The Duke’s Sinful Bride (Vows of Sin #5)

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

“ T his stew is delicious,” Yvette said.

Maisie, seated beside him, had done a little excited dance when her plate was served, immediately digging into her food without hesitation. Yvette smiled.

“I was eager to taste it, to know why both father and daughter loved it so much, and I must say, I’m impressed,” Yvette added.

Killian said nothing in return, merely continuing to eat as though he hadn’t heard her, leaving no room for further conversation.

Yvette’s gaze shifted to Maisie. She smiled softly, hoping to draw the little girl out of her shell.

“So, Maisie,” she began gently, “can you tell me a little about what you learned today?”

The child’s fork paused midway to her mouth as her wide gray eyes darted between her father and Yvette, as if seeking permission. The hesitation stretched, making Yvette’s smile falter just a little, however she remained patient.

Then, as though something had just occurred to the little girl, her brows shot up, and her gaze snapped to Yvette.

“You are Papa’s wife,” Maisie said, her voice curious, her tone completely guileless. “Do I have to call you mama, now?”

Yvette froze mid-motion, her fork suspended just above her plate. Her breath hitched as the words landed heavily between them, and her chest felt tight, as if the very air had thickened.

Slowly, she set her utensil down and placed a hand lightly on her chest, willing the knot in her throat to ease.

Before she could answer, Killian’s deep voice cut through the silence.

“Yes,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Yvette’s head snapped toward him, her eyes narrowing in disbelief.

“No,” she said immediately, turning back to Maisie with a small smile, “You don’t have to call me mama, Maisie. Only if you want to.”

Killian’s frown darkened, his fork clattering onto his plate as he sat back in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest.

“Maisie is to call ye mama,” he said, his brogue thickening with the simmering edge of his frustration. “It’s proper, and she should learn respect for her new mother.”

Yvette’s lips parted in astonishment, her scowl deepening. “Proper?” she echoed incredulously. “You cannot just force something like this on her—or me, for that matter.”

“She’s my daughter,” he shot back, his voice low and taut. “And ye are my wife. Ye wish to see us as a family, then Maisie must address you properly.”

Yvette’s pulse quickened, anger curling low in her stomach. “A family?” she repeated, her voice rising slightly. “You think a title will magically make us one? You think forcing her to call me something she doesn’t feel will make everything perfect?”

“It is not about perfection,” Killian growled, leaning forward, his hands braced against the edge of the table. “It is about setting a standard. Ye want her to accept ye, don’t ye? Then she would call ye that.”

Yvette pushed her chair back slightly, her spine stiffening as she met his piercing gaze.

“I am doing everything I can to connect with Maisie, but I won’t do it this way. Not if it means pushing her too hard. And frankly, you are making things harder by dictating how this is supposed to go.”

Killian’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists on the table. His eyes burned in such a way that they made Yvette’s skin prickle.

“If ye think I am the one making things harder, perhaps ye should look in the mirror,” he snapped.

“And perhaps you should take your own advice,” she retorted, her cheeks flushing as the tension between them became almost unbearable.

The room felt stifling, the air charged with unspoken words and a heat that had little to do with anger.

Killian’s gaze flicked to her lips for the briefest moment before snapping back to her eyes, and Yvette’s breath hitched, her stomach twisting in confusion at the raw intensity in his expression.

“You are impossible,” she muttered, her voice breaking the silence, though her tone lacked the bite it had moments ago.

“And ye drive me mad,” he growled.

For a fleeting second, it seemed as though he might say more, but then, as if catching himself, he abruptly stood, the scrape of his chair against the floor cutting through the charged moment.

“Finish up your meal, Maisie. Then off to bed with you,” he said, his tone still stern but softened for his daughter.

Killian stepped inside the duchess’ chambers.

The maid’s hands on Yvette’s hair stilled instantly, her face coloring as she faced the duke.

“You may go, Daisy. Thank you,” Yvette told her, and the young maid curtsied.

“As you wish, Your Grace,” she mumbled and then curtsied to Killian, “Your Grace.”

Then, Daisy left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Killian’s gaze lingered on Yvette longer than he’d have liked.

