Chapter 42: After the Banquet - A Private Invitation

The carriage ride back to the Hellgrave Manor was impossibly quiet. Verbena sat on one side, her hands nervously clutching the folds of her dress, while Theodore lounged across from her, his arm resting lazily on the window ledge. His eyes never left her.

The ballroom kiss replayed in her mind over and over. The boldness of it, the way her body had reacted before her mind could catch up — it was infuriating. And thrilling. And dangerous.

"Are you going to stare at the floor all night?" Theodore's voice broke the silence.

"I'm thinking," she said stiffly.

"About what? The kiss?"

"No!" She looked out the window. "About the weather."

Theodore chuckled, the sound deep and rich. "Liar."

The carriage hit a bump, jolting her forward. Before she could fall into his lap, his strong hands caught her waist, effortlessly pulling her onto his side.

"Oh—!" She froze, her face inches from his, his hands still resting on her waist, firm and warm.

"Careful, Duchess," he murmured. "Falling for me already?"

Verbena's breath stuttered, her heart slamming against her ribs. "You wish!"

"Actually," he said, brushing a loose curl from her cheek, "I do."

Her stomach flipped. The air between them thickened, charged with something both of them were too stubborn to name.

The carriage stopped outside the manor, but neither moved. Verbena knew she should bolt for the door, dash to her room and lock herself in before she did something incredibly stupid — like kiss him again.

But Theodore's hand slid down her arm, fingers lacing with hers, and her body betrayed her.

"Stay for a drink?" His voice was soft, seductive.

"It's late."

"Exactly."

They walked into the manor together, the staff bowing silently as they passed. The butler and head maid exchanged knowing glances, barely hiding their smiles. Rumors were already flying after the public kiss, and now, with the duchess willingly holding the duke's hand — the household was about to explode with gossip.

Verbena should have cared. But she didn't.

In the sitting room, Theodore poured two glasses of dark, amber liquor and handed her one. She took a sip, wincing at the burn, but it steadied her nerves.

"Tonight was…unexpected," she said.

"Which part? The kiss, or the way you kissed me back?"

She glared. "Don't flatter yourself."

He stepped closer, towering over her, the warmth of his body radiating through the space between them. "Tell me you didn't like it," he challenged.

Her pulse pounded in her throat. "I didn't—"

Liar.

Theodore's hand tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes — dark, hungry, and dangerous. "Lying doesn't suit you, Verbena."

She tried to pull away, but he didn't let her go. Instead, he leaned down, his lips brushing hers so lightly it made her ache.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered. "You hated me before."

"Maybe I was wrong about you," he said, his voice low and rough. "Maybe you're not the shallow, scheming woman I thought you were."

Her heart twisted painfully. If only he knew how right he had been — back when all she wanted was to escape and leave him with divorce papers and nothing more.

But now…

"I don't know how to be your wife," she confessed quietly. "Not really."

Theodore's fingers brushed her cheek, surprisingly gentle. "Then let's figure it out. Together."

The sincerity in his voice shook her more than any kiss could.

He kissed her again — slower this time, exploring, tasting. His hand slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him, her soft curves fitting perfectly against his hard lines.

She melted into him, her hands sliding up his chest to curl around his neck. The kiss deepened, heat curling low in her belly, her pulse roaring in her ears.

His mouth left hers to trail down her throat, leaving kisses and soft bites along her skin. She arched into him, a soft gasp escaping her lips.

"Theodore—"

"Tell me to stop," he said, voice husky.

She didn't.

Instead, her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him back for another kiss — desperate, hungry, full of every unspoken thing between them.

He lifted her easily, carrying her towards the grand staircase. Every step creaked under their weight, the tension thickening with each passing second.

At her bedroom door, he paused.

"Invite me in," he murmured against her ear.

She swallowed hard, every sensible thought in her head screaming at her to push him away. But her heart — and her traitorous body — had already made the choice.

"Come in," she whispered.

The door closed behind them.

No servants. No audience. No pretending.

Just a duke and his duchess, finally facing the storm they had been dancing around for far too long.

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End of chapter