Page 43 of The Icy Duke Claims a Bride

Fondling her bare, quivering breasts fueled the strong temptation to simply take her right there and then on the seats of the carriage, but there was neither space nor time for everything he intended to do, and he determined to restrain himself a little longer.

Soon enough, the carriage rolled up the drive of Redbridge Hall, the familiar sound of gravel crunching beneath wheels causing Hugh to adjust their clothes.

Perkins was waiting for them in the hallway, the lamps and candles lit there and all the way up the grand staircase for the their return. Catherine had slipped on a pale velvet cloak, its hood shrowding her face in shadow.

“Will you require anything else this evening, Your Grace?” Perkins asked, trying to hide the surprise on his face as he noticed that the Duke was not wearing his customary mask. “Should I send one of the maids to help Her Grace prepare for bed?”

“No,” Hugh said shortly, offering Catherine his arm. “You may all retire now. Do not disturb us before the morning.”

The Duchess of Redbridge would be undressed by her husband’s hands tonight, and the sooner he could begin, the better…

Catherine could feel her heart hammering in her chest and the blood surging in her veins as Hugh took her hand in his own and led her to his bedroom.

Walking down the dimly lit corridor where their suites were located, she had clung silently to her earlier boldness, desire, and determination to win her husband from Lady Brightling, either in memory or reality. Now, as Hugh followed her into his bedroom and kissed the nape of her neck, she felt her courage falter.

“Don’t be afraid,” he urged as he unfastened her cloak and tossed it aside onto a chair, followed quickly by his own jacket. “I would never hurt a woman.”

Clearly, her fears were written all over her face, and she could not entirely hide them.

Catherine deliberately turned to face her husband in the flickering light of the candelabras the servants must have lit once the carriage was seen approaching the house. The dancingbrightness and shadows seemed a natural environment for Hugh’s scarred but handsome visage.

“I’m afraid of how this feels,” she admitted as he took her again in his arms.

“This?” Hugh asked, kissing her again, lightly at first and then deeply. “Or this?”

His hand trailed up her side, brushing a silk-covered breast before caressing her jaw.

“Or this?” he added, pressing her against him as they kissed.

Catherine could smell the clean masculine scent of his skin and the woody notes of his cologne, as well as feel the hard length pressing against her belly.

“Do you like how this feels?”

Catherine felt the tide of her desire rising once more. “I like your kisses,” she murmured. “I like them very much. They make me feel like I’m on fire.”

Hugh’s hands were already busy unfastening her dress and the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt. “Then trust me to kiss the rest of your body in the same way.”

“Hugh…” Catherine breathed, conscious of the fabric of her dress and then petticoat sliding down her body and pooling around her feet.

Instinctively, her hands came up to cover her naked breasts, before she realized that her lower half was now equally exposed, except for her stockinged thighs. Her hands moved haphazardly between her breasts and the triangle of dark blonde curls below her belly.

Hugh kissed her again and then took her hands in his own as he stood back to look at her in the candlelight. “Trust me, Catherine,” he rasped, his face wrought with a lust that should have appalled her but instead excited her.

Her cheeks flushed a deep red as his hungry eyes feasted on her naked form. This was his right, she knew, and she could not stop him. More importantly, she did not want to.

The next time he kissed her, his hands seemed to take in all her curves at once. She was throbbing, she was melting, and she could no longer help herself. Hugh had taken off his shirt, and she felt her breasts press against his naked, well-muscled torso.

“Hugh, please. Hugh…” Catherine moaned. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Enjoy,” he whispered. “Tell me what you want.”

“I don’t know,” she complained, her voice catching as his hand caressed the curve of her hip and skimmed over her buttock.

“Your skin is like hot silk, Catherine. Your kisses are so sweet. But are you ready for me to…”

Before he could finish his sentence, she cried out loudly as the fingers that had been stroking her inner thighs came up to rest directly on the triangle of damp curls. One of his fingers ran the length of her slit, her folds swollen and slippery under his touch, aching for some sort of fulfillment.

“Oh, God, Hugh! Please, Hugh. I want you…”

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