She was dressed in a red silk and lace nightdress, the soft fabric draping over her form in a way that left little to his imagination. Her golden hair fell loosely down her back, and the faint blush on her cheeks made her look even more striking.

What had he come here for again?

His mind faltered as desire coursed through him, a frustration rising at his inability to focus on anything other than how utterly captivating she looked.

“Do you need something?” Yvette asked, her voice breaking the silence.

Her curiosity was evident in her expression as she rose from her seat, taking a few steps toward him. The flush in her cheeks deepened as she approached, and Killian’s breath hitched.

She was beautiful—more than beautiful. Her every feature, from her blue eyes to her soft lips, seemed designed to torment him.

Christ! Had she always been this lovely? Of course, she had.

Killian swallowed hard, gripping the doorframe for a fleeting moment to steady himself.

“Yes, well… no,” he finally replied, his voice rougher than he intended.

Yvette narrowed her eyes, folding her arms across her chest, an action that inadvertently pressed her generous curves together, pulling Killian’s attention downward.

His breath hitched instantly, and a strained sound escaped his throat before he masked it with a sharp cough.

“Ahem.”

“Are you all right?” she asked, taking a step closer to him. “Should I call Daisy to fetch you some water?”

“No,” he said quickly, taking a step back.

The sudden movement was as much about creating distance as it was an attempt to regain control of his thoughts.

“Perhaps I should have knocked before entering,” he murmured, licking his lips nervously.

“Or,” Yvette said with a slyness that caught him off guard, “perhaps you like what you see?”

The boldness of her statement stunned him into silence. His mind screamed yes , but he knew better than to admit it. This seemed to be payback for that night at the inn weeks ago when he had said the same things to her; that night when his control might have slipped if it hadn’t been for the knock at the door.

The corners of Yvette’s mouth curled upward in satisfaction, clearly pleased by his reaction.

Killian cleared his throat again, determined to recover his footing.

“Ye do not want to play this game with me,” he warned, his voice low and laced with a dangerous edge.

“And what if I do?” she countered, tilting her chin up defiantly.

Her bravery stirred something deep within him—something primal. He crossed the room in two long strides, stopping just inches from her. Yvette backed up instinctively, her confidence wavering for a fleeting moment.

When her back hit the wall, Killian closed the remaining distance. With his hand lifted to her face, his thumb and forefinger tilted her chin upward to meet his gaze.

“Ye are treading on dangerous waters, wife ,” he whispered, his voice roughened by the tension simmering between them.

“And so are you, husband ,” Yvette shot back, her voice steady despite the rapid rise and fall of her chest. “If not, then why did you come here? I don’t imagine you came to stare at me and return to your chambers.”

Killian nearly laughed at her audacity, but he swallowed the sound, unwilling to let her see the crack in his composure.

Instead, he stepped even closer, his resolve hanging by a thread as her scent—something faintly floral and maddeningly sweet-filled his senses.

“Aye, I came for something entirely different,” he admitted.

To taste you , he heard the voice in his mind, and he could not quite deny it.

Yvette folded her arms again, clearly unwilling to let him off the hook so easily.

The gesture, though innocent, was torturous, emphasizing the swell of her barely concealed breasts once again, and Killian clenched his jaw, forcing himself to look her in the eye.

Every ounce of self-control he possessed was needed to resist the urge to let his gaze wander lower.

His imagination betrayed him, conjuring images of her beneath him, her skin warm and soft to the touch, her lips parting as she whispered his name?—

Lord , what was he becoming?

He shook his head sharply, as though trying to banish the sinful thoughts.

Focus , he reminded himself.

“We didn’t finish our conversation properly,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“We didn’t?” Yvette asked, her tone softening, though the curiosity in her eyes remained sharp, “There isn’t more to be said about that,” she added.

“Well I have more to say,” Killian cleared his throat, forcing his eyes to stay on her face while he spoke. “You should spend more time with Maisie.”

Yvette began shaking her head before the words had left his lips. He narrowed his eyes at her.

“I cannot do that to her. If my interactions with her are forced, Maisie will only resent me.”

“She is a child. How would she resent ye?” he asked.

“You really do not know anything about children, do you?”

