Chapter 8
Asoft noise drew Willow from her slumber. She lifted her lashes slowly. Light blazed through the window. Hadn’t she closed the curtains upon her return? Groaning, she delved deeper into the covers, seeking sleep. But there it was again, a slight rustle that she couldn’t quite pinpoint. With a mental sigh, Willow poked her head from the covers, her eyes searching for the disturbance.
Her gaze moved to the window, which was open, a light breeze pushing at the curtains. That must be it. Willow’s head fell back on the pillows, her lashes resting once more on her cheeks. She could have sworn she’d closed the window last night. She must have been quite exhausted.
“I see you are awake.”
Willow’s eyes shot open.
The low drawl of her husband’s voice snapped her out of her drowsiness and she lurched upright, her eyes locking with the hard crystals of the duke’s.
He stood—too damn handsome for his own good—at the edge of the bed, looming over her. His dark eyes hot and furious.
How long has he been standing there, watching her sleep?
Willow blinked up at him, her hand lifting to pat her mass of tangled bed hair. She always looked a fright in the morning.
He arched a brow.
Someone was in a mood this morning!
“Is something amiss?” Willow murmured, pulling the covers up to her chin. She tried to ignore the thin line of his lips, the hard edge of his jaw.
Had she slept in too late? Had she broken one of his precious rules? Willow almost snorted. She would rise when she was right and ready—which wasn’t at this moment.
She arched a brow right back at him.
He continued to glare at her in silence.
How she wished he was less beautiful. At the very least, it would have made his deplorable disposition easier to ignore. She couldn’t very well ignore his moods if she couldn’t stop staring at his face. And she certainly didnotwant to stare at his face. She’d rather stare at his lips, truth be told.
So she did.
They were much better to stare at anyway. They did notglare. They were full and tempting. And probably tasted of coffee.
“Do you find something fascinating on my face?”
Willow’s lashes lifted to meet piercing eyes. “Have I broken one of your precious rules while sleeping?”
His eyes narrowed, flicking to the untouched set of papers on her desk. “You would know if you had bothered to read them.”
“I already told you, I’m not much of a reader.”
“Then I shall read them to you,” he ground out.
“I’m not much of a listener, either.”
His shoulders tensed, the veins in his neck were thick and visible. But Willow did not acknowledge his temper and instead, had to bite back a groan at the sight of him all furious. All it did was remind her of last night, of his hands and mouth all over her body, attacking her senses.
Oh dear Lord, was she lusting after her husband?
In her defense, she hadn’t expected their wedding night to be so marvelous. She wanted more of it. Lots more. But at the same time, she could not allow this man to rule her with a set of dictates. Not even for the pleasure that likely came with it.
She was a rule flaunter, after all.
Still, a tinge of fear hovered on the surface of that thought. Fear that she may fail to help her sister. Fear thathewould succeed in making her miserable. Fear this war would last for the rest of her life and they’d find no common ground.
She dashed the thought from her mind. Defeat was not something Willow was willing to contemplate. Not ever.
