Page 65 of The Duke's Daring Bride

In the dark corridor, her lips twitched.

It had been rather remarkable.

She’d masturbated before; everyone had, surely? Oh, Olivia knew it was supposed to be naughty, but frankly, it was ridiculous to expect a woman to grow to adulthood without some knowledge of her body.

What, she was never supposed to touch below her waist in the bath? Utterly ridiculous.

So yes, she’d made herself orgasm before, but that…that had been remarkable. She’d put herself on display, had touched herself in ways she’d never done before. And Alistair’s gaze, while it should have made her self-conscious or ashamed, actually made her feel powerful.

He’d been so aroused by the sight of her touching herself, he’d stroked himself to completion.

And hadn’t that been an intriguing sight?

She hadn’t been able to resist touching him, after that. Just to feel him…

But she had been planning to escape immediately after, so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes after her boldness.

It’s dark now. You don’t have to meet his eyes now, either.

That was true. “Um…where are we going?”

He didn’t answer, of course, and Olivia almost rolled her eyes at her own idiocy. But then he gave her arm a little squeeze, and she glanced up at him.

Damn. Now you do have to meet his eyes.

Except…he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring ahead, thankfully navigating through the mostly dark halls on her behalf, with a slight smile on his lips.

That smile, more than anything else, intrigued her. Made her want to know what he was thinking.

To her surprise, he opened a door she hadn’t seen and revealed a small staircase. Seeming to understand she was half-lost, he led her down…and into the kitchens.

She’d never been to this part of his home, and she gasped in delight. “This was your thought, when I mentioned I was hungry? Thank you!” And then, before she could think better of it, she threw her arms around his waist.

He froze.

You idiot. He made it clear this was merely a marriage of convenience. He likely doesn’t want you embracing him—or even touching him outside of the bedroom?

But Olivia couldn’t pull away, not now. Instead she squeezed his middle and pressed her cheek into his chest, hoping he understood how much this little kindness meant to her.

And—thank the saints!—after a long moment, he exhaled and patted her shoulder. While she was busy trying to understand what that meant, he dropped a kiss to the crown of her head.

Olivia had the distinct impression he didn’t know what to do with himself, and had reacted the way he might if Amelia or Amanda had hugged him.

The thought made her smile, but she hid it against his shirt.

Alistair was the one to gently pull her away. She assumed he’d merely escorted her to the kitchens to show her where to get a midnight treat. But instead he took her hand and led her to the wash basin.

Thank the saints it was dark enough he couldn’t see her flush, because yes, her hands needed a bit of a scrub. Prancing around a duke’s house at midnight in a white silk dressing gown was one thing. Doing it with sticky hands was another. Especially that kind of stickiness.

But he apparently felt the same thing—minus the silk dressing gown, because he was still mostly dressed—because he rolled up his sleeves and scrubbed his hands, right beside hers.

The memory of why he needed to scrub his hands—and the sight of those corded forearms!—made her warm all over.

After he’d handed her the soft towel to dry her skin, he took her hand once more. It was a casual gesture, one he likely didn’t realize he was making. And that was why Olivia was smiling when he led her to the small wooden table against the far wall.

This wasn’t where the servants dined; that was the room next door with the long table and the carefully ordered seating. This was just two wooden chairs pulled on either side of a battered table.

And he held out one of the chairs. For her. As if they were at a fancy dinner.

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