Page 67 of Wedded to the Duke of Seduction

Marina hesitated. She was tempted to accept his invitation and discover what other pleasures he might show her. She wanted to explore this newfound aspect of herself further. However, she hesitated, a part of her was reluctant to give in so easily to a longing that remained unsettling and unfamiliar.

“I don’t think so,” she replied finally, gathering her composure. “It has been an eventful evening. I should rest.”

A flash of disappointment crossed Leo’s features before his usual confident smile returned.

“As you wish, Duchess.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm that sent sparks shooting up her arm. “But know that I’m going to relish the moment you beg for me.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Because when that time comes, Marina, you will beg.”

Marina pulled her hand away and tried to ignore the traitorous heat his words ignited within her. “You seem very confident, Your Grace.”

“I am.” His smile was bold. “Sleep well, Marina. Dream of me.”

As she climbed the stairs to her chambers, Marina was uncomfortably aware of Leo’s gaze following her. She maintained a dignified pace despite the urge to dash up the steps and away from the confusing mix of emotions he stirred within her.

Once safely inside her bedchamber, Marina pressed her hands to her heated cheeks. What had happened tonight had changed everything between them. He had shown her pleasure she had never imagined possible. Had awakened desires she had thought she was incapable of feeling. Even worse, he had done so without taking anything for himself which undermined her belief that he was merely selfish and predatory.

As Betty helped her prepare for bed, Marina replayed every moment of their encounter.

The skillful touch of his hands, the heat of his mouth, the intensity in his eyes as he watched her come undone from his attention. She had written about passion many times and had imagined it in vivid detail, but the reality had surpassed her most daring fictional scenarios.

One thing was certain, their marriage could no longer remain the distant, practical arrangement she had envisioned.

Leo had altered their relationship, and Marina wasn’t entirely sure she regretted it.

Marina linked arms with Caroline as they strolled through Hyde Park, enjoying the warmth of the spring sunshine.

After the intense events of the Pembroke ball three nights ago, she had barely seen Leo, who had retreated to his club orhis study whenever they weren’t required to appear together in public. The distance had given her time to think, but her thoughts remained as confused as ever.

“I still can’t believe you convinced me to walk rather than take the carriage,” Caroline complained good-naturedly as she adjusted her bonnet against the light breeze. “My new slippers will be ruined.”

“Fresh air and exercise are good for you,” Marina replied.

She was grateful for her friend’s company and the distraction it provided from her troubled thoughts.

As they rounded a curve in the path, they walked behind two elegantly dressed ladies whose animated conversation carried through the still air.

“Have you read the latest?” the taller woman asked her companion. “The one with the nobleman and the widow in the conservatory during a dinner party?”

“Oh my goodness, yes!” her friend replied with an excited giggle. “I had to fan myself repeatedly. The way he described the bloom of the orchids while he was… well, you know!”

“And the plant mister! Who would have thought such a mundane gardening tool could be used so creatively?”

Marina nearly stumbled, heat flooding her cheeks. The story they described was indeed her latest work, published just yesterday—a tale inspired directly by her encounter with Leo though transplanted to a moonlit conservatory rather than a private study.

Caroline shot her a knowing glance, her lips twitching with barely suppressed amusement. The ladies ahead continued their enthusiastic review, unaware of their audience.

“The author must have personal experience,” the shorter woman declared. “No one could write such vivid descriptions without having lived them.”

“Matilda! What a scandalous suggestion.”

“Well, I’m merely saying what we’re all thinking. Whoever this anonymous writer is, she clearly knows what she’s writing about.”

Caroline’s shoulders shook with silent laughter as the ladies turned onto another path, their voices fading.

“It seems you have more admirers,” she whispered to Marina. “Still, a conservatory? That’s quite daring, even for fiction.”

Marina quickened her pace, hoping her friend wouldn’t notice her flaming cheeks. “It’s just a story, Caroline.”

“Is it?” Caroline raised an eyebrow, pulling Marina to a stop beside a secluded bench beneath a flowering cherry tree. “Because the way you described certain… reactions… seemed remarkably authentic. Almost as if you’d experienced them firsthand.”

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