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

Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

T he morning light seeped gently through the heavy drapes of Killian’s chambers, casting a soft light on Yvette as she stirred beneath the luxurious sheets.

A faint sigh escaped her lips as she stretched out an arm, seeking the warm presence, in her memory, had held her the night before. Her fingers brushed the empty expanse of his side of the bed, now cool to the touch.

Her brows furrowed, a pang of disappointment flickering through her.

Where was he?

She had hoped, perhaps even expected, that after the intimacy they had shared, Killian might linger. But he didn’t.

“He’s a duke after all,” a voice defended in her mind. “His responsibilities are many.”

Yvette pushed the thought aside, attempting to dismiss the slight ache in her chest as unreasonable. After all, he was a busy man, and she had no right to demand more than he was willing to give.

Still, as she lay there, the events of the previous night replayed in her mind. Her cheeks heated as she remembered the way Killian had touched her, his hands both commanding and gentle, his voice a low, velvety murmur in the darkness.

“Are you comfortable, my dear?” he had whispered against her ear, his breath warm as his fingers grazed her cheek after she’d met with her release.

Yvette had nodded shyly, her voice barely audible. “Yes… I didn’t think it would feel like that.”

He had chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm. “And how did you think it would feel?”

“Colder… more mechanical, perhaps,” she admitted hesitantly. “Not so… consuming.”

“Good,” he had said simply, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to her temple.

Yvette pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks, trying to cool the warmth that had risen there. She had seen so many facets of Killian in such a short time, but she never imagined he’d have such a side to him. It was very different from his time with the dogs, or with Maisie the day before. This was something else entirely. He’d been so soft, so gentle, so attentive.

It gave her hope, a tentative yet undeniable hope, that perhaps their marriage would not remain a union of convenience. Perhaps it could become something more.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she shifted to sit up, only for a sharp pang to shoot through her thighs, the ache radiating up to the core of her being. Yvette bit her lip to stifle a wince, her hand instinctively brushing the silk sheets. She was sore, undeniably so, and the memory of how she had come to feel this way made her blush deepen. She reckoned a hot bath was the only remedy for the tension in her body.

Throwing the covers aside, Yvette swung her legs over the edge of the bed and reached for her silk robe. Wrapping it tightly around herself, she glanced around Killian’s chambers, the air still heavy with his scent. It made her ache for him in ways she had not anticipated. She traced her hand along the edge of the bed before resolutely heading toward the adjoining door that connected her room to his.

The moment she stepped into her chambers, she called for Daisy. The young maid appeared swiftly, her cheeks rosy and her apron neatly pressed.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” Daisy said with a curtsy.

“Good morning, Daisy,” Yvette replied, her voice still laced with the remnants of sleep. “Would you be so kind as to prepare a hot bath for me? I find myself in dire need of one this morning.”

Daisy’s eyes widened slightly, her gaze flitting briefly over Yvette’s disheveled hair and the flush that hadn’t quite faded from her cheeks.

“Of course, Your Grace,” she said, though there was a hint of curiosity in her tone.

As Daisy busied herself with drawing the bath, Yvette sank onto the chaise near the window, her thoughts drifting once more. The scandal she had endured, the years spent at St. Catherine’s, had instilled in her a deep-rooted fear of intimacy, of losing herself in another person. And yet, with Killian, it had felt natural, even right.

The faint sound of water splashing brought her back to the present. Daisy appeared moments later, her hands folded neatly in front of her.

“Your bath is ready, Your Grace,” she announced.

“Thank you, Daisy,” Yvette said, rising from her seat. Daisy curtsied and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Yvette approached the tub, the steam rising in delicate tendrils, and slipped off her robe. She sank into the water with a sigh, the heat enveloping her like a balm. As she leaned back, her thoughts returned to Killian. She couldn’t help but wonder where he was, what he was doing.

Did he think of her at all?

It was strange, this yearning she felt for him. It wasn’t born out of duty or obligation, but something far more personal, something she was only just beginning to understand. For all his faults, Killian had shown her kindness and patience, and last night, he had laid bare a side of himself she hadn’t thought existed.

Killian entered Braemore Castle, his boots clicking softly against the polished marble floors. He pulled off his riding gloves methodically, handing them to the footman waiting by the door.

The crisp morning air still clung to him, sharp and invigorating after his solitary ride. He rolled his shoulders, intending to head straight to his study when movement on the staircase caught his attention.

Yvette was descending, her hand gliding along the smooth banister. She moved slowly, her gaze fixed on him in a way that made him pause. There was something in her eyes—confusion, perhaps, or uncertainty—that gave him pause.

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the air seemed to shift. Killian’s lips parted, but no words came out.

The memory of the previous night surged forward—her soft gasps, the way her body had melted into his, her trust as she surrendered to him completely. It had been a night unlike anything he had ever experienced, yet here they were, and he didn’t know how to read the expression on her face.

He cleared his throat out of habit, breaking the silence.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice deliberately even.

