Page 30 of A Duchess Bound
Rather than linger over their argument or her shame afterwards, Dorothy found herself thinking about the kiss and how he had touched her. Everything inside her had grown hot and tight, and just thinking about that encounter made her shiver all over again.
Lady Amelia and Bridget linked arms and approached the two lords, Dorothy trailing them. She supposed that she did not truly need to go along with them, but if she did not, Dorothy knew she would drive herself mad worrying about her sister.
Lady Amelia asked the lords to join her. Both readily agreed, and they all set out along the path, weaving through the carefully trimmed rose bushes. The design was not especially to Dorothy’s taste, for she much preferred the naturalistic look.
They crossed paths with the same dark-haired man from before, the one whose smile had reminded her of the Duke of Greenway. “What fortune is this?” he asked. “A whole crowd of ladies!”
“Join us,” Lord Arlington said. “We were just taking a turn with these ladies.”
The dark-haired man immediately offered his arm to Bridget, who shyly placed her hand at the crook of his arm. Dorothy clenched her jaw. She needed to warn her sister about that man. How could she do it gracefully? She mulled the question over while Bridget and the young man engaged in a whispered conversation, their voices so low that she could not hear.
Dorothy could find no way of gracefully extricating her sister, so she hurried to Bridget’s side and linked her arm with her sister’s. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but I need to speak to my sister.”
“Of course,” he said, inclining his head to acknowledge her request.
“Thank you.”
Dorothy all but pulled Bridget farther along the path with her.
“What was that about?” Bridget asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I do not like that man,” Dorothy murmured, keeping her voice quite low. That gentleman was still walking behind them, after all, and she did not wish to cause offense.
“Why not?”
“He seems like a rake.”
Bridget glanced fleetingly over her shoulder. “Have you heard something about him?” she asked softly.
“No.” Dorothy paused. “But I have a bad feeling about him.”
Badwas not quite the correct word. She feared that he was like the Duke of Greenway, who did not have a good reputation, yet she found herself…
Torn. Wanting.Aching.
That place between her thighs pulsed with need, and Dorothy thought that she might just?—
She had once heard that a lady might touch herself and feel some measure of relief from such sensations. Dorothy had not yet tried such a thing, but she was growing increasingly desperate.
The hour was late, and everyone had gone to bed. Dorothy lay awake in her bed, aching and burning for His Grace’s touch. It was well past midnight, and she was acutely aware of the days ticking by. He would expect her answer soon. Dorothy could not bring herself to refuse him. Not yet.
She inhaled softly, listening to the sound of her breath. Then, she tentatively slipped her hands beneath the bed linens. Dorothy did not quite know how to do this. She brought her hands down, sweeping over her stomach and past her hips.
Then, she paused, listening. The night was quiet. There was no one to see or hear her doing this most salacious deed. Dorothy closed her eyes and tried to calm her racing thoughts. Somehow, the thought of touching herself was even more embarrassing than having fallen for the charms of a rake.
“Dorothy, this is ridiculous,” she muttered.
She tentatively hitched up her nightgown and traced a hand over the inside of her thigh. Dorothy kept her touch light. Hair rose on her arms, and her core gave an anxious, little twitch. Dorothy swallowed and let her hand drift further up. Her fingers brushed through the delicate curls of hair, her thumb finding the sourceof all her agony. Dorothy closed her eyes and rubbed gingerly, hesitantly.
Her muscles all clenched, and the ache intensified. It grew and grew, as she rubbed harder and harder. She had the sensation of climbing to some nameless thing, but she just could not reach?—
“I submit,” she whispered to the night.
It was a promise made to no one, but she imagined making it to the Duke of Greenway. She imagined that it was his hand instead of her own. She imagined he leaned over her, his hazel eyes gleaming with mischief. “Good girl,” she imagined him saying.
Dorothy trembled, and that feeling inside her keptgrowing. She rocked her hips against the bed linens, warmth flushing through her body like a river. Dorothy fumbled awkwardly with her fingers, desperate to achieve some end that she had no words for. The bed linens and mattress rustled, making faint sounds that seemed too loud to her own ears.
Then, her body gave a great shiver. Black spots obscured her vision, and she inhaled sharply, taking in greedy gulps of air. She was in utter bliss, waves of pleasure sweeping over her. It ended too soon, and she sank against the bed. Dorothy lay there, gasping for air and blinking stars from her eyes.
