Page 21 of My Demanding Duke

"So there is a wildcat beneath that nun’s garb ," he whispered, his voice thick with admiration as he stroked her lips with his now-wet thumb. "I suspected as much."

In one swift move, he reached out to pull her against his body. His other hand moved from her mouth to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair, so that she was caught entirely.

His lips came crashing down upon hers, claiming her in a kiss that was unrelenting in its demands. His hands roved her body, climbing from her hips, to her waist, right up to her breasts, which—Anna realised with shock—were screaming for his touch.

He gave a growl of approval as he found her nipples erect beneath the cotton of her nightdress. Anna in turn whimpered with longing, as his fingers rolled and teased the sensitive peaks through the thin fabric. Between her legs began to ache with need as he teased her nipples, and Anna arched against his body seeking release.

He pulled her against him sharply so that she could feel his male hardness pressing against her and then, to her despair, he released her.

“You’re not the only one who can tease,” he said with a rakish smile, as he lifted her hand to his lips.

She blinked in confusion as her husband placed a chaste kiss upon the back of her hand and bid her goodnight.

“Sleep well, Anna,” Falconbridge said, before turning and departing for his chambers.

She waited a few moments to be sure he was gone before throwing herself onto her bed. Her body screamed for satisfaction; she felt bereft, deprived of a release she had not known she’d needed until she’d felt his touch.

Dash that man, she thought darkly, as she settled herself under the covers. The Duke of Falconbridge was not going to allow her an easy marriage.

CHAPTER SEVEN

HIS NEW WIFEwould be his undoing; Hugh was certain of it.

From the moment she had nipped his thumb in quiet rebellion, Hugh’s resolve to take things slowly with Anna had crumbled to dust.

His conscience was the only reason his wife’s maidenhead currently remained intact. As he had pulled her against his body, a quiet voice had urged him to stop. That same voice told him that it would be caddish to pluck her virginity in one fell swoop, when she had already given so much of herself to him. Much to Hugh’s surprise, he had listened.

Anna had given him her hand; despite her doubts, a part of her trusted him. Hugh was rather surprised to learn that her trust meant a great deal to him.

It had taken all of Hugh’s willpower to release his wife from his grip and return to his chambers, but he had. Which is why he found himself now, pacing the floor so furiously that he was certain to wear a hole in the carpet.

“To hell with this,” he muttered aloud as he realised that sleep would not soon come.

He needed something to distract himself from his aching need for the woman next door, and what better distraction than the card table?

In just a few minutes, Hugh was dressed and inside his carriage, travelling to Pickering Place. As the vehicle made the short journey from St James’ Square, Hugh’s mind replayed the image of his wife taking his thumb in her mouth. He closed his eyes as he imagined her sensual lips wrapped around another part of his body and to his shame, he realised that his cock was once again straining painfully against his breeches.

He’d need an entire bottle of brandy to render him temporarily impotent if Anna was to remain a virgin until dawn, he thought dourly.

His carriage left him at the alleyway beside Berry Bros. & Rudd, Wine Merchants, that led to Pickering Place. Gas lamps cast eerie, flickering shadows along the damp walls, while the distant sounds of raucous laughter and heated arguments grew louder with each step he took toward the notorious square.

Hugh made for The Bird’s Nest, idly reminiscing on his last visit. He’d thought he had won a wife that night, but he now realised that it would take more than a good hand of cards to truly win Anna.

“Your Grace, what a surprise.”

Daniel Shatter materialised at Hugh’s side a few seconds after he arrived. He motioned to someone out of sight, and a few moments later, Hugh was handed a glass of the finest brandy one could smuggle over the Channel.

“My congratulations on your marriage,” Shatter said, lifting his glass in toast.

If the proprietor of the gaming hell found it odd that Hugh wasn’t spending his wedding night with his wife, he gave no indication. Then again, discretion was Shatter’s specialty; he hadn’t commented nearly a decade earlier, either, when Hugh had decided to mourn his brother by haunting the very hells that had destroyed him.

“There is still no sign of Mosley,” Shatter continued, once they had both drank to Hugh’s marriage. “If I hear anything, I’ll send word.”

“My thanks,” Hugh nodded gravely, as though this were the true purpose of his visit—though in truth, he hadn’t given a second thought to Lord Mosley all day. The man did not deserve a moment of anyone’s concern, in Hugh’s opinion.

“A few young bloods are in the Egyptian Room, if His Grace feels like indulging,” Shatter added, all business now that the social niceties were complete.

“Perhaps I’ll relieve them of their allowances,” Hugh answered. It was only polite for him to play a few hands, given Shatter’s assistance over the past few days.

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