Page 93 of His Auctioned Duchess
Caroline stood by the altar, fingertips brushing the smooth grain of the pew. The chapel was bathed in the soft light of late morning, golden motes drifting lazily through the air. The hushwas sacred, but her heart pounded with something altogether less serene.
Richard turned toward her. The storm that had once haunted his gaze was gentler now, though still fierce in its depth. He approached slowly, each step deliberate, his boots echoing softly upon the flagstone floor.
When he stopped before her, he took her hand and lifted it to his lips. His breath warmed her skin as he murmured, “Our story starts now, wife.”
The word wife reverberated through her entire body. It struck something deep—something she had never dared to name.
Her lips parted in a soft laugh. “Wife,” she echoed, savoring it, the syllable trembling with wonder. “It sounds... impossible.”
“Then let us make impossibility our habit,” he said, still holding her hand.
She met his gaze, her voice teasing. “You do realize society will be livid. The Devil of the Ton, married without so much as a whisper to the gossips?”
“Let them rage,” he said simply. “They have taken too much of me already.”
Richard brushed a stray curl from her face. His thumb lingered at her temple, then traced down her cheek. “You’re trembling,” he murmured.
“I’m not,” she lied.
His hand slipped lower, resting at her throat where her pulse fluttered wildly. “You are,” he said softly, “but so am I.”
The moment stretched—the weight of it, the intimacy, the knowledge that this was the beginning of something neither of them could undo. The chapel was silent save for their breathing, a slow and unsteady rhythm of two hearts that had warred against each other only to find peace in surrender.
He leaned closer until his lips brushed her ear. “Come,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion. “I will not have our wedding end in a chapel.”
Her breath caught, but she did not pull away.
Outside, sunlight blazed across the grounds of Ashwood Hall, and the bells from the distant village began to ring. Their peals were faint but clear—joyous, bright, echoing across the hills.
Caroline smiled, her eyes glistening. “They’re ringing for us,” she said softly.
Richard’s hand tightened around hers. “Then let them never stop.”
Leading her behind a tree, ensuring there was noone in sight, his fingers drifted up her arm, paused for an awestruck moment above her heart, and caressed her as they dropped to her hip. The other hand rose to curve around her waist, pulling her even closer to his chest.
“My Duchess. My victory. Mywife,” he murmured. Their hearts beat in rhythm as he pressed his lips to hers. She reached up to clutch his shoulders, fingers digging in even as they trembled with longing.
“Richard!” she moaned softly as his head dipped to kiss the smooth curve of her neck.
His lips left blazes of heat where they touched, sketching her in fire the way she’d drawn him in charcoal.
Richard released her and took a small step back as she swayed unthinkingly toward him. His hands pulled at the fabric of her dress and it seemed to fly off of its own accord. Her nipples hardened underneath the thin silk of her chemise. Leaning down, his mouth crushed against hers once more, hungry and demanding.
With his lips still on hers, he slipped his hand between her legs, gently brushing across her sex. The heat of her passion was evident as he teased his fingers expertly along her slick folds. She pushed herself against him, wanting—no, needing—more.
Richard chuckled softly, then scooped her up into his arms and carried her over to one of the marble benches nearby, depositingher gently. So eager was he to taste her, he merely pushed her chemise up to her waist before kneeling before her. His eyes locked onto hers for what felt like an eternity before he turned his attention elsewhere.
He pushed her thighs apart and she gasped as he dipped down, his tongue dancing between her legs.
Caroline’s breath quickened, and she gripped the edge of the bench with white knuckles. When he slid his fingers inside her, a shudder ran through her entire body. Richard held her hips firmly, fingers spread wide and burning against her skin as he lapped the evidence of her pleasure off her thighs.
Her pulse fluttered in her throat when he stood and began unbuttoning his breeches. By the time she had pulled her chemise off over her head he was back on her, his hands firmly cupping her breasts. The sunlight that shone through the trees cast jewel-toned patterns across her pale skin and haloed his hair, the Devil redeemed at last by love.
Caroline reached down and wrapped her hand around his rigid manhood. He pulsed under her touch as she stroked up and down his length, hesitantly as first, then firmer as he closed his eyes and groaned. After a few moments, he replaced her hand with his. She whimpered as he began to rub himself up and down her wet slit.
“Please, oh please!” she begged, desperate with need.
In one seamless motion, he scooped his arm under her buttocks, lifting her to meet him as he pushed himself inside her.
