Page 66 of The Duke of Ruin
He stiffened, then cried out. Had he come? No, he continued to thrust. She was so close herself… But then he began to slow. His breath was hard and ragged. He kissed her forehead, her cheek, her lips.
“Are you done?” she asked.
He took a moment to answer. “Hell, you didn’t have another orgasm, did you?”
She shook her head as disappointment settled into her. The need pulsing in her sex had diminished slightly, but it was still there, reminding her of how close she’d been. “I thought I was going to, but I didn’t.”
“I’ll get to know your body better, and this won’t happen.” He slipped from her body and put his hand on her, doing what he’d done to her at Beaumont Tower—briskly massaging her clitoris and then putting his fingers in her.
She felt another bit of discomfort, but then he focused on her clitoris again, and the pleasure came rolling back. Ecstasy built as she rose up off the bed to meet his hand. He moved faster, driving her to the brink. Then she let go completely.
White light flashed behind her eyelids as she cried and whimpered her release. He stayed with her, guiding her back, then kissed her softly. “Better?” he murmured.
“So much. Thank you.”
When she was still, he pulled the coverlet up and gathered her into his arms. “Sleep now, wife. And if you’re not too sore and can still stand the sight of me in the morning, we can do this again.”
“I’d like that.” They were quiet for several minutes, their breathing returning to normal, and she wondered if he was drifting to sleep.
She yawned, as sleep tried to overtake her. But she wasn’t quite ready to succumb. She wanted to bask in this moment he’d given her. She’d never felt so cared for, so treasured, so wanted.
She kissed him softly on the mouth. “Good night, husband.”
She looked at the iron band on her finger. It felt only slightly less foreign than it had earlier. Wonder spread through her as she listened to his deep, even breathing. She’d resigned herself to getting married. But she hadn’t expected it to be to this man. Nor had she expected to want it. To wanthim.
Yet there was still so much she didn’t know about him—his family, his past, and, of course, his wife. Hisfirstwife. She knew there was much more to the tragedy and hoped that he would come to trust her enough to share it.
Will you trust him enough to reveal your secrets?
She shivered at the unspoken question from the recesses of her mind and snuggled against him. His arms tightened around her, and she welcomed the feeling of security she was now coming to know.
Yes, maybe she could trust him with all she’d worked to hide. And maybe—just maybe—she’d even be able to trust him with her heart.
The journey southto Lyndhurst was the happiest fortnight Simon could remember. They’d stopped in Oxford for Christmas, where they’d spent several days shopping for new clothing for Diana, buying gifts for his staff, and, of course, exploring each other in bed. Her courses had come two days after the wedding, so when they’d reached Oxford, they’d been more than eager to resume their marital entertainments.
But now that Lyndhurst was on the horizon, Simon’s stomach began to churn. In truth, his apprehension had started the night before. He’d known it was the last time he’d have Diana to himself and that the next day, he had to escort her into a home he despised.
The coach turned into the drive lined with oak trees, their bare limbs arching overhead. It was almost like driving through a skeleton. If one had a morbid mind. And apparently, Simon did just now.
He took a deep breath as they approached the turn that led to the front of the house. Diana touched his arm, and he turned his head to see her eyes glowing with warm enthusiasm.
“I’m looking forward to seeing your home.”
They’d talked about it over the past few days, but not in depth. Every time the subject arose, he fought to maintain his equilibrium and invariably found a way to change the topic. But now they were here, and he couldn’t avoid the past. It was about to hit him in the face.
He turned toward her. “Diana, this may be difficult for me—”
She pressed her lips to his and whispered, “Shhh. You don’t have to say anything. Not now. Just know that I’m here with you.” She kissed him again, and he was eternally grateful for her presence.
The coach stopped, and the door opened quickly—too quickly for Simon’s taste. Tinley put down the step, and Simon clambered down. The familiar façade greeted him, with its stately Jacobean exterior. Beneath the portico, he could see his butler, Lowell, standing in front of the open door.
A sharp wind threatened Simon’s hat as he turned to help Diana from the coach. The breeze whipped the ribbons beneath her chin, and she brushed them away from her face.
She looked up in appreciation. “Lyndhurst is beautiful. And large.”
The original structure had been built in the early seventeenth century. Simon’s grandfather had enlarged it and undertaken considerable repair and restoration.
Simon tucked her hand over his arm and led her into the shade of the portico. Lowell, a tall man in his late twenties—quite young for a butler—with thick brown hair and a serious demeanor, bowed deeply. “Welcome home, Your Grace.” He performed a second bow to Diana. “We are pleased to welcome you, Your Grace.” Simon had sent word ahead that he’d married. He wondered what his staff thought but decided it didn’t really matter. What was done was done. And he had no regrets. At least about that.
