Never Desire a Duke

She couldn’t exist in a constant state of fear that she’d lose them all over again. She needed distance. Security. That was the only way she could have peace. “Let’s leave all that ugliness behind. I’m talking about now. And please don’t misconstrue my words. They aren’t intended to in any way offend.”

“You just want the baby, don’t you?” he said, his voice thick with anger.

“I’ve been very clear about wanting another baby.”

“But you don’t want me.”

Sophia’s mouth fell open. What did he want her to say? That she loved him? So that he could kiss her and make her body burn with desire…only to tell her he’d always feel fondly toward her?

She couldn’t expose herself that way. She didn’t want to hurt again. Never that deeply.

No, she couldn’t bear it.

At last, she answered, “I don’t want to confine you.”

“Or yourself, I don’t think,” Claxton muttered.

Sophia exclaimed, cheeks hot, “Don’t be cruel.”

“It is you who is being cruel,” he retorted, standing from the chair with such force the wooden legs rocked off the carpet. He strode away—then returned, making a circle around the space where she sat. He rubbed a hand over the lower half of his face for a brief moment, concealing his scowl. “Denying what happened between us today. Yesterday. And then asking me to conceive a child without passion. God, I don’t even know if it’s possible.”

“It must be possible.” She kept her tone light and her expression placid, though inside her heart pounded like a drum. “People in our situation, of our station, do it all the time.”

“So really what you’re proposing is an informal separation. Isn’t that it, Sophia? Once we have a child, we’ll go our separate ways, even if it’s just to opposite ends of the house? Without any true obligations to one other. Only to the child?”

“You make it sound so cold when really I’ve agreed to everything you want.”

His eyes widened, and he answered with a derisive curl of his upper lip. “You’re correct, I think. The sooner we get started, the sooner we’ll be done with this unpleasant business of procreating.” He bowed, his dark head low, and with a courtly bend of his arm, said, “Your Grace, I would request your company in my bed tonight for the purpose of attempting to conceive my required heir.”

“Now you’re being hurtful. You can’t be serious.”

Only moments ago, she shared her intention to remain in their marriage. Now, at the first sign of difficulty, he was already striking out to hurt her and pushing her away.

“I apologize.” He stood, his dramatic air falling away. “I don’t have a secretary presently in residence, or I’d submit my proposal for your approval in writing—” His voice rose to a thunderous volume. “And have it delivered by official courier under the duchy’s wax seal.”

“Have some respect for my concerns,” Sophia cried. “I’ve agreed to remain in our marriage, but that does not mean I’m prepared to jump straight into your bed.”

“Ah, it would be your bed, as I don’t have one.” The dark slash of his brow arched upward. He took several steps toward her, leering. “Though the settee certainly has its allure.”

Sophia answered quickly, contriving to look composed. “No, actually, I made up a bed for you this morning in the room where I found your boyhood things. You can sleep there tonight. Very nice linens and several blankets and even a bed warmer. I know you’ll be comfortable,” she babbled, attempting a return to normal conversation. To ease the intensity she saw in his eyes. “Doesn’t that sound comfortable?”

He stared at her, his body tense, his eyes hard.

“Don’t shut me out,” he said, his expression suddenly desolate. “Sophia, I don’t understand why you are doing this. What are you afraid of?”

“And I don’t understand why you’re so unhappy,” she said. “You’ve won. Why don’t you see that? There will be no separation, and we’ll have a child. I just need a bit more time to grow accustomed to the idea.”

“The idea of what?”

“The idea of you.”

“You’ve had seventeen months,” he said quietly.

“No, Claxton, I’ve had three days.”

Chapter Twelve

It’s that damn list, isn’t it?” Claxton hissed through gritted teeth. “I told you once I wrote out the names, you would despise me.”

“I don’t despise you,” she said. “I don’t even dislike you.”

“Once a rake, always a rake. That’s it, isn’t it?” With a jerk of his head, Claxton’s chin rose a notch higher. “I’m soiled goods. Ruined. Too dirty from past exploits to share your snowy-white bed—”

“Claxton.” Her eyes widened, the acidity of his words like a blow.

Suddenly, he was there beside her.

“Don’t pretend to be shocked when it is exactly how you feel,” he said roughly, pulling her to her feet and into his arms. “What is it that you want? A promise that I’ll always be faithful?” He tilted his face in mock affection and brushed his fingertips along her cheek.

“Don’t be cruel,” she warned, the intensity of his ridicule stealing her breath.

“Then I’ll say the words. Lots of men do.” He pulled her close, hands gripping her hips. He ground himself against her, making her unavoidably aware of his manhood, which he wielded like a weapon between them. “One look and I knew, Sophia Bevington, you were the only woman for me. I’ll never leave you, dearest. I’ll never so much as think of another woman for as long as I live—”

“That’s not what I meant,” she cried. Cheeks flaming, she broke away, removing herself from the anger in his touch. A few more steps placed the settee between them. He was trying to provoke her, but she wouldn’t lose control of her emotions and strike back with the same bitterness—though he very much deserved a set down. She wanted a child just that much.

“Then tell me what you did mean,” he demanded.

“That I don’t expect you to change. We are who we are, Claxton, made up of hurts and memories and disappointments and desires. We can’t help what we’ve become, you and I. We can only own up to our faults and accordingly make smarter decisions and move forward.”

“How very mature of you.” Claxton’s lips curled, his compliment clearly not a compliment at all.

Stung, she blurted, “Don’t belittle me for being mature enough not to demand from you a promise you could likely never keep.”

He laughed, an empty sound that filled the darkness.

“The awful thing is, Sophia, that maybe you speak the truth.” He turned from her suddenly. His head falling back, he stared at the ceiling, legs spread into a wide stance. If she didn’t believe in him—if she saw no honor in him—what hope was there for any sort of a future together? Hopelessness flooded his veins like ice. “God, yes, the truth. Any other man in his right mind would have stayed, but like a coward, I left you. I left you, and for that you will never forgive me. Even if you did forgive me, you’ll never forget.”

His shoulders heaved, but he did not turn back in her direction, still requiring that bit of privacy in which to compose himself.

After a long moment, she said, “So please stop getting angry with me when I am only trying to be realistic. We will endeavor to have this child, and once the task is accomplished, we will both be free to continue on with our lives as we wish.”

Now he did turn—a smooth pivot on the heel of his Hessian.

“But we will remain married,” Claxton confirmed in a low voice. The light from the fire painted the gentle curves of her face. “There will be no separation even then.”

“That is my hope,” she said. “Many couples remain married but lead completely satisfying separate lives. I could name five such pairings right now if I had to. I’m certain you could as well.”

He could, indeed, but that didn’t mean he liked her tidy little plan. He didn’t like it at all. If they had a child