Page 56 of The Icy Duke Claims a Bride

“Is that so?” She smiled, already a little breathless, even before Hugh returned and lay beside her on the soft rug. “But we surely don’t have time for…”

“I have only your needs in mind for now,” he murmured in her ear as he kissed and caressed her face and neck with one hand, the other sliding down her leg and under her skirts. “Let me show you.”

His fingers stroked her thighs and brushed the soft curls between them, coaxing a jolt of pleasure and wetness that Catherine knew he would feel.

“You need to be touched,” he whispered between kisses, “and I need to touch you…”

Then, there was only the slow, skilled exploration of his hand, the racing of her heart, and his tongue’s gentle caresses. Despite setting a slow rhythm, Hugh’s clever fingers quickly brought her to an intense climax, coaxing a cascade of loud moans from her lips as she clung to the lapels of his jacket.

Catherine lay quietly with her head on Hugh’s chest for a long minute as she caught her breath. That had not been the act of a selfish man who cared only for his own sexual needs. She had to admit to herself that his actions had always been a far better contradiction to her mother’s worldview than any words could ever be.

Tentatively, her hand strayed beneath his rumpled shirt, but Hugh caught it before it could rest on his engorged length.

“Later.” He smiled regretfully. “We’ve been gone for too long already.”

“We must go back to them now, mustn’t we?” Catherine sighed. “All I really want now is to be naked with you.”

“Later,” he repeated, this time a promise sealed with a kiss.

Kneeling up on the rug, they helped one another fix their disheveled clothes and return their appearances to a semi-civilized if flushed state.

“I suggest that you talk to your father while I take Jemima on a walk,” Hugh said. “Do you think you could?”

“I think I should,” Catherine admitted ruefully. “I have been cruel to Father. He’s far from perfect, of course, but you’re right that he never deserved such hatred.”

“Who wants perfect?” Hugh quipped, a glint in his deep blue eyes.

“Not me,” Catherine answered, taking the mask from his hand and slipping it into her pocket. “I prefer things in their natural form.”

She thought he might protest, but he only nodded and offered her his arm.

Opening the library doors, they strolled back to the drawing room with far greater calm and control.

“Oh, there you are,” Jemima said hesitantly, sitting up in her chair. “We weren’t sure if you were coming back. But as this is your home, where else would you go?”

She and Lord Sedgehall sat beside a coffee table full of full and empty cups and saucers, pots and jugs, and half-eaten plates of cake. The clock told Catherine that they had been absent for a full half hour.

It was then that she noticed that Jemima and her father were staring at Hugh, and her husband was looking back at them with amusement. Catherine held her breath for a moment, remembering the stares at Lady Tarleton’s ball and how they had annoyed Hugh even though he had decided to ignore them. He did not seem annoyed now, perhaps because neither Jemima’s gaze nor her father’s was hostile.

“Oh my, you are a handsome brother, Hugh!” Jemima laughed after a few moments, the light coming back into her eyes and the dimples to her cheeks. “You do look very well without your mask. I understand now why Catherine married you.”

“Then you shall explain it to me.” Hugh smiled back at her, offering her his arm. “For I’m not sure I entirely understand myself, although I’m naturally glad she did. Now, Catherine wishes to speak to your father alone, and we shall take our first tour of the gardens without them.”

He glanced at Catherine as Jemima looked at Albion, both of them receiving nods of assent.

Once the door closed behind Hugh and Jemima, Catherine turned to her father. “Father, there’s something I have to say to you…”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The following morning, after gently rousing and thoroughly enjoying his alluring wife, Hugh washed and dressed and then instructed the butler to have his carriage brought around for a business call.

He had taken Sir Martin Wick’s advice to heart and identified several individuals who might have had an objective and factual view of Edwin’s dealings over the years. It was time to begin building a cage solid and strong enough to hold his uncle.

“Let’s hope Mr. Reginald Bennett is willing and able to tell you something of use.” Catherine smiled at him, smoothing his stock and pushing back an errant lock of dark hair, still naked and disheveled from their morning romp.

“Well, my father clearly trusted Mr. Bennett’s judgment. As long as he’s not entirely in his dotage, I’m sure his opinions will at least help to strengthen or reshape my own.”

Once an agent to Hugh’s father and his grandfather before him, Mr. Bennett had featured more as an occasional figure in Hugh’s childhood than an adult acquaintance, but he had been one of three men appointed in Jonathan’s will to support Rebecca in managing the financial and logistical aspects of Hugh’s upbringing. He had retired to a small cottage in the countryside some years ago.

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