Page 65 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

Oh God, what if someone had heard her? Or worse, seen her? After everything she had done to avoid scandal and make sure she created a good life for Tristan, she’d let her lust get the better of her.

That aside, how could she forget about Joanna? She ought to have gone after her ages ago, and yet here she was, her legs spread for the very man her son looked up to with childlike admiration and wonder.

Had she truly gonemad?

“Oh…oh God.”

With a gasp, she snatched her dangling bodice to cover her exposed breast and pushed against his chest with all her might.

The Duke let her go.

And Emma took to her heels, fixing her clothes and hurrying toward her carriage without looking back.

* * *

“Westmere! There you are!” Nathaniel exclaimed, intercepting Victor as he reentered the ballroom. “I was beginning to think you’d abandoned my humble gathering for more compelling entertainment.”

Victor adjusted his cravat, which had been significantly loosened by Emma’s eager fingers mere moments ago. Indeed, her sweet scent still lingered on his fingers, and he’d stopped himself more than once from sucking on them on his way back to the party.

He had to maintain his composure; he’d barely managed to quell his arousal. Any recollection of their stolen moment and he would be hard as a rock in the blink of an eye.

“Your definition of humble should be studied, Knightley,” he replied dryly, gesturing to their opulent surroundings.

The Marquess had indeed gone all out with the decor and the refreshments, and the party was fast becoming a spectacle of social debauchery rather than the respectable social gathering it was meant to be.

“You look rather… well,disheveled,” Nathaniel observed, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “The gardens, was it? I do hope you weren’t terrorizing my rosebushes.”

“Your blasted gardens are quite intact,” Victor assured him, though he could still feel the phantom press of Emma’s body against his and taste the sweetness of her mouth.

His blood still raced from their encounter and from the way she had responded to his touch with such uninhibited passion before fleeing in evident distress.

Nathaniel studied him with uncharacteristic solemnity. “And what of you, dear friend? Are you… intact as well?”

Victor arched an eyebrow. Here was the sly fox, trying to wheedle a truth out of him, but he was not going to fall prey to that particular tactic. He was no fool.

“Your concern is touching but unnecessary,” he replied, his tone making it clear that the subject was closed.

A knowing smile spread across Nathaniel’s face. “I see. And would a certain brown-haired widow happen to share your newfound appreciation for nocturnal horticulture? I find that she is nowhere to be seen now.”

His expression deliberately blank, Victor shrugged. “I do not see what her disappearance has to do with me. Perhaps your party is not as interesting as you believe it to be.”

“Aha. Your snark speaks volumes,” Nathaniel snorted. “Though I must say, my roses have never before inspired such a fascinating array of expressions on your typically stoic visage. You appear simultaneously murderous and… dare I say,content.”

“If you value our friendship at all—” Victor began through gritted teeth.

“Oh, but I do,” Nathaniel interrupted. “Which is precisely why I find your sudden interest in gardening so delightfully promising. Perhaps Lady Cuthbert might recommend some particularly captivating specimens for your grounds.”

Victor was saved from formulating a suitably cutting response by a burst of malicious laughter from a nearby cluster of elegantly attired ladies. He recognized Lady Harrington at their center, her crimson gown as garish as her personality.

“Did you see her face when the wine spilled?” she tittered to her companions. “As though I’d committed a great sin rather than ruining a dress that was already a hopeless cause. Really, if Miss Joanna wishes to attend such gatherings, she ought to develop thicker skin—or at least learn to dress appropriately.”

“And that bluestocking niece of hers,” another voice chimed in. “Lady Cuthbert puts on such airs, as though being a widow to decrepit earl somehow makes her better than everyone.”

Victor felt a cold fury settle over him, displacing the lingering heat of passion. Without conscious thought, he found himself moving toward the gossiping circle, Nathaniel close behind.

“Lady Harrington,” he said, his voice cutting through their laughter like a blade through silk. “I wonder if you might assist us.”

The women fell silent immediately, their expressions transforming from cruel amusement to simpering deference.

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