Never Desire a Duke (One Scandalous Season) by Lily Dalton

intrigued him, revealing the narrow column of her torso, and in alluring contrast, the high fullness of her breasts.
    He remembered the body under that dress and the pleasure it had once given him in the shadowed privacy of their marriage bed. The memory of her naked, illuminated by morning’s first light, was enough to awaken within him now a low, simmering madness. The understanding that he could never freely touch her again only intensified his need.
    But words had been said. The decision made. He would prove himself a better man by seeing their separation through and giving her some hope for happiness, in a world that did not include him. He owed her that much.
    Bloody hell, he was such a martyr. He made himself sick.
    She left the stove, making no effort to assist him. Finding a cup, he poured tea, needing something to occupy himself besides mooning after her like a love-struck idiot.
    “There is no need to scowl at me,” she muttered in a low voice.
    The accusation startled him. “I wasn’t scowling at you.”
    Though he ought to be, given their circumstances. Shouldn’t he hate her? God help him, he couldn’t. They were both wounded, the two of them.
    She glanced pointedly at the cup in his hand. “I can’t imagine you would be so displeased over a cup of tea, so it must be me that displeases you.”
    “It’s not you or the tea.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I did not sleep well.”
    “Neither did I, but I’m not scowling at you.”
    He managed a smile. A small one. “Actually, you are.”
    Her lips parted, as if to offer some smart retort, but closed just as quickly. She sighed. Her expression softened, as did the rigidity of her posture. A bright flush rose into her cheeks.
    “Oh, Claxton, let’s not bicker.” She exhaled morosely.
    “Very well.” He seated himself on a high stool. “Let’s not.”
    “Unpleasantness between us will accomplish nothing but a loss of dignity for us both, privately and in public.”
    He’d always found the velvety tone of her voice soothing. He answered inanely now for the simple purpose of ensuring her response. “I am in complete agreement.”
    “It’s not as if we are the first husband and wife to ever discover we are not well suited. This is a time for level heads and controlled emotions.”
    The memory came out of nowhere, shocking him. Her lips pressed against his skin, willingly , in a moment of passion. A shadowy glimpse of her naked body beneath his, her soft thighs outspread.
    He shifted on the stool, suddenly tight in the breeches.
    He growled, “I shall endeavor to remain so.”
    “I shall as well.” She let out a sudden breath—of relief or frustration, he did not know—and searched the room, her attention at last settling on the stove. “I built only a small fire. Being that we are departing shortly, it wasn’t practical to make anything larger.”
    He crossed to the window and peered out, savoring the warmth of the earthenware mug in his hands.
    “You’ve looked outside?” he said incredulously.
    The forest encircled the back of the manse, a smudge against a white winter sky. There were outbuildings and a stable, and at the edge of the gardens, the cemetery encircled by a stone wall. All nearly obscured by snow.
    The cemetery. His mother would be there. After she had died, his father had arranged for the paltriest, most shameful of monuments. As soon as he could arrange for it, Claxton had commissioned a memorial much more worthy of a duchess. Life had prevented him thus far from visiting her grave site for himself. Perhaps, more truthfully, he’d found reasons to stay away.
    What would his gentle, kind mother think of him now? He could not help but believe she would be deeply disappointed that despite her love and motherly efforts, he’d turned out much like his father.
    “Of course I have.” Sophia came to stand beside him, leaving a generous foot of space between them. Even so, his body reacted with awareness, with every