Page 37 of Married to a Scandalous Spinster
Gemma felt a jolt in her chest but forced the feeling away quickly.
“Oh.” He looked surprised to see her. “It's you. I thought someone had left a lamp alight.” He took a step toward her, looking at up her from her perch at the top of the step ladder. “I am glad you're here. I wish to apologize. For going out tonight. I should not have done it.”
Gemma snorted. “I see your promise is worth about as much as my father's,” she said icily. “Worth about as much as most men's.” But as she spoke, she felt her anger dying away a little. A genuine apology was more than she had ever gotten out of her father.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I truly am. Lord Anderson begged me to go with him. He said he had something very important to discuss.”
Gemma raised her eyebrows. “And?”
He shook his head. “And I should not have gone.” He lowered his glance momentarily. “It does seem as though you were right. A habit is a difficult thing to break.” He looked back up at her. “In any case, I wanted you to know that I did not… Well…” He swallowed visibly. “The night entailed nothing more than a drink or two and a few rounds at the Whist tables. Nothing more. There were certainly no…”
“Ladies?” Gemma finished.
The Duke cleared his throat. “Indeed.”
Gemma hummed, doing her best to maintain a nonchalant expression, despite the relief that washed through her. “Well. Either way, it is of no consequence. Do as you wish. I don't care.”
She turned to climb down the step ladder, but just as her feet hit the floor, a book toppled from the shelf, landing with a dull thud at the Duke's feet.
Dread flooded Gemma's body. Because it was not just any book, of course. It was the book she had been attempting to dislodge when her husband had burst into the room. The book she absolutely, positively could never let anyone know she wanted.
Captain Midnight.
Chapter Seventeen
She watched her husband's gaze linger on the book, then turn back to her with amusement in his gaze. “Well now,” he said. “What do we have here?” Gemma had heard that teasing tone in his voice before. She had heard it the morning they had woken up in bed together. And she had heard it in the Henfords' music room, moments before he had taken her in his arms and set her body alight.
She felt rooted in place at the bottom of the step ladder. Unable, or unwilling to run. Her heart was thundering in her ears. Pure embarrassment—but something else as well. Something she could not quite identify.
“I…” she began, then faded out. There was no point trying to explain herself, she knew. And nor, she realized, did she want to. Because the last time the Duke of Larsen had spoken to her in such a way, he had elicited sensations in her body that were beyond description. Sensations that Gemma was suddenly exhausted of pretending she did not feel.
She reached back to wrap her fingers around the top of the step ladder, clutching at it fiercely in an attempt to steady herself.
The Duke picked up the book, his eyes gliding over her with a new interest. Opened it. And to Gemma's horror—or was it delight? By this point, she could not tell anymore—he began to read.
“Captain Midnight tore at his beautiful captive's nightgown, exposing the creamy white mounds of her breasts. Their rosy tips perked up as they were kissed by the cool night air. Captain Midnight pushed her back against the mast of his ship, binding her hands tightly behind her back, and exposing her body to his ravenous senses.”
“Please,” Gemma begged. She could feel her cheeks blazing. “Stop.” The words came out as barely more than a whisper.
The Duke grinned—a teasing, playful grin that somehow managed to be full of warmth. “Not a chance,” he said, his eyes glittering as they met hers. Even in the dim lamplight, they were an astonishingly fierce blue. “How can I stop now, when Captain Midnight is about to ravish his beautiful captive?”
Mortified, Gemma murmured something that wasn't really anything. Her heart was so loud she was sure her husband could hear it. And now it was not just her cheeks that were blazing, but every inch of her body.
“The Captain's ravenous lips moved across his captive's throat, before sliding over one fragile breast and nipping at it gently. His captive mewled like a kitten, hardly daring to believe that a man so fierce and animalistic could be in other ways so gentle. But then, as though reading her thoughts, his gentleness melted away—”The Duke looked up at grinned at Gemma.“—and he tore at the remains of her nightshift with the ferocity of a wild beast, before burying his handsome face between her legs…”
Mercifully, the Duke closed the book. His eyes were bright and teasing, but there was something else there as well. Something that suggested that he too had his own animalistic instincts. He took a step toward her. “Is this what you think about, Gemma?” he asked, his voice low and husky.
She swallowed heavily. “No, I…”
He silenced her by bringing his hand to her cheek. At the feel of his warm skin against her own, she felt her protests dying away.
“Is this what you would like me to do to you?”
Gemma heard her breath coming loud and fast, heard her heart drumming in her ears, felt the desperate pulsing between her legs intensify.
She ought to deny it, of course. She ought to tell him he was mistaken. Wildly mistaken. Tell him she would never have such impure, scandalous thoughts. Instead, she found herself nodding.
“I want to hear you say it.” His nose was an inch from hers, his breath hot against her cheek.
