Page 27 of Her Duke's Second Chance

He staggered into his bed chamber and slammed the door behind him, leaning against it and breathing hard.

He placed his plans on top of the boudoir before picking up the lamp and moving its glowing flame to brighten the bedside table. A fire had been lit, and his bed was already turned down. A tub of steaming water sat enticingly alongside the fireplace, his soap and shaving kit laid out on a stool next to it. A small bell also rested on the stool to enable him to summon his valet.

He shook his head, beginning to strip off his clothes. He had spent a lot of time on the road, alone, and was perfectly capable of shaving himself and washing his own body.

He stepped into the tub with a sigh of pleasure, sinking into the warm water and letting it wash over his head. He stayed under, holding his breath for as long as he could before breaking the surface with an explosive breath.

He stared down at himself, nettled that he was still quite hard. Moreover, despite his plunge in the water, he still retained the scent of Georgiana.

With a huff, he took hold of himself, squeezing tightly. He closed his eyes and reclined in the tub, stroking his rigid member as his mind traveled of its own volition to the long, tense night they had spent together at the inn.

He had barely slept, having her so near, yet so far. She had been a restless sleeper, turning and pressing into him, her bottom pushing against his thigh, and her foot trailing across his own as he tried in vain to ignore the need that continued to grow inside of him.

It had been all he could do not to turn around and take her.

He envisioned that he had turned to his side, facing her sleeping body, and pulled her tight against him, her thin cotton nightgown a flimsy barrier.

He saw his hand rope around her waist, splaying his fingers across her taut, white stomach, tracing the hills and valleys of her hips and navel before rising upward until his hand cupped her plump breasts. He watched as he pulled up her gown and buried his face between her bare breasts.

His erection pulsed excitedly in response to his fantasy, and he stroked faster. He arched his hips, imagining that he was pressing into her wetness, his hands bracketing her hips and lifting her onto her knees, positioning her so that he could sink into her from behind.

He exhaled deeply as his hand moved faster and faster, and he longingly grunted her name.

He imagined her long dark hair brushing against his chest, tickling him like the water that lapped against him. He pictured her hand reaching back to hold his hip, urging him to fill her and bring her to her final rapture.

He turned abruptly onto his side, the water splashing from the lip of the tub as he frantically gripped and stroked himself into a frenzy. A deep, shaking moan escaped his lips as his engorged rod pulsed his seed into the warm water, his hips canting as he imagined releasing into her tight warmth.

He groaned, stretching out in the tub, his whole body finally slack and satiated.

“I am in trouble,” he muttered.

He blinked up at the ceiling, studying the swiftly moving shadows caused by the crackling firelight.

After only one day alone in that room with Georgiana, he had become besotted. He shook his head ruefully, unable tounderstand how it had happened. After Angela’s death, he had vowed not to get close to anyone.

To treat marriage like the contract it was a way to birth legitimate heirs, and that was all.

It was a matter of supreme irony to him that, after one unremarkable year, not only was he pining for Georgiana, but there had been no progress to propagate an heir.

Robert laughed dolefully, shaking his head at his present conundrum.

“Man proposes, God disposes,” he murmured with resignation.

He finished his bath and slipped under his soft, warm bedcovers, glad to be back in his own home, with his own pristine sheets and comfortable bed.

It had been a year since he had slept in his bed, but it was clear that the staff were conscientious about keeping his space clean.

He thought back to his encounter with Georgiana in the library, meticulously reviewing each interaction. She had initially seemed angry to see him, and he could have sworn that she was actively trying to provoke him. With a sigh, he realized he did not know her well enough to be certain.

The best thing for me to do is stay far away from her. For now.

Georgiana realized that she was still holding the empty carafe, and she was still thirsty. In fact, her throat felt drier than it had ever been. She turned and continued walking to the kitchen, hoping that she would not meet anyone on her way. Her skin felt hot and prickly, and her nipples were very sensitive to the caress of her flimsy nightgown.

Anyone who sees me now would know exactly what I was doing. What was I doing? How did that happen?

As she approached the kitchen she heard voices and realized that the servants were still awake. She frowned, wondering why when it was already past midnight.

Shuffling her feet so they would not hear her approaching, she entered the room to find the housekeeper, the chef, and the butler seated around the kitchen table drinking coffee.

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