Page 12 of The Scarred Duke's Bride
Not that she wanted to.
There was nothing that she had ever done that felt as satisfying as kissing. As she sucked Eric’s tongue back into her mouth, she was quite sure she’d be happy to do this forever. She put her hands on his face, cupping his cheeks, and she let his tongue do what it would inside her mouth, mapping her insides with dedication, leaving no corner unexplored.
Suddenly he gasped and pulled back, her lips chasing his in protest.
“We have to stop,” he said, his voice rough as if he had been shouting.
She stared at him, uncomprehending. “Stop why?”
“You don’t really want this.” He got to his feet quickly, and she had a fleeting impression of a tent in his breeches before he turned away. “Forgive me," he said softly before hurrying off.
Freya stared after him in stupefaction. Then she came back to herself and realized that she had practically been throwing herself at the Lieutenant Commander. Her cheeks heated, and she wondered not for the first time why Eric had her behaving uncharacteristically all the time.
“He’s the one who kissed me," she told herself. But she could not escape from the fact that she hadn’t stopped him. In fact, she had been a very active participant in the kissing. She looked towards the house, searching the upper windows, wondering if anyone had seen them. Luckily, it was her chambers that faced the garden while Isabella’s and Mrs. Beecham’s rooms faced the road.
She had no idea where her father was but strongly suspected that he would not care about them kissing. After all, they were to be married on the morrow. With a sigh, she got up and walked into the house. Her dress was quite wet, and she needed to notify Isabella and Mrs. Beecham that they were invited to dinner at the house of her husband-to-be.
No doubt, Mrs. Beecham would insist that they do whatever they could to beautify themselves including curling their hair and soaking in lavender-scented water before applying oils and perfumes.
Freya was already tired just thinking about it, but it would keep her busy for the rest of the day and enable her not to think about what had just happened, and for that, she was grateful.
ChapterSeven
Eric received a detailed document in the afternoon outlining his agreement with the Duke. He read through it, quite taken aback at the level of specificity of the language. He and Freya would be required not only to sleep in the same residence but also in the same chambers until such a time as they had produced an heir.
Aside from the duchy itself, Eric and his family would not be eligible to purchase or sell any property tied to the Stark name until the above condition had been fulfilled. Eric was also prohibited from taking another woman to his bed before these conditions were fulfilled.
Eric’s mind boggled at the audacity of the Duke. Summoning his solicitor, he went through the document with him. “This cannot possibly be legal, is it?" he asked.
The solicitor blew out a breath, “This is merely an agreement between two people, and so it can hold as many quid pro quos as any of the parties’ desires. None of this stops you from inheriting the title, or the duchy that goes with it. It merely stipulates how the rest of the Duke’s inheritance can be used. He has not stipulated what will happen should you fail to meet these conditions. It is important that you know that before you sign anything.”
Eric slowly nodded, “You’re right. I shall return this with a note stating that the agreement is incomplete.”
“I would suggest calling upon him in person in case of any further questions.”
“His daughters will be arriving for dinner this evening. Perhaps I shall return with them and meet with him after.”
The solicitor nodded, “Yes, if the wedding is to be tomorrow, you need to work this out by the end of the day.”
* * *
Freya had thought that she would just be in for a day of primping and preparing for dinner, so it was a surprise when Mr. Silver ushered in a modiste, trailed by several footmen carrying bolts of cloth. “For your trousseau, my lady,” he said with his nose in the air. “Madame Cousteau is one of the best modistes in the city. She will have you set up in no time. You may have to delay your honeymoon for a day or so but certainly not more than that.”
Freya gawked at him. “Honeymoon?”
“Indeed, my lady. Your father has already made arrangements.”
Her eyes bugged out of her face. “Arrangements? To go where?”
“Don’t worry your mind about it, my lady. I shall take care of all the details.”
Freya realized just how closely her father intended to watch over her marriage at that moment. Her heart sank as she wondered if Eric had already known this when he offered her his assurances that he would not rush her. She felt that she would be a fool to trust his word. After all, had he not said her father intended to sell Stark Manor to go on a medical trip? But the Duke had not so much as mentioned leaving town since then.
What if it was all an elaborate ruse to get me to agree to this marriage without making a fuss?
“Please lift your hands, ma’am,” the modiste said, measuring string in hand, and Freya did so absently, still caught up in her musings.
In any case, there’s nothing I can do about it now.
