Page 51 of Forever Her Bachelor

Covering herself with the duvet, she tried to shield her nakedness from him, feeling shy suddenly.

It was a logical question, one she needed to know as his wife. His prowess had been legendary these last nine years, and she needed to be prepared if it happened again.

Besides, if he had a mistress, Pippa would know her place. She wouldn’t hope for more. Nothing that had occurred since the first night outside of her aunt’s home made sense to her. Not the incident from nine years ago or the attentive intimacies from five minutes ago. For the first time in Pippa’s life, she had no thoughts, no words, nothing.

The man that had just ravished her was very much like the boy she had known, but neither one of them was the person who treated her young heart so abominably. Her younger self was idealistic and naïve and had not been prepared to be betrayed by her closest and dearest friend.

Reaching her, St. Clara passed her discarded night dress to her, his toned, muscled chest on full display, the defined ripples of abdomen and his chest glistening with the evidence of their activities. A shiver ran through Pippa at the thought of what just occurred.

She wanted more, but she needed to be in control of herself. They were only marrying for convenience: he needed her for his inheritance, and she needed him for her freedom. That was all they meant to each other, nothing more.

He crossed his arms, standing beside the bed and pinned her with a grave look. He was rarely upset; she knew that about him. “I do not have a mistress, and if I did, she would’ve been removed the moment you became mine.”

His?She was his—well, not officially yet, but soon in a matter of hours. A small part of her wanted to run back to London. Surely that would be better than the confusion she was feeling, better than the passion that rendered her completely and utterly useless.

Slipping her night dress over her head, Pippa smoothed it down her body, needing to hide her reaction from that statement. She had heard of his many conquests over the years. Was Pippa to believe that just because she was to be his wife, he would so easily dismiss whomever had been warming his bed?

Shifting herself deeper into the bed, she pulled the duvet up to her neck, wanting a moment to think. She wanted to experience what it was like to truly be a woman, but was she willing to risk her fragile heart again?

She needed the peace of sleep. Everything was too much, too soon, and she wanted more. That was the frightening part. If she felt this overwhelming connection after one night, how was she going to survive a year as his wife? A year in his bed?

“You’re shutting me out … again,” he said.

Burying herself deeper under the duvet, she ignored him as he slid into the bed, pulling her to his hard chest. “Kitten… please don’t fight us. It was always meant to be this way.” The tenderness in his voice was breaking through her hard resolve.

“I think it’s best we remember ourselves.” She tried to free herself from his embrace, but he did not move, burying his face in her neck, his hard chest against her back.

She closed her eyes briefly, waging a war within herself. She wanted to melt into his embrace and never leave his arms. The sensible part of her, however, wanted to run and never look back.

“I’m remembering myself. I haven’t felt like myself in nine years.” His voice was raspy, and he swallowed several times, trying to clear the emotion from it. The helplessness in it had her body jerking in response. Her resolve began to wane when his thumb stroked her hand. “I want this, Pippa. I’ve always wanted you to be my wife, to be my duchess. What must I do to prove that?” He searched her face, his eyes pleading.

Weary from their journey and their other activities, she desperately needed to rest to figure out everything. “N-nothing. We’ve agreed to a year. I think it is best we remember that.” Removing herself from him, Pippa closed her eyes, begging for the sweet comfort of sleep.

Images from earlier assaulted her anew, causing her exhausted body to pulsate in need.

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

The words repeated over and over in her mind, but they did nothing for her. Pippa had lost herself in his touch, his kisses, in everything that was the Duke of St. Clara. It was exactly like she’d wanted it to be all those years ago.

He had overwhelmed her defenses so much that now she doubted everything. The past, the present, and the future.

There was only one thing she knew: she had to protect her heart by any means necessary. Because for a moment, when her body was pressed against his, his lips claiming hers in a show of dominance, Pippa had felt something she had scarcely felt nine years ago as his friend …

Love.

CHAPTER 16

Dear Chauncey,

My cousins are both out in society, and I have never felt so alone. You’re the only one who understands me, who is my friend no matter what. My aunt and I visited a friend of hers in Bath, and I found several rocks for your collection. Hurry back. the school year is too long.

Your friend,

Kitten (The Chemist)

The following morning, an exhausted Pippa found herself standing in a barn in front of the Gretna Green blacksmith and anvil priest, Ewan Campbell. He was a large man, taller and wider than St. Clara, with a kind face. His buxom wife, Shannon Campbell, was cheery and kind, freely offering Pippa small words of encouragement. Their daughter, Bonnie, was no more than fourteen years old with red hair just like her mother’s.

Pippa noticed how poor Bonnie couldn’t stop staring at St. Clara with the same infatuation that had shined on Agnes’s face the previous evening. Pippa understood how any woman could get lost in the presence of such a man. His chiseled jaw, long eyelashes, and full lips, along with his wavy dark-brown hair and brown eyes could melt away your corset. Pippa did not blame the young woman for staring at her husband-to-be.