Dukes Are Forever (London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy #5)(6)

Malloryn leaned back in his seat, carefully folding his newspaper. "Do you make a habit of visiting the verwulfen ambassador's wife?"

Oddly enough, he seemed more curious than anything. That would be a first. "She's my dearest friend. I come here most Wednesdays."

"It's Friday."

I was lonely. Instead she smoothed her skirts. Pull yourself together. It's just your husband.

"Lena's planning a ball," she said with a noncommittal shrug. "She wanted my opinion on something."

She'd never felt more uncomfortable in her life than she was trapped in a carriage with him. At least the dining table was over twenty feet long. Much easier to deal with him when they engaged but briefly over twenty feet of polished walnut, with the saltcellars and cutlery arranged between them, arrayed like soldiers in the field.

Especially with the heat of Lena's foolish declarations echoing in her ears.

Seduce him, indeed.

"Going somewhere?" he asked.

"I was on my way home."

Her husband tapped the roof with his cane. "Malloryn Court."

"You were going home too?"

It was the middle of the day. He was rarely out of bed by now, his blue blood nature more prone to haunting the moonlit hours. Fashionable London didn't come alive until at least midafternoon, when the bloodthirsty aristocrats of the Echelon awoke and squinted fiercely at the glare of sunlight.

Malloryn studied her before dropping his attention to where he began to tug at his gloves, one finger at a time. "I lied. We need to speak, Adele."

The words froze her. Divorce? It wasn't unheard of, and Malloryn had made it quite clear this marriage wasn't to his satisfaction. An unpopular precedent, but he had the queen's ear. It could be arranged. And he wouldn't be affected by the scandal as badly as she would be.

Maybe this was revenge.

Maybe this was what he'd intended all along.

What the hell would she do for her sister, Hattie, if the money dried up? She could take care of herself. Somehow. But Hattie was only seventeen and still legally under their parents' roof. If Adele couldn't come up with the money to pay her mother off, Lady Hamilton would sell the girl to the highest bidder.

"Of course," she managed to say. "What would you like to speak of?"

If he divorced her, she'd be shamed. Her parents would never take her back now. What would she do? Go to Lena? But Lena had her own husband, her own life.... Blood and ashes, she hated being beholden to someone like this.

"—about time in a man's life to begin thinking of an heir...." His words finally penetrated, and she realized she'd frozen almost in terror.

Then her mind caught up to what her ears had just heard.

"An heir?" she blurted. He wanted to lie with her? To... to.... A baby? "With me?"

Every single jesting thought she'd had earlier about proposing such a notion sprang immediately to mind.

Only it wasn't Malloryn who was staring at her in horror, but vice versa.

"You are my wife." His voice softened. "And you owe me a rather large debt, Adele. I have done my part in this farce. It is time for you to do yours."

The word farce echoed in her ears. "Of course."

"You don't have to look so aghast."

"It's called surprise, Your Grace." She tried to regain her feet after he'd pulled the rug out from under her. "I thought you told me you'd never kiss me? Never summon me to your bed?"

Dark, silky lashes flickered over his eyes. "Begetting an heir doesn't require kissing. Nor a bed, if one is being technically accurate."

"I see."

She couldn't help thinking of Devoncourt in that moment.

The kiss she'd spurned because she owed more than she could possibly repay to the man sitting across from her.

She wouldn't regret denying Devoncourt, though she couldn't help resenting the fact she wanted to replace that memory with one shared with her husband.

It was not to be, of course.

How unnecessary kissing was, it seemed.

Even if a part of her ached for it.

Even if she couldn't help wondering what her husband's kiss would taste like.

He'd be an expert at it, no doubt. If there was one thing she could grant him, it was that Malloryn ruled his body with inherent grace. Each step he took was leonine in its intensity. Powerful. Controlled. He perfected everything he touched. He would not let the art of kissing escape his repertoire.

"Nothing to say?" Malloryn mused.

"Only that I am grateful not to be the recipient of your practiced attentions." She feigned a shudder. "It spares me the need to pretend to enjoy them."

Heat flashed in his gray eyes. Other than that he didn't move. "I thought you quite enjoyed kissing?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Her eyes narrowed.

"Nothing."

"And Mrs. Danner?" The words seemed to come from nowhere. "Your mistress?"

Malloryn arched a brow. "What of her?"

"I am not going to share my bed with two people," she somehow found herself saying. "If you're going to ask me to submit to this, then I hardly see why you should need her."

"It's not a matter of need, so much as a matter of want."