Page 52 of Wedded to the Ruthless Duke

“I beg your pardon —”

“I needed distance.” He took a step forward, and she took a step back, his hands still on her waist as her palms planted themselves to his chest. “I needed to…behave.”Yet there was nothing in his expression or tone that suggested he wished to behave now.

He walked her all the way to the wall of his chamber. Flattened between him and the wall, she could escape no further.

I do not wish to escape. Not really.

Breathless, she looked up at him as his hips brushed hers. She chewed her bottom lip, wondering if he would show her again what he had shown her on that desk.

“I’m done behaving now,” he said sharply and bent toward her.

Grace didn’t even think of refusing him now. As his lips collided with her own, she kissed him back, fiercely. It was a tangle of tongues, a battle of domination, one that he won, and secretly, she was only too glad to let him win.

Deep down, Grace wanted to know what Philip could truly be like when this hidden fire within him was unleashed. When all signs of coldness in his countenance were gone and replaced with passion. She wished to indulge, to know him, to feel every part of him.

“Don’t stop,” she begged through his kisses as his hands started skimming down the curve of her hips.

“I have no intention of stopping,” he assured her, the whispered vow practically against her lips.

He kissed her again though it was faster, fiercer than before, and his hands moved quicker too. He reached for her skirt and pulled it upward, bundling it around her hips, the heavy train getting in the way though he didn’t appear to notice much or care. When Grace’s legs were exposed, she felt Philip’s knee against her own. He slowly slid her leg to the side, opening her stance wide.

Breathless, with her hands planted against his waistcoat, her stomach quivered as she felt his hands wander. His fingers went to the bare curve of her hips first, squeezing her softly. Then they reached down between her and the wall, squeezing her rear. She gasped into their kiss, allowing him to delve deeper still with his tongue.

That sound seemed to urge him on, for without much warning, his right hand reached around her, his fingers sliding against the wetness between her legs.

She longed to moan, to say his name at the renewed feeling of that pleasure, but it was impossible to do so when he was kissing her in such a way. She could only rock her hips against his hand, feeling both frustrated and overwhelmed that he would not touch her harder, that he would not move his hand faster.

Her body was quaking, that wetness between her legs practically flooding out of her, when he suddenly broke off, not only no longer touching her with his hand but breaking from their kiss too.

“You…” she muttered as he released her, leaving her wobbling against the wall. “You are the most infuriating man.”

“Not for long,” he whispered, reaching for his cravat. In one swift motion, it was gone then he reached for his waistcoat too. “Gown. Off.” He flicked his fingers.

She stood tall, her back rigid.

“I may have made a vow to obey you today in church, but did you think I actually meant it?” she murmured.

He smiled, seeming much more pleased by her words than he had anticipated.

“Very well,” he said huskily. He reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head. When his bare torso was revealed, Grace was fairly certain she had lost the power of speech.

She stared at him, marking all the lines of muscle in his chest, the hidden strength which he had kept pressed between neat suits for so long. Down the middle of his chest was one dark line of hair. It was masculine, emphasized by the strong line of his shoulders.

“If you will not take it off, then I will,” he whispered and reached for her.

Grace was suddenly turned around. She planted her palms onto the wall as the swiftness of Philip’s movements made her wetter still. She could no longer control her breathing as she felt him untie the laces at the back of her gown.

He tore it down her body, enough for her to step out of it, but before she could consider turning back to face him, he reached for her corset too, practically tearing the laces in the effort to get to her.

This is what he’s capable of?

The rough and readiness of his movements made her simply want to know more.

With the corset gone, she now felt him reaching for her chemise, when a sudden welling embarrassment took over her.

All she had ever heard about her body were bad things. Had her mother not told her repeatedly that she bore too much weight? That she should not eat as much as she did? That she was nothing to the slim and beautifully elegant figure of Tabitha?

These thoughts engulfed her, and she abruptly wrapped her arms around her body, keeping the chemise flat to her figure.

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