Page 11 of The Scarred Duke's Bride
Which one is the real you?
“I suppose there would be some similarities,” she conceded.
He slid her a sidelong glance “In any case, I think you and my mother will get along quite well. And my brother is quite delightful.”
“Your brother? I thought he was dead.”
Eric flinched slightly, and Freya felt a moment’s regret for reminding him. “I have another. He is naught but three and ten years old, but he has an old soul.”
“I look forward to meeting him,” Freya said, just to be placating and to make up for her faux pas.
Eric smiled. “I think you would like him. He’s a lot more like Alexander than I am.”
“I never met Alexander, you know. He was merely a sword placed over my head by my father. I was offered no choice in this marriage whether it was to you or to him.”
Eric nodded. “I suppose that is why you are so hostile. But many a marriage has been born of arrangement, and the two people do quite well together. Did you think of that?”
“No. My father has been a menace to me my entire life. I do not imagine that anything he wants from me would contribute to my happiness.”
“Well, I am no stooge for him, and so you can rest peacefully knowing that I am not here to do his bidding. If he seeks to make you miserable, then know that I do not.”
“Whatdoyou seek?” She turned to look him in the eye.
He cleared his throat, his gaze slipping away. “I cannot say. I have not had time to consider it. I do as my duty dictates.”
“Duty. That’s what guides you?”
“Do not say it as if it were some dishonorable thing.”
“No, it is not, but it is dull and banal. Are you not passionate about anything?”
He seemed to really ponder the question before shaking his head. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“That is truly sad, Mr. Campbell.”
He huffed in amusement, turning back to look at her, “And what of you, Lady Freya? What is your passion?”
Freya looked down, caressing the grass. “Nature is my passion. I adore my garden. I have nurtured it for years. My flowers have been celebrated and admired and spoken of in my village since I was as young as your brother is now. It is important to me.”
Eric nodded, “I see that. So that is why you want to hold on so tightly to Stark Manor.”
“Well, it is also my home and my sister’s home.”
“Indeed.”
They sat in silence for a while, Freya enjoying the peace that was to be found in the slight drizzle. It was as if they were alone in the world, surrounded by tiny droplets of water. She knew that if her governess saw her, she would receive the scolding of her life for wanting to ‘catch her death’ of cold in spite of the fact that the temperatures were not that low, and it was just a light summer shower that would dissipate in moments, allowing the sun to come out again.
“My mother used to love gardening,” she said surprising herself. “She died a few years after Isabella was born—she never seemed to quite recover from that childbirth and declined slowly until the end. However, even on her worst days, the garden could give her joy. We would sit with her, playing in the soil as she weeded her flowers. It was the most peaceful and happy that we ever were.”
She looked at Eric and saw the sympathy in his eyes. He, too, knew the impact of loss; she could see that he understood what she was saying. The feeling of being alone together in the world intensified. One minute, he was looking at her, his eyes liquid with understanding; the next, his lips were pressing against hers in a soft delicate kiss.
She tensed in surprise, not having expected that, but his lips simply gently brushed against hers as if asking permission, and she relaxed again. Their lips moved together in tandem, and then he brushed his tongue softly against her mouth, and she parted her lips to let him in.
The feeling of his tongue on the inside of her mouth was a sensation unlike any she’d ever had before. The intimacy of it was boggling, and yet, she felt that there was more she could experience from this. She opened her lips wider, allowing him in, and he gasped, moaning into her mouth as his hands snaked around her waist, holding her tight.
He nipped at her lower lip and then drew it into his mouth, sucking away the pain. Their mouths danced, teeth clashing before they found accommodation, tongues tangling together. She had seen the boot boy kissing the milkmaid in the stables one time, but she did not think that what they did was anything close to the way that Eric kissed her.
She fell into it like it was a well, and she had no control over how fast she was descending. The kiss just kept getting hungrier and more passionate, and she was helpless to stop it.
