Chapter 6
Willow sank down on her bed and then immediately jumped back up. Nerves ate away at her belly as she waited for her husband to make his entrance. There were a few things they needed to discuss. Such as expectations. Holly. The reason he wished to wed in haste.
Her gaze wandered over to the sheets of paper neatly arranged on her desk.
Boundaries for the Duchess of St. Ives.
Willow huffed.
The titlehada well-defined ring to it, but the document itself represented everything she stood against. Of course, she had been raised without many restrictions, skirting around the edges of what was proper and what was not. She had grown up with freedom few women possessed, a way of life she had perhaps taken for granted.
Willow had always assumed her husband would possess the same values as her father. It never occurred to her he may not. Then again, it never occurred to her that she would come to be married in the way she did. There had not been much time dedicated to considering the character of her husband. Well, not much beyond the idea that she would be able to manage the duke.
Boundaries.
Hah! What did that even mean? A clear line drawn across the floor of their home? That might not be such a terrible idea. Certainly not after that kiss which had, in the blink of a second, tested the purely beastly view Willow had constructed of the duke. The kiss alone suggested there was something underneath the beast, a man that could feel.
His rigid need for control certainly did not paint a man who possessed such a passionate side. It had thrown her off balance. In fact, Willow had to remind herself over and over that her husband was reputed to be a stuffy duke. It was dangerous to imagine him as anything romantic. He wasn’t. He had tricked Holly and drawn up these rules.
Willow must remember that.
And just what did he mean to gain from setting up such absurd rules as eating one meager piece of toast in the morning? Was it perhaps a miracle slice of bread? That had been the worst rule for Holly.
She glared at the offending sheets of paper.
She ought to read them. But she wouldn’t. The mere thought of it stuck in her craw.
Her fingers skimmed over the title.
As long as she remained unaware of the contents, there was a chance for her to form her own opinions about her husband. If she read the rules and became infuriated, they would not get off to any sort of start and for better or worse, they were married. Besides, she had no intention of following his ridiculous rules. She fully planned to ignore the “boundaries” he had drawn up for her. If they were so important to him, the man could very well explain why himself!
She cast an irritable glance at the door.
She wondered what kind of entrance he would make. Would he burst into the chamber tall, handsome and naked? Or would he expect her to undress him? Perhaps he was a robe man.
Willow sighed at herself. One minute she was fuming over his boundary book and the next she was imagining him naked. It was more than confusing.
She had attempted all day–ever since his kiss—notto imagine her husband naked. Which was proving quite impossible. Whenever he moved, the roped muscles of his body rippled in such a delicious way, tremors tormented her spine.
She didn’t think she’d mind consummating the marriage one bit. At least in this, she didn’t feel torn.
She quelled the tiny pinch of guilt that surfaced at the thought of why she married him. She ought not feel guilty. Her actions weren’t any different from men acquiring wives to beget them an heir, was it?
The sudden thud of polished Hessians in the hallway caused her pulse to leap. Alert, she listened as her husband entered his chambers, the door groaning on its hinges as it shut. The soft rustle of fabric that soon followed.
Her eyes shot to the door adjoining their rooms.
She tried to remember why she was annoyed, what she planned on demanding explanations for, when all of a sudden, she couldn’t even catch her breath, let alone think.
Butterflies fluttered wildly in her belly.Think, Willow. Think!But the doorknob turned and her wits scattered. Her blood throbbed in her veins. She waited in suspended time for the door to push open.
But . . . nothing.
Her brows puckered.
The doorknob wiggled again.
“Open the door, Willow.”
