Page 11 of A Duchess Bound (Dukes of Dominance #2)

“ O nce more unto the breach, dear friends!” Elias declared.

“Is Henry V really the most appropriate reference here?” Bridget asked, arching an eyebrow. “I would prefer not to think of this lovely garden party as a battlefield.”

“And yet I have seldom seen a battle as fiercely fought as the one for your heart,” Dorothy said. “I am somewhat concerned that we may need to employ an additional parlor maid.”

They stepped beneath a magnificent archway, draped in purple wisteria, and into gardens so green and lively that it was difficult to believe they were real.

White pavilions had been pitched, the tables beneath them laden with beverages and delicacies.

Red and pink roses bloomed from every side, their beauty rivalled only by the elegantly dressed lords and ladies that mingled together.

Before she realized it, Dorothy found herself searching for one specific lord. Heat rushed to her face.

She still had three days to consider his offer. Her pride insisted that she refuse, but her body ached with the memory of his touch. But she still did not quite understand his proposed terms.

What did he mean by submit ? It was obvious that he was suggesting that she give in to her desires, shameful though they were, but she still sensed that he was asking for something more .

His Grace wanted some nameless thing of her, and she sensed that whatever it was he desired would come at great cost.

“I shall leave you ladies to it,” Elias said. “It is a beautiful day for a walk in the gardens. If you require any of my opinions, I am at your beck and call.”

“Of course,” Dorothy said.

They parted ways. Elias joined his friends, and Dorothy led Bridget straight to a gathering of unmarried, young misses. Already, Dorothy spied a few gentlemen looking at Bridget.

She knew two of them—Lords Ashmore and Wesbrook. Both were respectable, though Lord Ashmore was set to inherit a considerable fortune. Lord Wesbrook lived comfortably, but he could not boast the same. Dorothy suspected that he desired Bridget more for her dowry than he did for anything else.

Dorothy did not recognize the third man. He was dark-haired and handsome, clearly well-bred, but something about his smile reminded her of His Grace. Dorothy deemed him unsuitable at once. No man who looked like that was suitable for her beloved sister.

“It is unfortunate that Cat could not join us,” Bridget said. “We see so little of her now that she is wed.”

“I know,” Dorothy agreed. “But she has promised to come to tea on Sunday. We’ll be able to tell her all about the garden party then.”

Sunday was the day that Dorothy was supposed to give the duke her answer. Her breath shuddered in her chest. A proper lady would not even be contemplating an answer. If she was truly good, she would refuse to even dignify his request with a response.

What did her behavior make her? Was she a ruined woman?

“I can scarcely wait for her ball,” Bridget said, sighing. “I bet that it will be the best of the Season!”

“I have heard that His Grace will spare no expense,” Dorothy said slyly. “It will certainly be a sight to behold!”

“Bridget!” Lady Agatha, a young woman known for being the best singer in the ton, smiled brilliantly. “Dorothy! Join us. We were just discussing Northanger Abbey . I believe you are familiar with it?”

Bridget’s face brightened. “I am. It is quite an excellent novel, but I did not find it to be superior to Sense and Sensibility .”

Dorothy found Northanger Abbey to be the superior work, and she opened her mouth to argue?—

But then she saw him.

The Duke of Greenway stood at the edge of the gardens with a glass of lemonade. Her heart thundered against her ribs, the intensity in his eyes shaking her to the core. Did he stare at any other woman so intently? If so, she had not noticed.

“Shall we promenade?” Lady Amelia, another young lady, asked.

“Certainly,” Bridget agreed.

Dorothy tore her gaze away from His Grace. Instead, she searched the gardens for any especially eligible suitor who might wish to accompany her sister.

She found a few of the names on her list. There was the dashing Lord Arlington, who came from a good family and was set to inherit another title, the Earl of Covington, when his father died. He was a sensitive and handsome man.

Lord Beaumont was also present. Although he was only a baron, he was a man with strong moral fiber and a sterling reputation. Dorothy had never heard anyone say an unkind word about him. And of course, there were Lord Ashmore and Lord Wesbrook, whom she had already seen.

“Perhaps, Lord Arlington and Lord Beaumont would like to join us,” Dorothy said.

There were five ladies, including Dorothy. Asking the two gentlemen to join them would give Bridget the opportunity to meet them and show how beautiful and witty and charming she was without her having to bear the pressure of being the only lady who was the subject of their attention.

After they ended the walk through the gardens, Dorothy would engineer an encounter with Lord Ashmore and Lord Wesbrook, ensuring that Bridget had greeted more of the respectable men.

“Oh, yes!” Lady Agatha exclaimed. “Let’s ask them.”

Dorothy glanced at the Duke of Greenway and shivered, imagining his lips pressed against her. She might have gone to his townhouse to argue. She might have even felt embarrassed and ashamed after the encounter.

Rather than linger over their argument or her shame afterwards, Dorothy found herself thinking about the kiss and how he had touched her. Everything inside her had grown hot and tight, and just thinking about that encounter made her shiver all over again.

