Page 47 of The Duchess in His Bed
Her breathing was shallow, harsh, her smile pure satisfaction, her eyes aglow. Licking her lips, holding his gaze now, she began rocking against him in earnest, faster, harder, taking him deeper, deeper. Pleasure cascaded through him. He tugged on the bindings, needing to hold her. It was all too much as ecstasy built, shooting through him, building to nearly unbearable intensity.
“Leave me, Lena. Now,” he ground out through clenched teeth.
Instead she rode him with single-minded purpose as though her life depended on it. As though his did.
“I’m close to bursting. Leave.”
She shook her head, increasing the tempo, pistoning harder, faster.
He was on the cusp, hovering at the edge of the abyss. “For God’s sake, Lena, I beg of you—”
Then she was no longer encasing him, had left him completely. Knowing she was safe, he immediately gave in to his needs, his body jerking, spasming as his orgasm overtook him.
In the farthest recesses of his mind, he was vaguely aware of a sob. Opening his eyes, he watched as she scampered off the bed, another sob escaping. “Lena? What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t, I can’t.” She began snatching up her clothes. “It’s just... it’s not fair.”
“Couldn’t what? Lena, what the devil is going on here?”
“Forgive me.”
“Untie me.”
Without looking back at him, clutching her clothing, she dashed into the front room.
“Lena!” He tugged on the bindings. They held fast. He heard the rustle of silk and satin as though she was dressing herself. “Lena, get back here and free me!”
More rustling, followed by hurried footsteps and the slamming of the door. “Lena!”
But all he heard was the silence of her having left him.
Chapter 14
Sitting in the library, before a hearth as empty as her womb, she sipped the brandy, wondering if she’d ever known such desolation and despair, such shame and disappointment in herself. When it came right down to it, she’d been unable to go through with her plans to take his seed into her body, because he’d been so adamant that he had no desire to bring a child into the world. She hadn’t even been aware ways to avoid impregnating a woman existed. Why, then, were there so many bastards? Why were so many children orphans? Why didn’t all men take precautions?
Even knowing his child would not have been labeled a bastard, that he—or she—would have been considered the legitimate issue of the Duke of Lushing, she’d not been able to place her own wants and needs above Aiden’s. She’d felt the tension in him increasing as passion gave rise to mindless lust, as his body sought surcease, as he went beyond the boundaries where he could stop. Because she had continued to ride him, determined to force his capitulation, the spilling of his seed—not into a sheath but into her. She’d felt powerful, in control, until the only thing that mattered was gaining what she wanted.
“For God’s sake, Lena, I beg of you—”
Then those words ground out through his clenched teeth had bombarded her soul, reached into her heart. She couldn’t imagine this man had ever before begged anything of anyone. And yet he begged of her. As his growl had echoed around her, his body had stiffened, and when she’d known his seed would be pouring forth, she’d not been able to stay.
In the end, she’d not been able to stay at all—not on top of him, not in his bed, not in his rooms. She’d heard the confusion in his voice as he called out to her, and she’d been unable to face him.
From the moment he’d first approached her at the club, he’d asked nothing of her. He’d charmed her and given her all she’d demanded. And then he’d requested something of her, and she’d not been able to deny him.
The rawness of his entreaty had shamed her; her actions had mortified her. Not only because she’d been willing to steal something so precious from Aiden, but because she’d been planning to pass another’s child off as Lushing’s. She’d been willing to betray two men who had never done her any harm, and in so doing she’d have betrayed herself.
As the guilt had bombarded her, all she’d wanted was to escape from Aiden and herself. But there was no escaping herself, her failure to protect those she loved. There would be no heir. She might be the Duchess of Lushing, but she would have no husband with a revered title to stand beside her, no great dynasty to provide power and influence. She had failed to produce an heir after seven years. No young titled gentleman in need of a son would risk taking her to wife. She would fade into obscurity. She deserved no less.
What a fool she’d been to agree to Winslow’s plan.
Finishing off the brandy, taking comfort in the lethargy it brought her, she set aside her snifter and shoved herself to her feet. The room tilted, righted itself. Her face felt immobile from the salt of the tears she’d wept, tears that had long since dried, leaving only their remnants. Because of her failings, a title would be declared extinct. And the ruination of her family would be her legacy.
Slowly she made her way from the library into the hallway, following a path she knew by heart. She would become an old maid, living alone in the dower house. She would do what she could to see her sisters well married, but without dowries, it was unlikely they would find happiness.
Trudging up the stairs, she felt as though she were striving to ascend an impossibly high mountain of rugged terrain. She couldn’t recall how much brandy she’d sipped or how long she’d sat in the library wallowing in despair. An hour? Two?
She could barely think, put her thoughts in order, but she would find a way to see her sisters married well. “Tomorrow,” she whispered. “I’ll worry about it all tomorrow.”
