Page 28 of Wedded to the Scottish Duke

As she had run away from the Duke, her leg had caught in something in the garden. She thought her leg had grazed a stinging nettle or something, though it was a surprisingly strong pain.

She had hardly been looking where she was putting her feet. She had been too eager to run away from the Duke.

Not only had she been weak enough to kiss him first, but she had not wanted that kiss to end. Even though he dominated the kiss, dominatedher, pinning her hands above her head, she did not want it to stop.

“Maybe he was right,” she muttered to herself. “Maybe he can make a woman want to obey.”

She cursed at the mere thought, continuing to pace up and down to occupy her thoughts. She didn’t know if she was trying to forget the pain in her leg or what had just happened.

The possessive way the Duke of Hardbridge had taken hold of her body had been a thrill. It had been even more than what she had imagined when she had heard tales of pleasure in the painter’s studio.

“You want to know what to expect, Celia?”the painter had asked her one night. He was working on a painting of a naked woman, who lay majestically on silken cloths a short distance away. Celia and her friend, Miriam, were sitting nearby, poring over his other paintings.“It’s a pleasure that overtakes your soul. It’s the most intense feeling of your life. One touch and you can be rendered… trapped in passion.”

“Ha!”She had laughed at the idea.“No man will have control over me with just the touch of his hand.”

“It depends where he puts that hand,”the painter had teased her and then told her all about exactly how a man could pleasure a woman with just his fingers.

Celia sat down on the edge of her bed, her eyes wide as an owl’s as she found herself imagining what it would be like to feel the Duke of Hardbridge’s fingers, to feel him pleasuring her and stroking inside her, touching herthere.

“Celia? Are you in there?” The soft voice made Celia jump off the bed.

Once more, she limped, startled at the pain in her leg as she hastened to the door.

“Diana?” she called and opened the door.

Diana stood on the other side, smiling. “Do you fancy some company?” she asked, putting a hand on her stomach.

“Oh, Diana. Are you feeling unwell? Come in.”

Diana was in the early stages of her pregnancy, though only her husband and her closest friends knew. Celia ushered her inside and hurried to find something to drink for her.

“I hate being ill alone,” Diana sighed as she sat in a chair. “It was so hot in that ballroom too—I couldn’t bear it.”

“Yes, it is hot tonight.”

Celia pulled at the neckline of her gown. She had thought it was the Duke of Hardbridge’s touch that had made her so heated, but surely by now, she should have cooled down a little?

“Summer nights and all that,” she muttered, pouring two glasses of port.

She passed one to Diana, who took it delicately and had the smallest of sips. Celia could not settle, though. After all that hadhappened, she had to keep moving. She paced up and down, nursing her port as she thought of the Duke of Hardbridge.

It should not have happened. I have always told myself I won’t be seduced by a man, yet one touch and I’m weak enough to be kissed by him and not stop it!

“Are you all right?” Diana asked.

“What?”

“You’re limping.”

“Am I? Oh. Stinging nettles.”

“Do they have many of them in a ballroom?” Diana asked with a laugh.

“It was too hot. Like you, I needed some fresh air,” Celia hastily lied and walked over to her. “How are you feeling?”

“Nauseous. It seems to come and go throughout the day.” Diana shrugged. “I hope it will stop soon. I’m not yet showing, though.” She flattened her gown to her stomach. “Maybe soon I won’t have to tell people, and they’ll just know.”

“Maybe.” Celia placed a soft hand on Diana’s shoulder. “Are you excited?”