“Good morning,” she replied softly. There was a slight hesitation in her tone, as though she was still deciding how to address him after what they had shared.

Yvette came to a stop at the base of the stairs, her gaze flicking over him briefly before returning to his face.

“I thought you had left for work.”

Killian raised a brow. “No, I went for a ride. It clears the mind.”

Her frown deepened, subtle but unmistakable. “So early?”

He nodded, keeping his tone neutral. “It is not my first ever early ride. Ye know of this.”

Yvette’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he could sense her unease. It wasn’t anger exactly, but something hovered beneath the surface, unspoken and fragile. He considered asking what was on her mind but decided against it. He had learned long ago that Yvette rarely spoke before she was ready.

The silence between them stretched uncomfortably until it was broken by the hesitant voice of Mrs. Calloway.

“Pardon me, Your Grace,” she said, her gaze flickering nervously between the duke and duchess. “I was wondering if the guest room you used last night should be prepared for use again.”

Killian’s frown was immediate and deep. Yvette’s reaction was swifter—her eyes widened, her lips parted, and then a flush of anger crept across her cheeks.

“No,” he answered stiffly, so much so that the older woman didn’t hear him.

“Thank you, Mrs. Calloway,” Yvette said, her voice tight and controlled. “That will be all.”

Mrs. Calloway hesitated for a moment, glancing at Killian as though seeking confirmation. When none came, she nodded quickly and disappeared down the hall.

Yvette turned back to him, her amber eyes burning with hurt and fury.

“Killian,” she said sharply, her voice low enough that only he could hear. “I’d like to have a word with you in my chambers.”

He clenched his jaw but nodded, following her as she turned and strode purposefully toward her room. The awkwardness between them thickened, and he couldn’t help but feel that this was about far more than where he had slept the night before.

Inside her chambers, the faint scent of lavender and something uniquely Yvette filled the space. Killian stood near the door, his arms crossed as she closed it behind them and turned to face him. Her cheeks were still flushed, though whether from anger or embarrassment, he couldn’t tell.

“What is this I hear about you sleeping in a guest room?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

Killian’s frown deepened.

“Ye were sleeping in my bed. Ye looked peaceful, and I didn’t want to disturb yer sleep.”

Her lips parted, her expression both disbelief and frustration. “Why couldn’t you sleep there too?”

“I didn’t think—” he started but he stopped.

Yvette pressed her lips together, her voice momentarily lost to the storm of emotions roiling within her.

“Am I to understand,” she began softly, her tone carefully measured, though her voice trembled faintly, “that sharing a bed with me is so intolerable, so wholly undesirable, that even after—” She paused, her cheeks flushing. “Even after last night, you felt compelled to leave?”

Killian’s jaw tightened, his expression unreadable. He shook his head, taking a deliberate step toward her, but she instinctively moved back, a barrier of distance she hadn’t consciously intended to erect.

“Ye misunderstand me,” he said at last, his voice low, yet his usual authority lingered within it. “I merely wished not to disturb yer rest, as I already mentioned.”

Her lips parted in disbelief, a bitter laugh threatening to escape but dying on her tongue.

“Considerate of you,” she replied, her tone laced with irony. “How very thoughtful to spare me the inconvenience of your presence.”

The words spilled from her before she could stop them, and she despised how raw, and how vulnerable she sounded. She had hoped that what had happened between them would possibly be the start of something new for them. But she her hope had failed her, and the sting of disappointment now cut deeply.

“Yvette,” he began, his voice softer this time, but she raised her hand, silencing him.

“I had thought,” she said, her words slower now, more deliberate, “that last night signified… something. A change, perhaps. A turning point for us.” Her voice faltered, and she hated the telltale tremor in it. “But I see now that I was mistaken.”

Killian’s brows drew together, his hesitation evident as he took another step forward.

“There is no denying the connection between us,” he said, his tone steady, though his gaze flickered uncertainly.

“But it would be unwise to complicate matters with unnecessary sentiment.”

Yvette blinked, his words landing with the force of a blow.

“Unnecessary sentiment?” she repeated, the incredulity in her voice giving way to a sharp edge. “Is that all it was to you? A transaction of physical convenience?”

Killian hesitated, the faintest flicker of discomfort passing over his features.

“It need not be more than that,” he said finally.

Yvette’s breath hitched, her chest tightening as a dull ache settled in her heart.

“I see,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Then I was a fool, after all.”

His lips parted as if to respond, but she did not wait for him. Instead, she turned her gaze to the floor, her posture stiff as though bracing herself against further indignity.

“You are quite right, Your Grace . Simplicity is best.”

She curtsied, the movement stiff but practiced, and without waiting for his response, turned and walked toward the door. Her hand trembled as it rested on the handle, but she did not falter.

Before leaving, she paused and turned to him, her voice measured.

“You may keep things uncomplicated, Killian. But you should not expect the same courtesy from me.”

With that, she stepped through the doorway, her back straight and her chin lifted, even as her heart splintered within her chest.