Page 54 of The Duke and the Scarred Bride

“You deserve that and more, Duchess. In case you do not realize it,” he continued, shifting his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot, “I am apologizing for my horrid behaviour these past few days.” A self-deprecating smile touched his lips. “Do you think you can forgive me?” he asked, boyish hope flickering in his eyes.

“It would be quite terrible of me not to accept such a magnificent apology, don’t you think?” she asked with a teasing smile. “Apology accepted, Percy.”

“Why, thank you, Your Grace,” he offered with an exaggerated bow, coaxing a laugh out of her. “But I do believe the dress is missing something.” He hurriedly opened his desk drawers and rummaged through them.

“The dress is a masterpiece. I hardly think it requires any more embellishments,” she said, her eyes following his movements greedily, drinking in the play of sunlight on his hair and his broad shoulders. The ones that she was presently fighting the urge not to touch.

“Trust me when I say that what I have in mind will be perfect…” he trailed off as he continued rummaging through his desk drawers.

Suddenly, he let out a cry of triumph.

“Here it is.” He pulled out a small box and handed it to her, a wide smile on his face. “Open it.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, she took the box carefully and placed it on the desk, before opening it. She was immediately struck dumb by the brilliance of the sapphire that winked back at her from its bed in the velvet lining of the box.

“Percy,” she breathed, looking up into his proud face. “This is beautiful.”

“I thought it would complement your fair skin and brown eyes,” he said in a low voice. “Turn around let me put it on you.”

She turned her back to him and waited while he brushed her hair over her shoulder, baring her neck and leaving it vulnerable to the warmth of his breath and the feverish sensations his fingers stirred when they brushed against her skin.

When she felt the cold stone settle on her skin, she had to suppress a sigh of relief at finally being released from the tortuous sensations that Percival wrought just by being close to her.

“It is perfect… the perfect contrast to your eyes,” he said hoarsely as he turned her around, his hot gaze heightening the feverish sensations within her.

“Yes,” she replied, averting her gaze.

She reached blindly for a book on the closest shelf, said a thank you, and muttered something about returning this book as well before she nearly ran out of the room to escape the lust that radiated from her husband’s body in waves.

No matter how she thought about it, her husband was dangerously attractive, and he was most lethal to her self-control when he was being attentive to her.

God save her because a few more of these tender moments and she might throw herself at the man, not caring if he rejected her or not. It was a testament to the fact that she thought it was worth it if he would kiss her like he had on that long-forgotten night, less than a week ago.

The man was slowly driving her mad, and somehow she could not bring herself to care.

She was a vision straight out of his fantasies, Percival thought as he watched her descend the stairs. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her to join him. She was a siren sent to torture him to death with desire.

The sapphire-blue gown she wore had a fitted, low-cut bodice that offered ample view of her cleavage, which was quite generous. The skirt of her dress draped over her hips delicately, accentuating her curves. The sight of her stirred his arousal such that he contemplated taking her back to her room and ravishing her.

In the end, his sense of honour won out. He led her to the carriage and handed her in, before taking his seat opposite her. He couldn’t stop staring at her. He seemed to have developed an obsession with her lips—those plump, sassy, delicious lips that glittered invitingly, tempting him to have a taste. And he desperately wanted a taste, especially since he knew how soft and sweet her lips felt under his.

With great effort, he tore his eyes away from the temptation of her lips, only to stare at her shamelessly flaunted cleavage. The modiste had made the dress with catching gentlemen’s eyes in mind, and she had succeeded spectacularly because Percival’s eyes were roaming over his wife’s body and his hands were curled into fists at his sides, itching to touch her. The dress, and the woman who wore it, seemed to have been designed to drive him mad with desire.

His eyes flicked to her face to see that she was blushing furiously, obviously aware of his obsessive stare.

“You look beautiful,” he offered, his voice hoarse with desire and the effort to hold on to the thin tethers of his self-control.

“I thank you, Your Grace,” Louisa replied demurely, wringing her hands nervously.

That action drew his eyes to her hands. How slim and pale they looked, and how good they would feel as they tightened around a certain part of his body. That thought was followed by lucid fantasies of making love to her in this carriage. Of laying her delicious body on the seat, her hair flowing like sunlight through his fingers while he drew out her moans until he pushed her to the pinnacle of her pleasure, watching her splinter apart while he buried himself in the warm heaven of her body.

His fantasies grew even hotter and filthier from there, and by the time they arrived at the ball, he was sporting a full erection that did not look ready to subside anytime soon.

By sheer force of will and some hastily conjugated verbs in Latin, he managed to bring his body under control—at least enough for him not to look like he had stuffed a wooden piker down his pantaloons.

Taking her arm, he led her into the ballroom, where the ton had gathered for one of their many balls. The silence that fell over the room the minute they were announced was ominous. Every eye was glued to the entrance, where Percival was slowly leading his wife to the center of the room.

Instead of feeling embarrassed, a primitive part of him enjoyed watching the emotions on their faces, usually starting with curiosity, then disgust when they spotted his face, then dismissal as they shifted their focus to his wife.

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