"A little early for spring cleaning, isn't it?" Malloryn opened his bare hand.
Silk. The palest of pinks, edged with frothy white lace. A frilly little peignoir with lace so thin across the bodice it would be...
See-through.
Aha. There was the first strike. His gaze slowly shifted back to Adele.
She blew a curl off her forehead, hands on her hips. "Did you know, I actually thought I would need a wedding trousseau. I wanted to please you." She rolled her eyes. "I promised myself I would be the best wife you could imagine. I would strap myself into pretty white corsets and lacy chemises that would make the veriest maid blush. I would do my duties, lie back and think of England—"
"You do think of England quite a lot," he mused. "A sacrificial martyr on my altar?"
"It sounds silly, doesn't it? What would the Duke of Malloryn do with such an insipid creature? She was becoming quite maudlin, but I'm tired of playing that Adele. She was a fool who miscalculated rather badly. It's time to become the new Adele."
"Oh?" He belatedly discarded the garment—if it could be called such a thing—into the trunk with all the others.
The impression of the silk lingered against his skin.
"Do tell," he murmured, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Does this new Adele have a certain agenda?"
"She might. I've made an appointment with Lena's modiste, Madame Lefoux."
"Madame Lefoux?" He failed to understand. "I've never encountered her name, I'm afraid."
"A pity. Every husband should know Madame Lefoux's efforts at least once in their lives."
Malloryn's gaze sharpened upon her at the sultry sound of her voice.
"Ah," he said, as Adele swanned closer. "That kind of modiste." His gaze raked her from top to toe. There was something different about her today; a new kind of confidence. And he still wanted to get to the bottom of her appearance. There was something... out of place about it. "Is that a new gown?"
"This old thing?" A strange light filled her eyes as she reached for his collar. "No. I've worn it many times."
"It looks... different."
"That's because I'm not wearing a stitch underneath it," Adele whispered as she began to fix his cravat.
Tension slid through him.
Two could play at this game.
"An excellent opening salvo," he admitted.
"I've been thinking," she murmured. "You said I was in control of how far matters between us went."
"And? What did you decide?"
"You've never kissed me."
His smile slipped. Unlike Devoncourt, he wanted to say, but the surge of emotion that came with the thought was a trifle bothering. "I kissed you the day we married."
"The barest touch of your lips to mine."
"And that's what you desire most? Right this second? A kiss?"
A kiss was intimate.
Unnecessary for what they planned.
It seemed an odd request. But he could see the answer in her eyes. Yes. She wanted that kiss. She wanted his kiss.
Was that the angle he could work to win this game between them?
"I will trade you," he said. "A kiss on your lips in exchange for a kiss elsewhere."
Those green eyes sharpened. "Elsewhere?"
"Wherever I desire."
He watched the turmoil race across her expression. Need. Want. And yet, suspicion.
"Why do I feel like I'm walking into a trap?"
Because you are, my dear.
"You've already kissed me elsewhere." A hot blush stained her cheeks as she no doubt remembered that interlude in the carriage.
"But not everywhere," he pointed out. "I promise you will enjoy it."
"I'm sure I will. One kiss," she finally conceded. "For another."
"Wherever I choose."
"Only if your kiss is worth it."
Malloryn smiled. "You like making rules."
"I like being in control. You've always been the one who made the rules between us." Adele eyed him with a challenging glint, and he realized she expected her kiss now.
Malloryn stepped forward, his nerves thrumming with anticipation. "You place such a high price on such a simple exchange. One would think you'd never been kissed."
"A dozen times," she admitted. "But never by my husband."
Malloryn stroked his thumb across her mouth. All pretty and pink, glistening with moisture. It was the type of mouth that could hypnotize a man, if he wasn't careful. His voice dropped. "Then he is a fool."
"I like to think so too."
A breathless laugh escaped him. Every time he thought he had control of the situation, she would surprise him.
"I've never kissed my wife either. I've thought about it. Sometimes."
In the dark of night, when he listened to her breathing on the other side of that door.
More than once he'd woken from fevered dreams of Russia, desperate to turn his mind from such nightmares. He'd refused to allow the servants to leave a lantern burning at night to still the dark, and those moments where he woke—disorientated and confused—were the worst.
She'd been his escape.
Even as he feared to reach out and find himself locked inside the Iron Maiden Jelena had put him in, he would hear Adele's soft breathing. If he concentrated, he could make out the slow, steady throb of her heart. An anchor in the dark. A means to remind himself he was safe, in his bed, in his house.
Not alone.
And as the panic surged, a crushing wave seeking to drown him in the darkness again, he'd use anything to force it back. Even memories of her.
"Now I know you're lying," Adele chided.
"No. I'm not." Malloryn realized his finger pressed against her lip and he hadn't moved. "I don't want to think about kissing her," he confessed. "But sometimes, in the middle of the night, I do. I think about that time in the tower, when I came back to myself with my lips on her skin. I think about the soft gasps she made. The way the skin of her inner thigh felt like silk beneath my fingers."
He ran the pad of his thumb across her lower lip in a hypnotic action. Back and forth. So soft. A shiver ran through her, but Adele merely parted her mouth, and, never taking her eyes off him, sucked on the end of his thumb.
Heat flared through him.