Page 35 of Unraveled By the Duke
“Yes, I would not interfere with your plans for our marriage,” she said coldly. “If you will excuse me, there is a chill in the night air. I should be in my bed.”
But something was wrong with her legs. As she stood up, they betrayed her, shaking as though her knees were made of rubber. She wavered, close to the edge, and suddenly felt dizzy.
Alexander caught her, steadying her.
“I think you are not used to wine. I will take you back,” he said.
“I am perfectly fine!” Celia protested, trying to push him away.
She could not tell who had initiated the kiss. It might have been her, her inhibitions eroded by the wine just as her coordination had been. It might have been him, similarly compromised. Or it might have been synchronicity, both choosing the same moment to give in to their desire.
The contact, so long desired, was bliss. She felt her body melt against his, and it had nothing to do with the weakness induced by strong drink. The intoxication came from the feel of his warm, hard, but soft lips on hers.
For a long, delicious moment, she was content with the feel of his lips pressing against hers, his body hard next to her, and his arms tight around her. Then, his lips parted, and she felt his tongue prod her. It was a shock.
Her mouth opened, and their tongues met. Celia descended into delirium. She had been oblivious to how such an intimacy would feel. How delightful it could be.
Her mouth opened wider, allowing him access, and he responded. The taste of wine on his tongue was arousing, intimate. She tangled her fingers in the mane of his hair, felt his hands explore her back and hips. His fingers probed and squeezed as though trying to feel her skin through the dress.
The kiss had begun chaste and innocent. It did not remain so for long. Now, she was aware of his ardor, could feel it pressing against her. She’d had no idea that flesh could resemble stone, could attain such rigidity. Could feel as it did and make her feel such… such… bliss.
She ran one hand down his bulging pectoral muscles and the ridges of his ribs.
Such magnificent manhood. Surely this was how Zeus and Jupiter were perceived by their pagan followers—masculine, strong, unyielding, and irresistible. She was giddy with her boldness as she cupped his manhood over his breeches.
She was rewarded by his sharp intake of breath. She held his gaze, seeing it darken as she squeezed him gently. The kissresumed, harder than before. He reciprocated her touch, finding her jewel where it hid beneath her skirts.
“Oh, goodness! Oh my!” Celia cried out to the night.
Suddenly, she stumbled backward and teetered on the edge of the wooden platform. Alexander tried to pull them both back from the edge, but leaned too far over. Both fell into the dark water below.
CHAPTER 11
“Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but I must build up this fire, or you will catch your death,” Peggy said after placing a tray on Celia’s bedside table, bearing tea and toast with jam.
She threw back the curtains, and pale daylight flooded the room.
Celia blinked. Her hair felt damp, as did her pillow. A pile of clothes lay on the floor, also looking damp. Her head ached fiercely, and her mouth was as dry as sand.
“Catch my death? Why would I?” she asked sleepily.
With one foot still in the dreamworld, she thought that she should not have been alone.
“Is His Grace here?” she asked, remembering who she had been with the night before.
“No. I’ve not seen His Grace since the wedding, Your Grace.”
“Might I have a cup of tea, please, Peggy? I am rather parched,” she requested, sitting up. “He was here last night. Or rather, on the grounds.”
It was all flooding back to her now.
As Peggy poured a cup of tea and handed it to her, Celia froze. She remembered the flirtatious conversation with Alexander. Remembered his rejection of her. Remembered getting up, hurt, and not wanting to be in his company a moment longer, then losing her balance because of the wine. Dragging him over the edge with her.
“Oh my, we fell into the pool together!” she exclaimed, clapping a hand over her mouth.
Peggy’s eyebrows shot to her gray hairline, but she was too professional to speak out of turn. She busied herself with the fire.
“He plied me with wine and suggested some mad adventure at his childhood haunt,” Celia added. “I need to be more careful around this man.”
