Page 30 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
Sighing, she tossed down the pencil.
Even Archimedes would find this a headache! Should’ve just stayed in the bathtub…
But no.
Because each time she climbed into a bath, each time the warm water cradled her, caressed her…she couldn’t help but touch herself.
And frankly, that in itself was getting frustrating.
She could touch herself, slide her fingers into her core, tweak her own clitoris and nipples, even orgasm.
But nothing she could do to herself could match what Fawkes had done to her.
It had been a week since she’d last visited him, and hadn’t had sex. Hadn’t taken his seed into her body, hadn’t doubled her chance of pregnancy.
And she hadn’t cared a whit.
Because instead he’d taken her to heights of ecstasy, using only his tongue and his fingers and his words—oh God, his words. He’d cared aboutherpleasure, and that realization had stunned her.
She’d sat there on his lap after, holding him, being held by him, shocked…and he’dapologized. Apologized for the most magnificent, empowering,freeingexperience of her life!
Ellie’s hand crept from the desktop to press against her stomach.
She could be pregnant, even now. Fawkes’s seed might have implanted that first night. She’d know soon.
But that’s not what she’d been thinking of when she’d asked—begged?—him to come to her. She’d been thinking only about more pleasure. Her pleasure.
Fawkes knew where she lived. But he hadn’t come.
He hadn’t come to her that next night, or the night after, or the nights since then, no matter her notes to him.
Ellie had invited him to her bed twice, then—in desperation—to tea. As if he’d want to haveteawith her!Dear sir, please join me for tea. Wear your best fooking clothes, and you can eat me instead of the cakes.
Her invitation had been better worded, of course, but hadn’t been enough to tempt him.
And that was when her stomach had begun knotting in worry. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted anything to do with her? She was the one who’d gone to him, both times, and she was honest enough to admit he hadn’t completely wanted to take her that first time. And the second time, when he’d shown her such incredible pleasure…he hadn’t penetrated her.
Hadn’t even taken out his cock.
Perhaps there was something wrong withher.
Perhaps Fawkes didn’t want to have sex with her.
Perhaps Ellie was a failure at this as well.
Swallowing down a groan, she squeezed her eyes shut and dropped her head to the back of the chair, feeling lower than a worm. She hadn’t been able to satisfy Rufus. She couldn’t keep Merida safe on her own. And she couldn’t solve this thrice-cursed cipher!
And now…
And now, her situation had become even more desperate. Yesterday’s letter from her brother-in-law announced—in his typically blunt way—that Georgia’s pregnancy had become “complicated.”
Complicated.
Such a small word to engender such terror.
According to Demon, the midwife had instructed him to confine Georgia to bed, free of all worries and concerns, in order to keep the babe inside her as long as possible. Demon’s letter commanded Ellie to “write only of pleasant matters, for the love of God, so your sister keeps from fretting!”
It had been almost sweet, the way the poor man worried over Georgia.
