Page 40 of A Bride for the Icy Duke
The best thing to do would be to leave before he let anything get any further, so as not to taint Helena’s memory in the house where he had entertained her so many times. How could he think of being with his wife here?
Yet, how could he endure her company and not inevitably give in to temptation?
As his back arched, and he groaned, finally giving into the pleasure and letting his seed glisten up his chest, he realized that it would be impossible.
Lydia stared at the ceiling of her bedchamber. The darkness enclosed around her, soft as a blanket, and just as protective. Here, she could do anything, and no one would know. She was utterly alone.
This was her private space.
And here, she could consider what Marie had suggested at the dinner.
After the kiss with Alexander, her body had felt…different. Empty, in a way. As though it had been expecting something that hadn’t materialized, and although she had attempted to ignore the feeling all day, she finally could not.
And the kiss itself—well, it had shown her that there was at least the potential of passion between them. The potential ofmore.
And if there could be more, then she should know what she wanted. Tutor him, so that if and when they came together, he could pleasure her precisely how she liked.
Feeling as though she were doing something illicit—and indeed shewas—she reached a hand down under the covers. Down pasther stomach to her thigh, and then, with a gasp, she let her knees fall apart to reveal the tender flesh between. With cautious strokes, she explored. Hair, then underneath, between, parting like a gift, her slit. She slid her finger through her folds and let out a little gasp at the shocking pleasure of it.
Heavens above, she was touching herself. And it feltgood.
As she explored, she became more certain. There was a particular spot, near the top, that she particularly liked. A tiny nub that seemed to contain almost blinding pleasure.
Then, below, she found she could press her fingersinsideherself. This time, the pleasure held a different kind of note, and brought with it a new sensation. Hollow wanting. Her fingers might offer her something new, but they weren’t enough on their own.
Shocked, a little, at her own daring, she inserted first one finger, then two. She moved them in and out, rocking her hips against her hand, and pressed her other hand against her mouth, biting the soft flesh of her thumb so she would make no noise. Perhaps she was alone, but she wanted no one to hear evidence of the things she was doing.
The wicked,wickedthings...
Wickedness had never felt so good. She never wanted to stop.
She rocked faster, wishing she could turn her body into something new, to reach the heights that promised just out of reach. Her breath came fast, and she teetered on the very edge for so long, sweat soaked into her hair… but in the end, she couldn’t quite reach wherever it was she wanted to go.
Marie ought to have given her more specific instructions. Even when she gave up, exhausted and with her heart pounding, her body ached formore. Was this how it was supposed to feel? Would Alexander make her do this?
She wished she knew.
Frustrated, she rolled over and punched her pillow. Tomorrow was her last chance, her last opportunity to persuade Alexander to let her stay. If she failed, he wouldn’t delay any longer, she was sure of it.
Somehow, she would have to seduce him—and convince him once and for all that he could never let her go.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Making a resolution was one thing; achieving it was entirely another.
To Lydia’s dismay, especially considering how carefully she had dressed, she didn’t find Alexander at the breakfast table. Nor was he in his study when she went in search of him.
In some dudgeon, she stalked to the library and was at last rewarded with the image of Alexander sitting in the giant, cozy armchair by the fire, a breakfast tray beside him and a newspaper open on his lap.
For a long moment, the quiet domesticity of the sight disarmed her. The fire crackled, newly hit and eager, and Alexander’s hands for once seemed to have stopped shaking. He seemed at peace here, his brow clear and his mouth relaxed.
In this version of the man, she saw the boy she had met all those years ago. And, foolish as it was, she had the absurd hope that she might be able to reach that boy again.
He glanced up as she approached, the tension reappearing by his mouth. His gaze traveled over her dress, which she wore without a chemise underneath, and which had been carefully wetted to hug the curves of her body—a trick used by many a young lady in search of a husband.
Lydia already had a husband, but she couldn’t be certain she would keep him.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed.
