Page 49 of A Bride for the Icy Duke
“Good. I want you to come.”
The crassness of the phrase should have been horrifying for a gently bred lady, but underneath her breeding, she was but a woman, and the phrase did something to her, turning her into a creature of earthly flesh, bringing her so much closer.
“Alexander,” she gasped.
“Now,” he commanded, and to her surprise—almost her horror—her body obeyed him.
She climaxed hard, squeezing around him, her world turning white as pleasure rampaged through her body. This was not the same as the lakehouse, where she had been forced to keep her feet, and although he had touched her in exactly the right way, the pleasure had not been as explosive.
There were two Lydias. The Lydia from before, and the Lydia of after.
He groaned, stiffening under her, and she watched him as he found his own pleasure in the space between their bodies. The water turned cloudy white with his seed, and she looked at it with interest.
Sothiswas what it looked like.
He raised his head, staring at her, his breathing just as ragged as hers, looking as though the experience had shaken him tohis very core. Then he looked down and pushed her back, the movement so abrupt it startled her. He stood, water dripping off him.
“Get out of the bath,” he said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Alexander knew he had made a mistake the second he said the words.
They hadn’t quite done the full act—a deliberate move on his part—but they had still come together. Found pleasure together. She was an innocent, relatively speaking, and she deserved gentleness. Sweetness! All things he no longer thought himself particularly capable of—but he would have tried. For her…
But all he could think of was his seed in the water, and the fact she lingered in it.
He didn’t rightly know if this would be enough to get her with child, but the irrational fear it might clutched at his chest. In time, of course, he had known he must sire an heir. That was his duty, and part of the reason he was considering keeping Lydia as his wife.
But not yet. Notyet.
He was vastly unprepared to be a father. Unsuited to the task.
His own father had been a short-tempered man, more interested in public image than the realities of raising a son, which he largely left to his wife and servants. The only time Alexander had ever come into contact with his father was when his father was punishing him for something or insisting he stay away from Helena.
His father had been as addicted to drink as Alexander was to laudanum. They were both flawed, the difference being that Alexander was attempting to change his life. But that didn’t change the fact that as he stood, he could not embrace fatherhood. Any child he brought into the world, he would either hurt by his absence or his very presence.
He could not afford to let lust outweigh these other considerations.
Lydia climbed from the bath, water glistening across her naked body, which she partially attempted to cover with her hands. His cruelty had made her self-conscious when she was lovely in every way.
He had to fix this.
“I’m sorry—” he tried as she found herself a robe and wrapped it around her figure. The material dampened and clung to her body almost instantly, rendering its services unnecessary. She may as well still be naked.
“For what?” she asked, her voice sharp. “Instantly regretting being with me?”
“I-I don’t regret it.” He meant it, too. The experience had certainly shaken something loose within him, leaving him feeling warmer than he could remember since Helena. If only his fears over getting her with child hadn’t ruined it. “I-I merely wanted to ensure you didn’t get with child.”
If anything, that revelation only made her expression colder.
“I see.”
Good God, he was a scoundrel.
He found a rag and cleaned himself off as he stepped out of the tub.
“Forgive me.” As he came into contact with the carpet, he suddenly swayed. His body reminded him with a sick pulse that physical gratification was not the only thing it craved, and now that he had been sated, the cravings returned with renewed vigor.
