Claiming His Wife (Domestic Discipline 4)

Although he'd been tempted to order Grace a bath, he'd wanted to see how she'd react to their shared accommodations first. After all, she might not be interested in bathing with him in the room, and he certainly wasn't going anywhere. He'd requested a room on the upper floor, but his Grace was tenacious enough to try and make it out a window, given enough time on her own.

"I'm not getting in that bed with you."

"That's also your choice. But you should know that I have no plans to sleep on the floor tonight." Alex was gambling on Grace's love of comfort to keep her off of the floor too. He'd had the innkeeper remove the carpet to make the floor even less appealing that it would have otherwise been. Splashing water on his face, Alex sighed with pleasure as he rubbed away the grime of the day.

After drying his face and arms with one of the provided towels, he looked up to see Grace still hovering by the door, a look of determination on her face.

"I'm not going to- to act as your wife, there," she said, pointing to the bed.

He raised his eyebrows as her chin tilted upwards in defiance. "I have no interest in forcing an unwilling woman."

Grace gaped at him, looking remarkably like a fish, and he had to hide his smile.

"I'm entirely unwilling to even be here!"

"That's different," he declared as he began unbuttoning his shirt. It didn't escape his notice that her eyes went to the bare skin that was revealed there before she looked away. On their honeymoon she'd told him that watching him undress was fascinating, she'd been entranced by the differences in their bodies. It heartened him to know that she was still affected, even though she now had others to compare him to. Somehow that didn't wane his attraction to her, it only made him want to prove to her that he was better. Letting his shirt drop to the floor, he started walking towards her, noticing the tension that gripped her - and he was fairly certain it wasn't just anger or fear which was causing her cheeks to turn pink. He put his fingers under her chin, tilted her head back to look at him. Leaning forward, he saw her pupils flare as the blush in her cheeks deepened. Male smugness wove its way around his bones; no matter what else lay between them, she was still attracted to him. "You are my wife, for better or worse, and we are going to be together. But when I make love to you again, Grace, it will be because you beg me to."

The moment hung between them, tension humming in the air, before she jerked away, slapping at his hand. The look she gave him made it clear that she’d rather die first. Alex straightened and turned away, heading for the bed so that he could remove his boots. He also needed a moment to compose himself, because his erection was throbbing, and he was already tempted to show Grace just how easily it would be for her to become willing. Bu

t it wasn't the right time yet.

"Why?"

The question cut through the air before he'd made it halfway to the bed. Alex looked over his shoulder to see her standing there, an air of desperation hanging around her that he hadn't sensed before. He'd been about to reply flippantly, but something in her eyes made him stop. The question wasn't rhetorical, it seemed to mean something to her.

"Why what?"

"Why me? I need to know Alex. Why not just divorce me and find a new wife?"

"There'd be a scandal..." he said slowly. "Where would you go? What would you do? London Society would never welcome you back into its fold, not with the way that you've behaved over the years. My name has been all that's kept them from throwing you out."

"That's my problem, not yours," she said, scowling furiously. "I'm a bigger scandal than a divorce would be. Can you imagine what they'll say when they find out that we've reconciled? I've been cuckolding you for years."

Alex shrugged as he sat down on the bed and began tugging off his boots. He'd become inured to the ton's opinion over those years. If they thought him a fool for taking back his wife, he didn't care, although he thought that there would be just as many who approved of him taking her in hand. What he didn't understand was why Grace seemed so concerned with what they thought of him, when it was her fault they were in this situation in the first place.

He'd attempted to approach Grace, several times before. At least once a year for the past three years, actually. Every time, she'd tensed and fled, and he'd backed away, both hurt and frustrated by her response. Whenever he showed up in the same area as her, she was gone just as quickly. But he'd never shown up in London during the Season before, he'd always attempted to broach her in private. So this year he'd upped the ante in more ways than one.

"I don’t want another wife, I want you," he said simply. It was the unvarnished truth as he saw it.

His wife gaped at him, apparently rendered speechless by his answer. The astonishment and shock clearly written across her face was even greater than this morning's when he'd told her that he wanted to reconcile. Which he found confusing. Hadn't he always shown Grace how much he wanted her? Well, besides when he'd been foolish enough to let her go without a fight.

Cursing himself again for his idiotic pride, for allowing her to slip away from him so easily, Alex knew that he would have to work to undo the damage he'd contributed to their rift. But he was determined that she do the same.

******

To say that Grace was confused was an understatement. Why was Alex so determined to have her when any woman would do for him? His behavior was completely counteracting his words to her father and she didn't know what to believe. Perhaps something had happened in the deal between her husband and her father that she didn't know about, something that required her to be reconciled with Alex.

She didn't trust this rapid turnaround, even though some small part of her was burning with hope.

Hope hurt. Hope was what would grind her already shattered heart into dust. Hope was what had caused her to lower her defenses to Alex in the first place, to believe that something more was growing between them.

So she took that little sliver of light and tucked it away, like she was closing it up into Pandora's Box, just like in the myth.

Fortunately, Alex had already gotten into the bed, after giving her a long, considering look, and his back was to her. Gritting her teeth, she followed him, practically clinging to the edge of the bed so that she didn’t accidentally touch him. She wasn’t going give him the satisfaction of thinking that she was afraid of him. She didn’t want him to think that she still cared, that sleeping next to him would bother her.

Tears slid silently down her face, and she told herself they were tears of anger and frustration, but she wasn't entirely sure that was true. Her emotions were utter chaos, as if all the careful walls she'd built up had tumbled down, the compartments emptied, and now she was drowning in them.

She missed Conyngham and the simplicity of their relationship. The caring of friendship without deeper emotions. Trusting him with her body had been easy, because she hadn't had to trust him with her heart.