Page 56 of The Duke's Inconvenient Bride
“Since we don’t know each other well and aren’t yet comfortable with each other, I thought it might be appropriate to ease into any physical intimacy,” Vaughan said, his aristocratic cheekbones dusted with pink that let her know she wasn’t the only one who found this conversation challenging.
How on earth were they supposed to procreate when they struggled to even talk about it?
“How do you propose we start?” she asked.
He swallowed, his throat rippling, entrancing her. “Perhaps with a kiss.”
Her breathing quickened. Oh, yes. She’d like that.
She’d enjoyed it when he’d kissed her during their wedding. In fact, it was the only part she had enjoyed.
She stood and moved toward him. Since he’d raised the subject, it would only be polite for her to make the first move. He rose from the chair as she drew near, and she forgot how to breathe altogether. He was so tall, and this close, his chest seemed broader than it had from a distance.
She paused, realizing she didn’t know what to do next. Fortunately, he laid his hands on her hips. His palms scalded her through the sheer fabric of her nightgown, and she gasped. His eyes darkened, and he lowered his head toward her slowly enough for her to be able to stop him at any time.
But she didn’t want him to stop. She wanted to feel his lips against hers again.
They brushed gently at first. Barely touching. She inhaled, and her chest pressed against his. He exhaled, and his breath gusted over her mouth. She’d had no idea how intimate this would feel. She’d seen her parents kiss and hadn’t thought much of it, but the sensation was exquisite.
His lips firmed against hers and his fingers dug into her hips, but not enough to hurt. She stretched onto her toes, angling herself toward him as heat pooled low in her core.
They broke apart, then met again. His lips parted, and when his tongue darted along the seam of her lips, she moaned into his mouth.
He pulled away and took his hands off her. “Wait.”
“What?” The word was thready.
He dragged his hand through his hair, his jaw working. “I think that’s enough for one night.”
He moved backward, toward the door connecting their rooms.
“Did I do something wrong?” Emma asked, bewildered.
“No.” His expression softened. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”
But when he fled like the devil was on his heels and shut the door behind himself, she couldn’t help feeling as if she had. She just didn’t know what.
When Emma arrivedat the breakfast room the next morning, she was disappointed to discover it empty. The food had been disturbed, indicating that her husband had already been and gone.
She served herself toast and eggs, frustrated that her plan hadn’t panned out. She’d wanted to catch him before he’d gottenbusy so she could get to the bottom of what had gone wrong last night.
She ate alone, ignoring the footman who hovered in the corner, pretending she couldn’t see the sympathy in his eyes. She was a newly wedded bride. She shouldn’t be apart from her husband, especially not this early in the morning.
After she finished, she searched the house for Vaughan. She didn’t find him, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t present somewhere. The place was so big that while she was checking one room, he could easily be in another—either by coincidence or because he’d decided to avoid her.
Finally admitting defeat, she looked instead for Mrs. Travers, asking around until she tracked the housekeeper down in a room behind the kitchen. Mrs. Travers glanced up from the table she was sitting at, a pen in her hand and a piece of paper covered in writing in front of her. She put the pen down and stood when she saw Emma.
“Hello,” Emma said, thrusting her shoulders back to feign confidence. “I’m looking for the duke. Do you know where I could find him?”
Mrs. Travers removed the reading glasses from her face and rubbed her eyes. “I believe he’s riding the grounds with the estate manager. They left on horseback a while before you came down for breakfast.”
“Oh.” Emma frowned. “I didn’t meet the estate manager yesterday, did I?”
“No. He was away on business and only returned late last night.” Mrs. Travers put her pen down. “His name is Mr. Johnson.”
“Has he held his role for long? I know the duke said that you, your husband, and Mr. Yeats have been here since he was a child.”
“Only a few years,” Mrs. Travers replied. “The duke met him in school and hired him after he gained control of the dukedom. Not a minute too soon, if you ask me. The previous manager should have retired years earlier.”
