr Weston continues to prove himself the finest tailor in London.’
Resisting the urge to smother him with one of her pillows, Olivia took a deep breath and looked at the idiot she married. ‘Fine, leave it on. Just open your trousers.’
An odd sound emerged from Gabriel. ‘My what?’
‘Trousers.’ Olivia began to slide the hem of her nightrail up her legs. ‘Fear not, I will not look.’
With her eyes squeezed firmly shut, Olivia missed her husband’s shocked expression that quickly turned to a heated gaze. Abruptly he grabbed her wrist, preventing her from raising the material any higher than the middle of her thighs.
Refusing to open her eyes, she let out a sigh. ‘Very well, you take the lead.’
‘Olivia, what exactly are you doing?’ he asked in a husky voice.
She threw her forearm over her eyes. ‘I thought you said you wanted to get this over with quickly?’
He let out a soft laugh and she peered out from behind her arm.
His face was cast in the shadow of the crackling fire behind him. ‘I thought we were discussing Andrew this afternoon. However, I now believe you were talking about something else entirely.’
‘Andrew? Why would you think I was talking about having a child with Andrew?’ She yanked the yards of material over her knees and sat up, tucking her legs under her. Reaching over for one of her numerous pillows, she hit him with it.
He grabbed it. ‘I thought you wanted me to speak with Andrew regarding his behaviour around Nicholas. What did you think we were discussing?’ He tossed the pillow next to her on the bed.
Relieved that the room was cast in such low light, Olivia was certain her face was crimson. ‘How could you possibly mistake me wanting to have another child with me wanting you to reprimand your brother?’ she asked with annoyance.
‘A child?’ he choked out. ‘Is that what you wanted to discuss? Why didn’t you simply say so?’
‘I did!’
She hit him with another pillow and he caught this one as well.
‘No, you did not,’ he said as if he were speaking to someone Nicholas’s age. He tossed this pillow next to the other one. ‘Not once did the word “child” leave your lips.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘You want another one?’
Olivia was too emotionally spent to say another word, so she simply nodded and closed her eyes.
‘You are certain?’
Again she nodded and this time she met his shadowed gaze.
He tossed his head back and closed his eyes. She waited. Any dealings they had with one another from now on hinged on this very moment. Her palms began to sweat.
‘Slide over,’ he commanded softly.
She shifted towards the centre of the bed and closed her eyes when he began undressing. Was he as smooth and muscular as he had been years ago? Opening one eye, she peeked. He stood there shirtless, tugging off his trousers. She closed her eye quickly before he caught her. Blast it! He looked as good as he had the day she’d married him.
The bed dipped next to her and she felt a tug on the ribbon at the neckline of her nightrail. ‘You have too many clothes on.’
She swatted his hand away. ‘We can do it like this. I’ll just raise my hem.’
He steadied her hand as she began to move the fabric up her legs. ‘Is that what you were planning to do? Lay here with your eyes closed and lift your voluminous skirt for me?’
‘I won’t complain. Just do what needs to be done.’
Gabriel’s body jerked back as if she slapped him and he combed his hand through his hair, making the ends stand up in all directions. ‘Bloody hell, Olivia, what kind of man do you think I am?’
‘Oh, I know very well what kind of man you are,’ she spat.
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means I know you are only interested in your own needs.’
He glared down at her. ‘Like hell I am. And how am I to attend to your needs, when you are trussed up like a Christmas goose? It’s a wonder you aren’t suffocating.’
‘I’ll have you know this fabric is the finest French linen,’ she said through her teeth.
‘Then you should have had three gowns made from it instead of one.’
She hit him with another pillow. This time he threw it on the floor.
‘Just take me!’ she shouted, surprising herself, as well as Gabriel.
They didn’t move. They simply stared at one another as their chests rose and fell in unison. The only sound was the occasional pop from the logs in the fireplace.
Abruptly he jumped out of bed and began tugging on his trousers. ‘I cannot do this,’ he repeated.
‘Wait! Where are you going?’ she asked, rising to her knees, stunned by his rejection.
He jerked his shirt over his head and began gathering the rest of his discarded clothing. When he had them all in his arms, he stalked over to the bed. ‘Regardless of what you think, Duchess, this is not going to work,’ he ground out.
‘All the world thinks you are a man of honour, but it’s a lie. You only ever think of yourself.’
Gabriel gathered up his boots and stormed to the door leading to his room. When his hand clutched the handle, he paused. ‘You are lucky you are not a man,’ he said through his teeth before he slammed the door behind him.
A pillow, book and hairbrush hit the door in rapid succession. Just when she thought she was finished crying over him, Gabriel pushed her to the emotional edge—again. The tears were falling and she couldn’t make them stop. She would not give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry, so she pressed her lips firmly together as her body lurched with her silent sobs.
He didn’t want her. He couldn’t even bring himself to bed her to get a spare. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she hold the attention of the one man who had once meant the world to her?
Olivia still wanted that child, now more than ever, but now she would never conceive one.
She hated him for that!
She hated him for what he had done to her five years ago!
And she hated him for reducing her to tears by taking away her only chance at experiencing unconditional love again.
The next morning before the sun had even begun to rise Gabriel rode his horse around the Serpentine as if the demons of hell were chasing him. He continued to circle the lake in Hyde Park, hoping the pounding of Homer’s hooves would knock his brain back together.
His wife had wanted him in her bed after five years, four months and eleven days. That alone should have been cause for celebration. The fact that she wanted another child with him should have made him the happiest of men. But at the moment, he wanted to drown her in the lake he rode around.
If she had been a man, she would have paid for the insults she threw at him as he left her room. Did she really think that little of him? Had she ever understood what kind of man he prided himself in being? His wife was as much a stranger to him as the girl who sold flowers at the entrance of the park.
The idea that she thought he would bed her by throwing up her nightrail and thrusting inside her, while she would have been in obvious discomfort or planning the week’s menus, was just