Page 45 of His Unwanted Duchess

She turned, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him back into the hallway.

He staggered, taken by surprise just for a moment. She had an instant to enjoy the fact that she’d shocked him, and then his expression darkened.

Taking her by the shoulders, he pushed her against the wall with athumpthat took her breath away. She opened her mouth to complain, but long, cool fingers wrapped around her neck suddenly, and her words died in her throat.

“Careful, dear,” Stephen murmured, his voice low and menacing. “Don’t overstep.”

He was standing close to her, very close, so close that when she breathed, her breasts pushed against his chest. An unmarried woman’s reputation would be shattered irrevocably by being caught in such a position, and even a married woman would be scolded for the lack of propriety.

Desire swelled in Beatrice’s gut. It was horrifying to have a name to put to the feeling, but also thrilling. None of the milk-and-water heroines of the modern novels ever felt anything like this.

She swallowed hard, sure that he would be able to feel her throat move against his palm. He wasn’t squeezing or pressing in any way, nothing uncomfortable, but she knew without trying that he would not allow her to slip away, or wriggle free. His eyes darkened with an emotion she could not identify.

“I am your wife,” she heard herself say, her voice catching. “You must treat me with a measure of respect, surely.”

The ‘surely’in the end was a mistake. A knee-capped sentence, somebody had said once. Certain words likeI believeormaybeundermined the surety of one’s thoughts.

Stephen only chuckled. The pad of his thumb slid across her lower lip, sending thewantingpulsing lower into Beatrice’s gut. To her horror, she found that her body wanted to push itself against his in a most primal and frankly ungenteel manner.

She forced herself to stay still, her palms flat against the wallpaper behind her, the Duke’s thumb on the corner of her mouth.

In a flash, Beatrice imagined the tip of her tongue darting out to touch the digit, and it sent a shudder through her.

Abruptly, quite without warning, the Duke pulled away. Beatrice found herself unsteady, staggering forward.

“You are quite right,” Stephen said brusquely, not looking at her. “My apologies. I really must be going, though, my dear.”

“Going?” she repeated, dazed.

“Mm-hm. Enjoy the party, won’t you?”

He didn’t wait for a response, simply turning on his heel and marching away.

This time, Beatrice did not dart after him. She simply stood there in the hallway, aching with frustration and something else she didn’t quite dare to name.

Swallowing hard, she took a moment to compose herself before returning to the party.

Stephen walked quickly, shouldering his way through the crowds. Not that he needed to do much shouldering. Even here, at his wedding party, people got out of his way, smiling deferentially. He scarcely noticed them.

Heat and arousal flooded his body, desire singing in his veins.

It would have been the easiest thing in the world to take her there and then, to slide his hands underneath her voluminous skirts and have her right there against the wall at their own wedding party, regardless of who might come by or glance into the hallway and see them.

Would she object? She didn’t look as though she would object. I’ve seen desire often enough on a woman’s face to know what it looks like.

He swallowed hard, trying to force himself to calm down.

I have to find a distraction elsewhere. I am going to go mad at this wretched party.

Ignoring any well wishes and congratulations thrown his way, Stephen stomped up the stairs towards the cool, private rooms.

“Your room, Your Grace,” Mouse said somberly. “Do let me know if anything is not to your taste, and there is a bell in the corner of the room. Your things should be in place already.”

Beatrice was exhausted. The party had gone on for longer than she had expected. Her cheeks hurt from forcing a smile, and her eyes were gritty with fatigue.

Stephen had disappeared somewhere, and his absence had certainly been noticed. She was also hungry, as there had been surprisingly little opportunity for her to eat at her own wedding party. However, she was too tired to think about eating. Sleep was the order of the day, and she would eat in the morning.

“Thank you, Mouse.”

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