The Duke's Unwanted Second Wife

Sylvian stood up, effortlessly sweeping her into his arms before she could react.

”Your Highness, put me down!” Iliana protested, her face flushing crimson as she instinctively gripped his shoulders.

He paid no heed to her whispered scolding, carrying her carefully up the wooden staircase and into the small, warmly lit bedroom where the oil lamp flickered on the bedside table.

Gently, he lowered her onto the edge of the mattress, the crocheted blanket sliding from his shoulders as he knelt to unlace and remove her slippers. He looked up at her, meeting her gaze.

”I’ll just hold you close to sleep,” Iliana murmured, her voice softening as she looked down at him, realizing the small bed could easily accommodate them both for the night. ”It is the only way to keep us both warm. What if I get sick? Then, you’ll blame yourself tomorrow.”

Iliana could not entirely hide her answering smile, though she quickly folded her hands over her lap. ”Fine. But nothing more than that.”

”We have not even properly kissed since that day in the palace. What do you imagine could happen?” Sylvian murmured, an amusement threading through his voice. He stood up from the edge of the mattress and began unbuttoning his shirt, causing Iliana to instantly avert her gaze toward the floorboards.

”What is Your Highness doing? Why are you removing your shirt?” she asked with sudden panic.

”Because it is soaked through,” Sylvian replied matter-of-factly. ”Why are you looking away? I am already yours, and you will become accustomed to seeing me like this once we are wed.”

He draped the damp shirt over the back of the wooden chair near the washstand. As he turned back toward the room, the faint click of the latching door echoed in the small space.

Iliana’s gaze involuntarily flicked upward, catching the broad, straight line of his shoulders before he turned to face her fully, baring his chest to the warmth of the room. She found herself transfixed, her eyes tracing the steady rise of his chest and the clean, hard lines of his abdomen.

A flush crept up her neck, but she did not look away. ”Your Highness,” she murmured. ”You have a well-built physique.”

Sylvian smiled. ”Thank you. Want to touch?”

He reached out, taking her hand without resistance, and guided it gently across his abdomen before letting her fingertips trace upward toward the center of his chest.

When she drew her hand back instinctively, Sylvian shifted closer, hovering above her before lowering his mouth to hers.

Iliana’s fingers tightened into the coarse linen of the mattress as his lips parted hers, drawing her into a deep, consuming kiss.

Meeting his momentum, she parted her lips and kissed him back, one hand lifting to rest against the back of his neck, her fingers threading into his hair.

She barely noticed the shift in their weight or the moment he settled fully onto the bed; the steady, overwhelming rhythm of the kiss consumed her every thought.

Iliana was the first to pull away, her face and ears burning crimson. Catching the slick glisten on Sylvian’s lips, she quickly turned her back to him, burying her face in her palms.

”Iliana, are you shy?” Sylvian chuckled softly, his arm sliding around her waist to pull her back against his chest.

”Your Highness promised nothing would happen,” she murmured, lowering her hands just enough to speak.

”And nothing did, save for a kiss. We will wait until our wedding,” Sylvian replied, his lips brushing against her earlobe. Drawing the blanket over them both, he held her close against the night chill until sleep took them.

~~~~

The following morning, Sylvian was jolted awake by muffled voices outside the window. At first, the words were indistinct, but as he lay still, a clear sentence cut through the morning air: ”I saw a man walking into her house late last night.”

Sylvian sat up, glancing down to find Iliana still sleeping soundly beside him. Unwilling to disturb her, he quietly slid out of bed, pulled on his linen shirt, and crossed the room to the window.

Peering through a narrow gap in the shutters, he spotted a small group of neighbors gathered near the gate.

”Iliana is not the sort of girl who would let a man into her house at such an hour,” another woman insisted in a defensive tone.

”Let us go inside and see for ourselves,” another woman urged, her voice laced with sharp curiosity.

Sylvian took a step back from the window, his jaw tightening in quiet irritation. The mere suggestion of these women invading her privacy to malign her reputation grated on him.

A knock rattled the wooden front door downstairs. Iliana jolted awake at the sound, bolting upright in bed.

”Your Highness...” she murmured groggily, her mind racing to catch up as the pounding repeated, louder this time.

”Iliana! Iliana, open this door!” a harsh voice bellowed from the courtyard.

Panic flashed across Iliana’s face. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood immediately. ”Someone is outside. Wear your shirt and please, stay up here,” she urged him in a rushed whisper. Sweeping her dark hair up into a tight bun, she turned and hurried downstairs.

The moment she unlatched and pulled open the door, five women from the neighborhood crowded into the small entryway without waiting for an invitation.

”Penny saw a man coming into your house late last night,” said the middle-aged woman standing at the center of the group, her arms folded tightly across her chest. ”Tell them it is a lie, Iliana. Tell them you are not that sort of woman.”

”What?” Iliana froze, shock draining the color from her face as she realized Sylvian had been spotted.

”Why are you silent? We pride ourselves on propriety in this district; we do not harbor nameless men under our roofs. Iliana, how could you discard your reputation so lightly? This is what comes of remaining unwed for too long,” the second woman scolded, casting a sharp aspersion on her upbringing.

”That is false. I would never bring dishonor upon my family’s name,” Iliana stammered, her fingers clutching the coarse fabric of her dress.

”And precisely why a woman ought not linger unmarried,” the third woman muttered, shaking her head.

”Who presumes to speak such filth against my betrothed?”

The cadence of Sylvian’s voice echoed down the wooden staircase. Iliana spun around, her heart vaulting into her throat. Below the landing, the women craned their necks, peering through the dim morning light to catch sight of the man.

As Sylvian stepped fully into their view, the collective murmurs died instantly even from outside.

”If you value your necks, fall to your knees and beg my fiancée’s forgiveness,” Sylvian commanded.