Page 22 of His Abandoned Duchess

The younger man, likely to be in his early twenties, smiled pleasantly, nodding at her as he relaxed his shoulders a hair.

“It was, Your Grace. Thank you for asking. I will admit to quite enjoying a long ride in a post chaise. The time on the road allows one’s mind to percolate on the most interesting things.”

Amelia smiled, her amusement with Hugh genuine if exaggerated. “It does. You are quite right. I find that I settle a fair number of household concerns after a tour in the phaeton or a walk through the gardens.”

Flicking her attention to Richard briefly, Amelia’s cheek tugged up higher, her grin widening as she saw the evident displeasure poorly hidden behind her husband’s stern expression. Befriending Hugh had taken priority the moment the plan revealed itself, and Amelia set herself to enjoying the young lord’s company for the remainder of the evening. Richard’s scowl was her reward for her efforts. After the ball came to a close following a breakfast at the Lady’s table, Amelia was quite content to retire with the Duke to their estate, her work a wild success.

“You will not speak to Lord Hugh again. Am I understood, Amelia?”

Turning on her heel as Richard followed her into her bedroom, Amelia let her mouth fall open in apparent shock. He pressed inside, closing the door firmly behind him, and sauntered directly up to her, reducing the space between them to just a few inches.

“Richard, must I remind you of your own previous wishes?” Amelia leaned backward, unwilling to give up ground but affected by her husband’s proximity, nonetheless. “You have asked me to be the perfect display of a proper Duchess. How can I uphold that command while rebuffing my brother-in-law without grievance?”

His severe muscles working in his jaw, Richard regarded her. He scoffed—a faint movement of air from his lips—as he glared, his eyes narrowing. The annoyance he wore was as plain as newsprint. Still, the intensity of his gaze lit something within Amelia’s belly that churned her blood.

She wanted to blame the champagne or the fatigue that followed such a ball, but even without an evening of rest—fueled by an early retiring the previous day—Amelia knew that the hum within her blood could only be attributed to the bewitching tension between them.

“You are not one to yield, are you, Amelia?”

Doing whatever she could to steel herself, Amelia lifted her chin a hair higher, meeting her husband’s gaze and not backing down.

“No.”

Conflict played over Richard’s features, and he pressed forward, his hands finding her arms behind the elbows. The air was thick between them, a blanketing weight that couldn’t be cut by the sharpest of blades. His eyes were glowing and yet dark, and theburn of Richard’s firm grip forced Amelia to squeeze her thighs together.

“You drive me to madness, woman. Do you comprehend the otherworldly effect you have on me?”

But before Amelia could respond, lips crashed into hers, her husband claiming this feverish caress with everything he possessed.

Unable to think, Amelia returned the kiss in kind, losing herself to the commanding feel of her husband’s touch. He hauled her against his chest, locking her there as he explored the intimate taste of her lips, her tongue.

The world was a blazing inferno around them as Richard dragged his lips over Amelia’s chin down to her neck. A low moan rumbled from her, and the warmth in her cheeks swelled at the noise.

Dear God, what am I doing?

There was little opportunity to think further on it, however, because Richard used his firm control over her to walk Amelia backward. Her knees buckled as the edge of her bed pressed into them, and Richard followed her down to the softness, his lips dancing lower and lower until they reached the neckline of her gown.

The touch made her gasp, and Amelia’s eyes flew wide before squeezing shut once more. Everything Richard did was a novel magic that wound through her being like fireflies. Her breaths rushed from her chest, which only served to press her exposed skin closer to Richard’s lips.

“Richard…” Mumbling against the back of her hand, Amelia lost focus on the room around her, lost to the sensations.

Her hands went to the sides of his face instinctively, and Amelia’s back arched up off the mattress as Richard’s fingers found the edge of her cap sleeve and began to push it from her shoulder. The more rigid strap of her stays glided down as her husband saw fit to displace the fabric of her gown and chemise.

“Amelia,” he whispered against her flesh, kisses smoothing over the top of her breast, “youwillheed my words. I have good cause to keep you away from Hugh, and for once, you’re going to listen to me without argument.”

Amelia’s mind was fuzzy at the edges, her thoughts like floating whisps of dandelion fluff in the wind. The deep need settled within her was intoxicating, a pulse picking up between her thighs as Richard’s caresses ignited her nerves.

“What shall you do if I don’t?”

The conviction behind her words wasn’t nearly as potent as she may have liked, and it fled entirely as Richard yanked on the delicate muslin of her full dress, exposing the overheated flesh of her breast. She yelped gently, but it bled into a soundshe’d rarely—if ever—made as Richard found her nipple with his mouth.

“Richard!”

He clamped his palm over her mouth. “Now, now. You know what I am willing to do should you beginsingingtoo loudly.”

Amelia wanted to chew on his fingers, forcing Richard to regret his choice to smother her mouth, but the desire fled away as he started up again. It was replaced by a desire—a wanton, feverish need—that consumed her sure as any flame might a bit of dry kindling.

His tongue swirled around her nipple, fragmenting her thoughts, and Amelia arched up into his mouth, her fingers tangling through Richard’s thick, black locks. She groaned as her husband’s delicious torture continued, her legs scissoring against each other as Richard perched over top of her on his knees.

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