Page 74 of Forever Her Bachelor

Pippa dropped the fork from her hand, blinking several times at him. “A-are you sure it’s not Randall’s? They were engaged.”

He shook his head. “If it was Randall’s, why would my father pay her two thousand pounds? My father wasn’t a kind man. He did nothing without gaining something in return.”

St. Clara vowed not to fail his potential sibling as he had failed Amelia.

“I believe it’s time we spoke to my uncle. It’s obvious he was blackmailing your father.” Pippa shook her head, taking a sip of her own wine. “I knew your father hated me, but to go to such great lengths to keep us apart seems a bit excessive. Why send Maggie and his child away?”

“Because my father cared for no one but himself.” St. Clara wiped his mouth before sitting the cloth on his plate and standing. “After my mother’s indiscretion, he was different—harder, heartbroken.”

St. Clara would never forgive his father for his betrayal in keeping him and Pippa apart for years. He remembered the man he once was. Young, vibrant, and hopelessly in love with his wife—very much like St. Clara. He had never seen that part of Ludlow Bennett again. St. Clara had vowed to never be so despondent, yet he had treated his mother and sister exactly like his father had.

Pippa waited for him to pull her chair out before standing and taking his arm. “Yes, I’ll never forget what he said to me the day that Maggie told me you were the father.”

St. Clara’s steps faltered as they reached the doors of the dining room. “What did he say?” He tried but was unsuccessful in hiding the anger in his voice.

Her watery hazel gaze captured him, the pain from that day still affecting her. Pippa was one of the strongest people he had ever met in his life. In order for the incident with his father and Maggie to impact her all these years later, it must have been deplorable for her. The thought had St. Clara cursing his father in his grave.

“H-he said that he would die before he’d let a woman like me be duchess again.” Her voice shook as she repeated the cruel, heartless words.

Pulling her to him, he wrapped her in his arms, pressing his lips to her hairline. “You were always going to be the duchess; do you hear me?” He pulled away, making eye contact with her. He wanted her to know. She had to understand that there never had never been a choice for him. The choice was made the moment he met her when he was a boy. “It was you, and that is why he did everything in his power to separate us because he knew that I was never going to give you up. Never, my brilliant, beautiful Kitten.”

Pippa closed her eyes. A few stray tears fell, and he caught them with the tip of his thumbs.

“Chauncey.” She whispered his name like a prayer on her decadent lips. He had to taste them, to prove to her that she was always meant to be his—his wife, his duchess.

It didn’t matter that they had started a friendship as children. What mattered is that they had ended up together.

Pressing a soft, adoring kiss to her lips, St. Clara sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, teasing the plump flesh with his tongue. Holding her in place, he repeated his actions to her top lip, licking and teasing, before he kissed her fully on the mouth. Pippa held on to his neck as he dropped his hands, lifting her off the ground. His body responded to her, and dear god, he wanted her again, but this wasn’t about carnal desire. It was about...

She needed to know how he felt for her, how he’d always felt.

Their kiss lasted minutes, deepening more with every brush and the caressing of tongues. He loved the taste of his wife, sweet and savory like every delectable part of her. He longed to taste her essence again, to have her cry out his name in passion. The orangery seemed like a lifetime ago, and he wanted to forget everything and stay here with her.

“Your Grace—oh, dear lord!” Mrs. Morris cried, forcing St. Clara to put down his wife gently and face the elderly woman.

Mrs. Morris now had her back to the couple, her small body bouncing up and down nervously, her hands patting at her face.

Pippa’s face was a bright shade of red, and St. Clara struggled to contain his laughter at the situation. “Yes, Mrs. Morris?” He addressed the housekeeper coolly, trying not to show any signs of embarrassment, unlike his wife who was now finding the tapestry interesting.

“Here are keys to the Queen Anne rooms you requested, Your Grace.” Mrs. Morris handed him over the keys rather quickly before bobbing a quick curtsey and scurrying away.

Laughing, St. Clara walked up to his wife, taking her into his arms. “You should see how red your cheeks are. I thought I was the only reason you turned that color.”

“Stop it!” She swatted at his shoulder. “I should’ve never allowed you to seduce me out in the open.” She tried to free herself from his grip, but he would not have any of it.

Bending down, he traced her cheek with his lips, kissing her silky-smooth skin. “Don’t judge me, you little minx. I wasn’t the one who had their wicked way with me in the orangery.”

“That was different.” She pierced him with an intense stare, a devious quirk at the corner of her mouth.

“How so?” he asked, trying to ignore the weight of the key in his left hand. He wanted to forget everything and be with his wife, but he knew he couldn’t leave the castle without looking through his mother’s things.

He needed to face the past. The castle could be a home for them … and their children. He just needed to convince his wife to never leave him.

“I wanted you.” Her reply was simple and easy as if she was discussing the newest scientific discovery.

He kissed her, claiming her lips with his, dipping his tongue to taste and explore. When he released her, they both were panting. “I always want you.”

“What do you want the keys for?” she asked.