Page 12 of Good Duke Gone Cold

A soft sound emerged from the back of her throat and he caught it with his mouth. “I need this.” She moaned again and the hand on her waist lowered to her hip, crushing her to him. He reached behind and grasped her bottom, pulling her up and onto his arousal. He knew the moaning would only get louder. He had to stop, but he wasn’t thinking with his head. He was back to thinking of how he would feel with her legs wrapped around him.

This was not the little Mary he had grown up with that followed him around like a lost puppy.

Also not so little was her heaving bosom that he could feel pressing rhythmically against his chest. If only her stays would not hold her in quite so tightly. If only he could get a better peek at her silky pale orbs and their elusive nipples. His hand ventured up her ribs and began gliding up under her breast.

With a gasp, Mary pulled back. The look on her face told him everything and nothing. The old Mary was back. The one who had nothing with which to attack him. This was the Mary he had known for the last decade, but somehow knew not at all.

It hardly registered, but she whispered hoarsely, “This can never happen again.”

With that, she fumbled for the doorknob, peeked out, and fled.

***

Mary lay in her bed with her hands over her chest. She could not abide what had just happened. Play first. Inheritance second. Husband later. Husband? It was just a kiss. And it was Gregory. There was no way he would want to marry his little sister’s friend. His last mistress was a gorgeous and famous actress. Mary was a nobody, and most assuredly in his eyes, a bad actress, and a plain woman.

She could not kiss him again. No matter what. Kissing was off the table. Kissing Gregory led to fire, passion, and all-too-readily-available ideas of marriage that she didn’t even want to focus on right now. If she lost sight of her goals for this summer, it was guaranteed that she would be married by the end of next season, likely with a husband who would not tolerate her playwriting because in all likelihood, none would.

All Gregory wanted was to focus on the estates. Not marriage. Not marriage to her. And certainly not marriage to her with a support of her dreams. No. He cared only about himself and the estates. Besides, currently he was a hurt person hurting other people. What kind of husband would that make?

Enough about husbands. Enough about Gregory. I need to write this play.

With that, Mary rose from her bed, sat at the bureau a gradin, lit a candle, pulled out a quill and began writing.

A short while later, she heard a faint knock on the door and jumped.

“It’s me,” whispered Margaret.

Mary went to the door and let her friend inside. “I received your message about the onset of your headache. I do hope you’re not feeling too poorly.” Margaret was giving her the benefit of the doubt.

“I’m certainly not feeling my finest.”

“I always find it most agreeable to share my thoughts and feelings with a trusted and perceptive individual.” Margaret couldn’t contain her sympathetic grin.

“True. It always helps to share. Two are better than one, as we both know.” Mary couldn’t contain a grin either.

She told Mary everything, leaving out only the heated kiss and passion flaring deep within her soul.

“So you see, I cannot let your brother’s awful mood, the upcoming house party, and our mothers’ desires for us to wed distract me from my goal. I must finish this play. I must become the woman I want to be. This must be my clear and exclusive path.”

Mary could see Margaret nodding along. She knew she was hurting her friend by not sharing with her everything that happened in the closet, but she just couldn’t bring herself to say the words, even though she knew Margaret had an inkling that something happened. She knew Margaret would be discreet, too, that wasn’t the issue. But if she told Margaret, then every time she looked at her friend she would know that she knew, and then Mary would start thinking about Gregory again.

No, it would not do to talk about the kiss anymore.

Three hours later, despite not having talked about the kiss, Mary was heavily thinking about the kiss. She was tossing and turning and every few minutes her nightgown was strangling her legs.

It was a sleepless night, and not until dawn did she finally close her eyes in peace without the feel of Gregory’s hand searing warmth into her waist.

She took breakfast in bed, claiming a lingering headache. It wasn’t until the afternoon that she saw Gregory again.

Margaret, Mary, and the dowager duchess were having tea in the drawing room. Mary was sitting at the window with her quill in hand staring out at the fields waiting for some inspiration to pop out of the grass while Margaret and her mother gossipped over tea.

“Who shall we expect at the house party, mama?”

The dowager duchess was a reserved woman, always emitting kindness albeit with a slight hint of pain since the passing of her husband seven years ago. It was as if he was always with her, yet she was always looking for him. Still she smiled and showed kindness, perhaps even more kindness now, to those around her.

“Of course you know we have more intention to see you find a suitable husband next season, all the same, we will grant you space and time to choose.”

Margaret smiled at her mother. How nice to have such reassurance and little pressure. Despite Mary’s parents being across the sea, she felt more and more urgency through their correspondence that they would like to see her settled.

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