“Excuse me?” His anger flared.

“What I meant to say is that you don’t even know her. You’re stiff around her when all she wants is to be around you . Not me.” Yvette’s tone softened but her eyes remained sharp.

And, although he had heard what she’d said, Killian’s eyes couldn’t help but wander over her body, and that goddamned thin, ruby nightdress, which swished and hugged over her delicious curves. He wondered how soft the fabric would feel under his hand, whether it would be cool to the touch, or the warmth of her smooth skin would penetrate through…

Good God, Braemore.

Here he was, lusting after his wife like a schoolboy.

After clearing his throat, Killian stepped back, retreating several paces. The distance was crucial, a barrier between him and the overwhelming desire that threatened to consume him.

“You need to be close to her,” he said simply.

The conversation hadn’t gone how he’d hoped, and now he was left with his desire for her overriding his reason.

Killian took another step back, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He needed to leave— now , before he’d be forced to stay against his wishes.

One more moment in her presence, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to restrain himself.

“Goodnight, Yvette,” he said gruffly, his tone leaving no room for further conversation.

“Goodnight, Killian,” she replied softly.

Without another word, he turned and disappeared through the adjoining door, shutting it firmly behind him.

Once inside his own chamber, he exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair.

He was hard again , his body responding to her presence in a way he couldn’t control.

He cursed under his breath, his frustration mounting.

She’s yer wife, a voice in his head whispered. Ye’ve every right to take her to bed.

But he knew better. Giving in to his desire would mean surrendering control, and he couldn’t afford that—not now, not ever.

Theirs was a marriage of convenience and nothing more, and it should stay that way.

With a growl, Killian strode to the washbasin, splashing cold water onto his face in a futile attempt to calm himself.

He couldn’t deny the truth any longer.

Yvette was getting under his skin, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

That night, Yvette sat alone in her room, her thoughts whirling around the earlier encounter with Killian. Her heart still raced at the memory of him standing so close, the heat of his breath brushing against her skin.

Even now, hours later, the tension lingered in the pit of her stomach, coiled tight like a spring refusing to release.

She pressed her hand against her chest, willing herself to calm down, but it was futile. She couldn’t shake the intensity of the moment.

His gaze, dark and consuming, had pierced straight through her. It wasn’t love—she was sure of that—but it was something. Something undeniable, something magnetic.

Yvette closed her eyes, but the image of him returned. The way his shirt had been undone, revealing the strong lines of his chest. The way he had walked toward her with purpose, like a predator stalking its prey. She shivered, though her cheeks burned with heat.

Had he felt it too? She thought back to the way his voice had deepened, the slight rasp of restraint as he’d spoken. Had he wanted to reach for her in the same way that she’d wanted to lean into him?

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her nightdress as she tried to push the thoughts away, but they only pulled her in deeper.

Frustration bubbled in her chest, and she let out a silent scream, burying her face in her hands.

Why? Why was she reacting this way?

Yvette fell back onto her bed, her arms spread wide as she stared up at the ceiling. Her body betrayed her, heat pooling low in her belly, a dampness she didn’t entirely understand spreading between her thighs. She clenched her knees together, mortified at her own response.

“Stop,” she whispered to herself, her voice trembling with both embarrassment and irritation.

But her mind refused to obey. It replayed the moment he’d grasped her chin, the calloused warmth of his fingers against her skin, the dangerous way his voice had lowered when he warned her not to play games. And the way he’d looked at her… Heavens , she could still feel it, as though he were here now, standing just out of reach.

She sat up abruptly, her frustration mounting.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered. Sliding her legs over the side of the bed, she pressed her feet into the cold floor, hoping it would ground her.

Yvette took a deep breath and resolved to clear her head.

When morning came, she would go for a ride. Yes, a ride through the countryside would surely help. She needed the fresh air, the steady rhythm of the horse beneath her, and the freedom of open space to shake off this maddening tension.

She nodded to herself, as if solidifying the plan would grant her peace. Climbing back into bed, she closed her eyes once more, though the tension remained, pooling like a storm cloud in the distance.

For now, she could only hope that dawn would come quickly, bringing with it some semblance of clarity.