Page 41 of The Icy Duke Claims a Bride

“Hugh, someone might see us,” she moaned. “Not here, you mustn’t…”

“You’re my wife,” he said determinedly. “I would brook no objections. Except from you. Do you object to my kissing you?”

“No, but—”

This time, Hugh did lift her off her feet, carrying her deeper into the shadows and through the glass door to a dark, fragrant orangery. There, behind the orange bushes, he kissed her again, and she could not help her fiery response, returning his kisses and caressing his face.

Instinctively, her hands removed his mask in the darkness, and as though in answer, Hugh’s hands came to her shoulders and firmly pushed down the light fabric of her gown, freeing her breasts.

With her skin now exposed to the cool evening air, Catherine could only moan helplessly as Hugh caressed her breasts with his hands and mouth. Each touch triggered an almost painful throbbing in her belly and between her thighs.

“You’re so beautiful, Catherine,” he murmured between his kisses. “Your breasts are the loveliest I have ever touched. So round and warm… Do you know how perfect they are?”

Aghast at her present situation but also eager to experience whatever Hugh did next, Catherine whimpered as he cupped her breasts in his hands and kissed her.

Despite her fear of falling completely under the strange spell of physical longing that Hugh’s caresses seemed to cast on her, Catherine wanted his words to be true. She wanted him to enjoy her breasts more than those of any other woman, and to enjoy the rest of her body more, too. She particularly wanted him to enjoy her more than he had ever enjoyed Lady Brightling…

The sound of voices nearby jolted her out of her daze. Hugh drew her protectively against his chest and pressed a finger to her lips.

“Lady Tarleton did say that she saw them both go into the conservatory,” Jemima said. “I did want to introduce you to my sister and her husband.”

“Perhaps the Duke and Duchess of Redbridge went into the gardens. It is a lovely night for a walk under the moonlight,” a young man’s voice replied.

Catherine immediately pictured the pink-cheeked young officer who had been so keen to dance with Jemima.

“I’m sure you’re right, Rupert,” an older woman added. “Why don’t we all take a stroll in the gardens together?”

“Yes, Mother. If Miss Jemima wishes it?”

Jemima giggled. “I cannot think of better companions for a moonlight stroll. You are kind to accompany me, Mrs. Wadsworth. I do not know where my father has gone tonight, and without my sister, I am quite lost. Before her marriage, Catherine always chaperoned me, you see.”

Their voices eventually drifted away, and Hugh and Catherine exhaled and relaxed.

“I wish I could keep you in my arms, Catherine, but I should not embarrass you like this in so public a place. My eagerness clouded my judgment a few moments ago,” Hugh spoke regretfully as his warm hands slid the fabric of her dress back up her body and smoothed the small sleeves at her shoulders.

Catherine impulsively covered one of his hands with her own but could not bring herself to speak, to say aloud that she also wished to stay in his arms.

They stood there like that for a minute as the music for the next dance drifted into the conservatory.

“Dance with me,” Hugh murmured.

Catherine nodded, welcoming the opportunity to remain close to him.

As he reached to retie his mask, she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Do you really need that?” she asked. “I want to look at your face.”

Hugh said nothing at first, and Catherine thought he was going to reject her request. But then he slowly lowered the mask again. “You want to see my face when you dance with me, as well as when you lie with me?” he asked, recalling their conversation at Sedgehall Manor the day he had proposed.

Catherine nodded, her cheeks reddening in the darkness with this reminder of her earlier improper statement.

“If I do this, I may frighten the other guests,” Hugh warned somberly. “No one here tonight has ever seen me unmasked.”

“Not even Lady Brightling?” she asked tartly, the words slipping from her lips before she could hold them back.

“Not even Lady Brightling,” he confirmed, a note of melancholy in his voice.

“Leave it off,” Catherine urged with even more certainty now.

After another moment’s thought, Hugh nodded and slipped the black silk mask into the inner pocket of his jacket before holding out his arm to his wife.

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