Chapter 14
Dawn broke, and the events of the previous evening clung to my mind like a relentless shadow.
I lay motionless beneath the covers, unable to summon the will to rise.
Every moment from the Grand Duke’s chambers replayed in excruciating detail—a haunting dream from which I couldn’t escape. Huddled in mortified silence under the blankets, I jolted upright when Whitely himself entered, not a servant.
“The Grand Duke wishes to see me?”
My words quivered, frail as a forsaken lamb’s bleat.
“Why?”
“Well…”
Rather than deliver the reprimand I deserved—“Because of the chaos you caused last night,” for instance—Whitely offered only his usual poised smile.
“His Highness has asked for your presence today. With the Grand Duke remaining in the castle throughout the day, he wanted you informed that he’s at your disposal should you find the time.”
“Hmm… Yes, I ought to face him. I must apologize for my terrible blunder right away…”
Whitely’s composure never wavered, even as I muttered like a madwoman.
No chance he was calling me for a cordial reception. I braced for expulsion if it came to that.
Would he truly cast me out?
Heartless as he seemed at times, I doubted it. Still, caution prevailed; I slipped a few pouches beneath the bed before trailing after him.
***
“Your Highness, Lady Annette has arrived.”
The office door swung open, revealing the Grand Duke in full attire—transformed from the night before.
Last evening, clad merely in a loose robe with water—no, blood—pooling on the floor, he had exuded peril, a figure teetering on lethality.
This morning, his cravat knotted impeccably to his throat, he radiated polished aristocracy.
Intimidation lingered all the same.
Steady now, Annette. You’ve got this.
I squared my shoulders and stepped inside. The Grand Duke rose and advanced toward me.
“Lady Annette, a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last.”
Lady Annette?
I hadn’t anticipated instant wifely honors, but this? I’d been Grand Duchess for almost two weeks! And “at last”? Had he scrubbed the prior night from his recollection?
The bandages on his arm tempered my ire, though. Generosity won out; I extended my hand with a faint lift.
“A pleasure to meet you properly, Your Grace.”
His keen gaze sharpened. His jaw clenched at my audacity.
Let’s see if he’d spurn the gesture.
Dare he?
Seconds dragged.
My arm hovered, unanswered, embarrassment creeping in.
Yet I refused to yield.
A test of resolve.
He must crave confirmation too—proof he could make contact without agony.
At last, the Grand Duke raised his eyes to mine.
That feral, piercing scrutiny knotted my shoulders.
After an eternity, he extended his hand, claiming mine.
His palm swallowed it whole.
Long, lithe fingers, roughened by sword hilts.
Cold mask aside, his grasp proved tender, cradling me like delicate crystal.
And then…
Nothing.
He knew it as well.
A faint quiver betrayed his restraint in those fingers.
Gradually, his hold firmed, drawing my knuckles to his lips.
Even in the kiss, his stare pinned me—probing, ravenous, dissecting my every twitch.
Chill raced my spine.
His breath warmed my skin fleetingly before vanishing.
No question now.
That surge passing between us—it was real.
I alone could touch the Grand Duke unscathed.
Well, one of two. Kristine aside.
But she wouldn’t cross his path for a year yet.
Until then, I held sole power to soothe his torment.
As delicately as he’d claimed it, he released my hand.
“Are you injured?”
His resonant baritone filled the hushed space.
I faltered briefly. Physical wound, or curse’s sting?
“Your hand took damage yesterday.”
“Oh, that? Merely a nick on my palm. All healed.”
I displayed it for him.
The doctor’s wrappings from last night were gone by morning.
A mere graze, scarcely needing care.
His eyes tightened on the pale scar marring my palm.
“Please, sit.”
Whitely soon wheeled in a tea service.
Silence amplified the delicate chime of porcelain.
The Grand Duke held his tongue until Whitely served and departed, sealing the door.
Fine by me. If he wouldn’t speak, I would.
Desperation always breaks the quiet first.
“How fares your arm?”
The Grand Duke, mute till then, started faintly—as if startled by my existence.
“It’s healed.”
I eyed the site of last night’s wound.
“Seemed like heavy bleeding…”
“No concern of yours.”
“Even so, I invaded your quarters unbidden. Entirely my doing—I offer my deepest regrets.”
Storming a man’s room at midnight was beyond impropriety, even for intimates. Given his evasion thus far, I was little more than a trespasser.
A thousand sorrys fell short.
The Grand Duke drew a steadying breath.
“Lady.”
Odd how swiftly Grand Duchess had felt natural.
Lady from his lips rang alien.
Perhaps because it came from my husband’s mouth?
“No sense in prevarication. Return to the capital.”
His stark command blindsided me.
Predictable, yes—I’d steeled for this. Expected lines:
Explain your arrival.
Depart for the capital.
But…
You grasped my hand moments ago.
First woman to touch you pain-free. Why push away your sole salve?
“Why suggest such a thing?”
Baffled yet rehearsed, I mustered wounded eyes.
“I’m lawfully wed to you, Your Grace. Blenheim is my home. How could you bid me go?”
He massaged his brow.
“This union is a sham—we both know it.”
Such lovely lips, twisted to cruelty.
“I’ll furnish an escort. Carriage departs tomorrow. Gather your belongings. Attendants if needed.”
Sympathy ploy dashed.
Lips pursed, I pushed further.
“Do you loathe me for siring from Marquis Fasie?”
Silence.
“Or… awaiting another?”
Frown creased at the curveball.
“What do you mean?”
“Say, Princess Pellianess from Londoris Kingdom?”
His mouth set firm.
Got him.
His face screamed truth.
“Intending annulment to claim her?”
Fingers jerked.
“Disappointing indeed. Eyeing another while your wife sits before you.”
More silence.
“Annulment needs accord, though. Father would forbid it.”
Feigned shock hit me.
“Oh! But unconsummated, nullification’s possible, right?”
Shadows crossed his features.
“Is that your rush to exile me? To establish it?”
Lips parted mutely.
Final strike.
“Pity, then. I shan’t depart.”
