Free The Duke's Shotgun Wedding (Entangled Scandalous) by Stacy Reid Page A

insist…”
    “You… insist? ”
    Her heart thumped painfully against her ribcage. The look of warning he gave her sent a rash of goose bumps rippling over her arms. His eyes were as filled with ice as the winter lakes.
    “Sebastian,” she murmured shakily, “please tell me. I can see whatever it is upse—”
    “The subject of the Dowager Duchess is closed, Jocelyn,” he gritted out. “You will never mention her name in this house again, and you are forbidden from having any contact with her whatsoever. Do you understand me?”
    “You cannot forbid me this without an explanation, Sebastian. Make me understand.”
    “You will obey me in this matter, Jocelyn,” he ordered.
    She gaped at him. “You are being insufferable. I will not listen to such nonsense without an explanation. She is a part of our family, Sebastian.”
    His hands reached out for her, but he halted himself and only choked the air with a furious expression on his face. Jocelyn’s eyes widened, she could not help feel as if he would dearly love to have his hands around her neck. He seemed to rein in his emotions and his hand circled her neck, his thumb caressing her lower lip. His touch was gentle, but there was steel behind it.
    “It is not wise to willfully disobey my wishes, my duchess.”
    Ire spiked through her. “Do you plan to strangle me, then, as you did your mistress, if I do not obey?” she spat out, angered that he was not willing to talk to her.
    Regret sliced through her the instant she released the words. He dropped his hands as if he had been stung, which she supposed he had. She flinched from the look in his eyes. She had thought him cold and remote before, but it was as if he became the very god of ice and snow.
    “Forgive me!” she rasped.
    She waited in the tense silence for him to apologize in return. Or say something. Anything.
    But he ignored her completely as he methodically dressed and reached for his cloak.
    “Are you leaving?” she cried.
    Shame burned through her. How could she have thrown that foul rumor in his face? It was unconscionable, even if he had upset her with his barely commands.
    She grasped his arm, “Sebastian, please let us talk.”
    He offered nothing, no assurances or explanations, merely yanked his arm free from her grasp.
    A sick feeling grew in the pit of her stomach as he pivoted and stalked out, slamming the door behind him without uttering another word.
    …
    The arctic chill at Sherring Cross had more to do with the total silence between Jocelyn and Sebastian than the winter snow that fell so steadily outside.
    She did not know how to reach him. He had withdrawn completely, brooding and spending his entire days locked in his study. What tormented her even more was that he did not respond to her overtures of peace, nor did he take her in his arms at night. She had slept restlessly for the past week, desperately wanting him, helpless against his wall of distant reserve. Nothing thawed him. He was chillingly polite when he spoke. Their conversations were confined to the mundane, and Jocelyn despaired of ever finding a way to breach his solid wall. The aloof courtesy he treated her with left her baffled.
    Desperate to distract herself from her unhappiness, lest she go mad, she had thrown all her energy into planning the holiday dinner.
    Within days, she had turned the mausoleum of an estate into a cozy home. Rooms where Sebastian had forbidden the fireplaces to be lighted, she had ordered to be cleaned, and now they smelled of fresh lemons and pine. Fires roared and crackled, and the cold, dank feel of the place gradually warmed under her careful ministrations and strict orders.
    Miniature incandescent lamps dotted the mantels, and were used to light the towering Christmas tree in the great room. Red drapes were added to the silver ones. Pine cones, evergreens, and mistletoe decorated nearly every room. Slowly the mansion transcended beauty under her touch. She was awed as she toured the rooms