Page 46 of A Wicked Duke's Redemption
“I see.”
They reached a small bench in the gardens; beyond it, Violet could see the lake and the forests behind it. The once-green leaves were awash with gold and orange, so it appeared as if the wood was on fire. Leo lowered himself onto the bench, Violet beside him. She imagined that the staff would place the breakfast on the plane of grass before them, where they would be sheltered beneath a large, sprawling tree.
“I shall endeavor to be kinder to them,” Leo said. “If that will please you.”
“It would.”
He nodded, and Violet offered him a small, shy smile. She watched the song birds singing in the tree and let herself relax, content to enjoy the lovely morning by the side of a man whom she was beginning to develop—if not love—a certain sort of warm fondness for.
***
As Leo’s ankle grew better and his gait more even, he and Violet began making longer journeys together. They wandered through the forests at the edge of the property and planned picnics beneath the canopy of leaves.
Their conversations grew longer and more intimate, and one day, it seemed to Violet as if they had discussed everything, except the late duchess, who seemed to loom like a specter between them. Leo did not mention her, so neither did Violet.
One uncommonly warm November morning, Violet and Leo sat by the edge of the lake. Leo’s ankle was mostly healed and only caused him pain on rare occasions. He stood firmly by the lakeside, string in hand. “This is how you catch a fish.”
Violet, who stood beside him, arched an eyebrow. “I do not see a fish on that string, Leo,” she teased.
“Not yet,” he insisted. “But there will be.”
Already, Leo had cast his string and bait into the water dozens of times, and he had yet to catch the promised fish. Still, Violet had no cause to complain, for she had grown to enjoy his company.
He drew the string back, a sodden lump of bread tied to one end, and tossed it into the pond once more. The water rippled, confirming the presence of a fish, and Violet held her breath. She leaned forward, waiting to see if this would be the time when Leo finally emerged victorious. Leo pulled the string suddenly.
The motion sent him struggling for balance, and without warning, his foot slipped from beneath him. As she saw him fall, Violet grasped his arm in a vain attempt to help him keep his balance. She failed.
Violet pitched forward; her surprised yell cut off as cold water filled her senses. She released Leo’s arm and rose to the surface of the pond, gasping as the wind cut through her wet hair and face. Leo surfaced beside her. “Are you all right?”
He looked utterly baffled, as if he simply could not understand how he had come to stand in the pond with her. Something about the situation struck Violet as comical, and a peal of laughter tore from her throat. Leo’s lips twitched into a small smile.
As they waded from the water, Violet shivered. The formerly pleasant wind now seemed to tear through her like a knife. “We should return to the manor,” she said, “or else we shall catch our deaths of cold.”
Leo furrowed his brow. “That would be a great pity. Until we both tumbled into the water, I found the evening to be most pleasant.”
Warmth rushed to Violet’s face. “As did I.”
“What if…” Leo trailed off. There was a heat in his gaze which Violet had not seen only once before, on that night when he had kissed her in her bedroom. She quivered, taut with desire. “What if we removed our clothes and allowed them to dry? We could lay on the blanket.”
He gestured to where their picnic had been spread, but Violet instead let her gaze linger over his muscled form. His jacket clung to his shoulders, emphasizing their broadness. Her gaze traveled lower, to the sodden trousers that clung to his powerful thighs and outlined his manhood so wonderfully.
“And how will we entertain ourselves, then?” she asked, her heart racing.
He said nothing but removed his jacket, casting it carelessly on the ground. The discarded clothing seemed like a challenge. Violet hastened to remove her spencer, gown, and stays. She stood before him in only her chemise, her chest heaving against the thin muslin. Violet felt the wet fabric cling against her; it surely left little to Leo’s imagination. He remained in only his shirt. “Violet,” he murmured.
He pulled her flush against him, and as their lips met, Violet felt heat coil inside her. The air was full of his cologne and the spice of autumn. He pulled her down, and she fell atop him, their bodies colliding together.
Violet felt his hardness against her stomach, and her mind whirled. She thought of Lancelot and Guinevere, stealing kisses when no one was around. The chill of the air brushed beneath her chemise, and she shivered, feeling deliciously and scandalously exposed. She groaned.
Leo rolled over her in a deft motion, bringing her beneath him. He buried his face in the crook of her neck. “Shall we, then?” he murmured. His breath came in hot pants of air against her bare skin.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He kissed her neck and pressed a thigh against her maidenhood. Violet groaned, her legs tightening around him. Leo stroked her breasts beneath the white chemise, and that too familiar ache grew in Violet’s core. Her legs shook, and she clung to his shirt, taking fistfuls of it in her hands. Violet’s hips bucked with every kiss and stroke of her breasts.
She brushed her core against his thigh with every movement, and when Leo worried her collarbone with his teeth, her muscles all grew tight. Black spots dotted her vision. For an instant, time halted, and the most indescribable pleasure washed over her. Then her muscles loosened.
Leo moved back and gently spread her legs wider. He took a great handful of his shirt and lifted it, exposing his manhood. Violet swallowed hard. She had no man to compare him to, but he seemed impossibly huge to her. “I will be careful,” Leo said, as if sensing her hesitation.
