Page 46 of Forever Her Bachelor

Agnes was only a few years younger than Pippa and was bursting with energy. Pippa welcomed the constant chatter. Itreminded her of Julia and Beatrice, both of whom she wished she could speak to about all her contradicting feelings for St. Clara.

It was strange to want to talk about them after years of hiding from her own emotions. Now, those same feelings were going to consume every part of her.

It is only a year. I mean nothing to him. He is not my Chauncey.

Pippa turned to the girl as she assisted her with removing her traveling dress. “I am not the duchess yet,” she reminded Agnes.

“You will be.” Agnes let out a breathy sigh. “I can’t even imagine how you must be feeling. His Grace is so handsome and dashing.”

The girl’s eyes widened, her face animated and dreamy. It was comical, really, reminding Pippa of every debutante their first Season out in society.

Sliding into the tub, Pippa recalled once feeling awestruck about St. Clara. He had always been dashing, handsome, and funny. There wasn’t a room he couldn’t enter and not change the entire atmosphere.

Choosing to avoid the realization that she would be a married woman by that time the following day, Pippa washed the road off her weary body, not allowing her mind to wander to the duke in the other room.

Once done, she allowed the maid to assist her. It was an extravagance that Pippa was no longer accustomed to. Her aunt’s funds had dwindled due to her scoundrel of a husband’s misuse, and the result was limited servants. Pippa tried not to be a hinderance by insisting she could dress herself. After all, Margaret Wayford had been the only mother she had known since she was nine years old.

Straightening out the night dress with shaky fingers, Pippa inspected the thin material, trying to decipher how much of herbody St. Clara would be able to see through the white linen. Stopping her fretting, she decided right then and there that she didn’t care. Let him see her. This was what Pippa wanted after all, was it not? To experience what it was truly was like to be bedded by the Duke of St. Clara. There would be no protecting her modesty as there would surely be none to have as his wife.

If the rumors were true.

It was a simple piece of fabric, short sleeves, white flowers sewn on the bust, with a modest bodice, but her bosom peeped out proudly. Deciding that she had stalled enough, Pippa slipped on the night dress, not wanting to speak about her husband to be and her upcoming nuptials with the maid. With St. Clara and the foreboding bed in the adjoining room, Pippa was finding it difficult to think at all.

“Thank you, Agnes. That will be all,” she croaked out, clearing her voice of all impediments.

Entering the chamber she was sharing with her future husband, Pippa held her breath for several seconds, trying to control and settle her frayed nerves. Low burning candles lit her way as she tried to walk deeper into the room. The room was warm and inviting, and she was suddenly weary after hours on the English roads.

“Are you able to see?” His deep, husky voice reverberated through her. It was warm and inviting like a hot cup of tea on a wintry day.

She couldn’t control her body’s reaction to him, and the truth was she didn’t want to. Pippa was nervous about the unknown, but she welcomed it gladly. She was grateful her first time would be with him and not the old, decrepit Summerset. Pippa couldn’t help the mad beating of her pulse or her sudden intake of breath as he rose from the desk, stalking his long-muscled form toward her. No matter how calm she tried to be, the truth was she was still an innocent.

In the time she had been preparing for bed, he had shed his tailcoat, waistcoat, and boots. The sight of his bare feet, long and elegant, reminded her of the new intimacies they would share as husband and wife.

He reached her in three simple strides, looking down at her with deep-chocolate eyes. Pippa had always taken comfort in them. Whenever she was sad or lonely, it was those deep rich-brown orbs that would center her.

He offered her his arm like they were in a ballroom and not a bedchamber. Pippa placed her hand in the crook of his, a growing need starting in her lower abdomen.

“I am more than capable of finding the bed on my own,” she teased. As they reached the bed, another part of the armor around her heart fell away.

“Yes, I’m aware of your capabilities.” Reaching the bed, St. Clara took her hand from the crook of his elbow, holding it. “However, if I did not escort you, I could not do this …”

His lips pressed against hers, stealing her breath away. Pippa found the more she kissed him, the more she never wanted to stop. The power of one kiss solidified her decision to explore a more intimate relationship with him. It was clear to her that the Duke of St. Clara was a dangerous man, but she could be deadly.

Warmth spread through her, down to her toes. She gripped his shirt, needing him pressed up against her.

If that was what being his wife was like, then Pippa would gladly surrender herself to the mind-numbing pleasure. When she was in his arms, it was difficult to recall the past or think at all.

Grasping her nape, St. Clara held her in place as the silky glide of his tongue dominated hers. A breathless moan escaped her as his other hand released hers to slide down her backside. Her body quivered, her sex pulsing in need.

In the short time since they had left London, Pippa had become addicted to his kisses. She craved his fiery touch.

Releasing her, St. Clara slowed their kiss. “Sleep, Kitten. Tomorrow will be a busy day and the night even busier.” He pecked her nose sweetly, causing her to giggle.

Though she was disappointed he had stopped kissing her, Pippa couldn’t help but feel intrigued by his words. “Busy? What, by chance, is happening tomorrow night?” she challenged him, knowing he was speaking of their first night as husband and wife. “You know I feel quite disappointed that the rumors about the great Duke of St. Clara’s appetite are false.” Pippa sat down on the bed, waiting for his reaction.

St. Clara laughed, the rich sound filling up the space. Sitting down beside her, he took her hand in his. The simple act felt more intimate than their kiss. “Perhaps not false, it’s …” His words trailed off before he captured her with his soft brown eyes. Caressing her knuckles, a small shy smile she hadn’t seen since he was a boy spread across his plump lips. “It’s different with you.”

Pippa removed her hand from his, overwhelmed by the emotions his words caused. She didn’t know what to believe. The past had taught her not to trust him. She fought with the two sides of herself. A young girl that trusted the boy he was and the grown woman who knew heartbreak.