Lady Amelia and Bridget linked arms and approached the two lords, Dorothy trailing them. She supposed that she did not truly need to go along with them, but if she did not, Dorothy knew she would drive herself mad worrying about her sister.

Lady Amelia asked the lords to join her. Both readily agreed, and they all set out along the path, weaving through the carefully trimmed rose bushes. The design was not especially to Dorothy’s taste, for she much preferred the naturalistic look.

They crossed paths with the same dark-haired man from before, the one whose smile had reminded her of the Duke of Greenway. “What fortune is this?” he asked. “A whole crowd of ladies!”

“Join us,” Lord Arlington said. “We were just taking a turn with these ladies.”

The dark-haired man immediately offered his arm to Bridget, who shyly placed her hand at the crook of his arm.

Dorothy clenched her jaw. She needed to warn her sister about that man.

How could she do it gracefully? She mulled the question over while Bridget and the young man engaged in a whispered conversation, their voices so low that she could not hear.

Dorothy could find no way of gracefully extricating her sister, so she hurried to Bridget’s side and linked her arm with her sister’s. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but I need to speak to my sister.”

“Of course,” he said, inclining his head to acknowledge her request.

“Thank you.”

Dorothy all but pulled Bridget farther along the path with her.

“What was that about?” Bridget asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I do not like that man,” Dorothy murmured, keeping her voice quite low. That gentleman was still walking behind them, after all, and she did not wish to cause offense.

“Why not?”

“He seems like a rake.”

Bridget glanced fleetingly over her shoulder. “Have you heard something about him?” she asked softly.

“No.” Dorothy paused. “But I have a bad feeling about him.”

Bad was not quite the correct word. She feared that he was like the Duke of Greenway, who did not have a good reputation, yet she found herself…

Torn. Wanting. Aching .

That place between her thighs pulsed with need, and Dorothy thought that she might just?—

She had once heard that a lady might touch herself and feel some measure of relief from such sensations. Dorothy had not yet tried such a thing, but she was growing increasingly desperate.

The hour was late, and everyone had gone to bed. Dorothy lay awake in her bed, aching and burning for His Grace’s touch. It was well past midnight, and she was acutely aware of the days ticking by. He would expect her answer soon. Dorothy could not bring herself to refuse him. Not yet.

She inhaled softly, listening to the sound of her breath. Then, she tentatively slipped her hands beneath the bed linens. Dorothy did not quite know how to do this. She brought her hands down, sweeping over her stomach and past her hips.

Then, she paused, listening. The night was quiet. There was no one to see or hear her doing this most salacious deed. Dorothy closed her eyes and tried to calm her racing thoughts. Somehow, the thought of touching herself was even more embarrassing than having fallen for the charms of a rake.

“Dorothy, this is ridiculous,” she muttered.

She tentatively hitched up her nightgown and traced a hand over the inside of her thigh.

Dorothy kept her touch light. Hair rose on her arms, and her core gave an anxious, little twitch.

Dorothy swallowed and let her hand drift further up.

Her fingers brushed through the delicate curls of hair, her thumb finding the source of all her agony.

Dorothy closed her eyes and rubbed gingerly, hesitantly.

Her muscles all clenched, and the ache intensified. It grew and grew, as she rubbed harder and harder. She had the sensation of climbing to some nameless thing, but she just could not reach?—

“I submit,” she whispered to the night.

It was a promise made to no one, but she imagined making it to the Duke of Greenway. She imagined that it was his hand instead of her own. She imagined he leaned over her, his hazel eyes gleaming with mischief. “ Good girl ,” she imagined him saying.

Dorothy trembled, and that feeling inside her kept growing .

She rocked her hips against the bed linens, warmth flushing through her body like a river.

Dorothy fumbled awkwardly with her fingers, desperate to achieve some end that she had no words for.

The bed linens and mattress rustled, making faint sounds that seemed too loud to her own ears.

Then, her body gave a great shiver. Black spots obscured her vision, and she inhaled sharply, taking in greedy gulps of air.

She was in utter bliss, waves of pleasure sweeping over her.

It ended too soon, and she sank against the bed.

Dorothy lay there, gasping for air and blinking stars from her eyes.

What was that ? She withdrew her hand and squeezed her legs together, her face warming at the dampness that she found between her thighs. Dorothy had done this while thinking of the Duke of Greenway.

She imagined that he knew all the tricks which might help young ladies find pleasure. What would it have been like if he had done this to her instead? She imagined him pinning her against the wall and forcing up her skirts, his hand between her thighs as she moaned and gasped for air.

Dorothy sat upright, her mind racing. She must refuse him.

If she told herself that— you must refuse him —enough, she might make herself truly believe it. Dorothy swept the bed linens aside and squeezed her thighs together. “What have you done to me?” she murmured, equally despairing and eager. “I was a proper lady.”

And a spinster, content to remain unmarried. Content to remain untouched and unwanted by any man. Now, she was undeniably and irrevocably ruined.