Page 41 of Not the Duke's Virgin

Simon pressed his mouth in a thin line, scanning the surroundings. “Very well, perhaps I am not as familiar with it as I thought. But we shall soon find our way.”

Victoria laughed lightly. “There is no shame in being lost, Your Grace. I daresay it makes things a touch more interesting.”

Their banter continued as they strolled beneath the shade of sturdy oaks and elms bordering the road. In the distance, Victoria spotted a familiar figure—none other than Oliver.

But as she moved to wave, Simon grasped her elbow and pulled her into a narrow alley between two stone cottages. Stumbling into the shadows, Victoria found herself chest-to-chest with Simon, his tall form crowding her against the wall.

“Your Grace, what…”

She inhaled sharply as Simon braced one hand beside her head, peering out around the side of the cottage. His hard body was pressed against hers, surrounding her with his warmth.

“My apologies,” he murmured, gaze scanning the lane. “I would prefer Oliver not to know I am here just now.”

Victoria wetted her dry lips nervously. “I see.”

She was exquisitely aware of every place their bodies connected, Simon’s muscular chest flush against her heaving bosom. His clean, masculine scent enveloped her, making her pulse skitter.

Simon’s attention returned to Victoria, dark eyes trailing over her features. “Forgive me,” he repeated, voice low. But he made no move to step back, their forms still pressed together.

Victoria’s breaths grew erratic as Simon slowly inclined his head. Her eyes fluttered shut in anticipation as his nose skimmed along the line of her jaw, lips ghosting feather-light on her skin.

When his mouth found the tender spot beneath her ear, Victoria let out a tremulous sigh. Sparks ignited within her core as Simon trailed searing kisses down the column of her throat, nipping lightly. His hands spanned her cinched waist, thumbs grazing just below the curve of her breasts.

He slid his hands under her bodice, caressing her firm, full breasts gently.

Clutching his broad shoulders, Victoria surrendered to the intoxicating sensations sweeping through her body. She knew this reckless passion invited scandal, but coherent thought escaped her as Simon’s talented mouth left her gasping, pinned delightfully against the cottage wall.

It didn’t take long before his hand found its way under her skirt while he kissed down her neck.

“Please, Your Grace,” Victoria begged when she felt his fingers lightly brush her core.

Simon chuckled. “You’re so wet, Lady Victoria.”

She wondered why he had made her feel so much. Her core was throbbing for more.

“Please, Your Grace, please don’t stop,” she moaned when she felt his fingers slide inside her, gently and sensually.

“Oh my. You’re so tight,” Simon groaned.

“I’m going to… I’m…. aah, sooo good,” Victoria moaned as Simon kept fingering her under her skirt, bringing her close to the edge.

The sound of approaching voices had them springing apart, chests heaving.

Simon stepped back, running a hand through his rumpled hair. “Come, let us go.”

He moved out of the shadows of the alley. Victoria exhaled slowly, willing her nerves to settle. She shook out her skirts and followed him back onto the road, wondering at the strange effect his sudden closeness had on her.

They continued in silence for a stretch, Victoria stealing occasional glances at his stern profile. What thoughts lurked behind that inscrutable facade? She longed to know, even as she scolded herself for such fanciful notions.

“Do you know, I believe I spot the smithy just ahead, Your Grace,” she remarked lightly, hoping to break the tension. “It seems you were right about its direction, after all.”

Simon’s expression warmed a fraction. “It appears so.” He offered her a rare smile. “Well done, My Lady.”

Warmth bloomed in Victoria’s chest at those simple words of praise. Together, they walked on through the village, the awkward moment behind them. But she knew she would not soon forget the feeling of his strong arms around her, however fleeting.

The afternoon sun filtered through the trees lining the road back to Hayward Manor, casting dappled shadows on the touring party. Victoria rode beside her cousin Madeline, who kept stealing curious glances her way.

“You seem to be in fine spirits this afternoon,” Madeline remarked. “The fresh country air must agree with you.”

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