Page 12 of Her Temporary Duke (Rakes and Roses #2)

S eth knew the feel and the taste of a woman. He knew the art of lovemaking and thought there could be nothing new to him in the sensual sphere.

He was wrong.

This was something else entirely. Amelia melted into his arms as many women had done before. He had not expected it, had banked on the opposite.

She is launching herself into passion when I thought she would push me away and slap my face.

He felt grating frustration and disappointment, but only momentarily.

As her fingers wound through his hair, pulling it tight and holding his head, thought fled from a mind consumed by desire.

Even the voice at the back of his mind, which told him that seduction was counter to all of his plans and would undo everything, was muted.

A thrill ran tingling through him at the thought of how proprietorial her touch was. Unbidden, he remembered her words to Baroness Eastwick. Calm, confident, and decisive.

I will give up women as my hobby, will I? For you, Amelia – you make a hard bargain…

He felt like she was staking a claim to him.

He had been claimed by many women in his adult life.

All had learned the fallacy of that claim when he abandoned them to flit to the next pretty face, full bosom, or twinkling eye.

But in this moment, he was prepared to let Amelia fasten chains of desire around him and draw them tight.

With a low growl of satisfaction, he swept her up into his arms. Her surprised gasp—a delighted squeak, really—sent a pulse of arousal through him that stole his reason. It thrilled him, that tiny sound. Proof that he could unravel her, that her pleasure was his doing.

He lowered them onto the divan, sitting with her astride him, her weight pressing down on the hardened length straining beneath his trousers.

He grunted at the contact, the pleasure of it almost too much.

Her kisses were fervent, each contact driving reason deeper into his mind, drowning it in desire and base instinct.

Her mouth found his neck. He tilted his head back with a shudder, lips parting as she kissed down to the place that always made him weak.

As the massage of her hot lips against his coarse skin lingered, he whispered her name. It escaped his lips without being consciously uttered. He liked the way it sounded in lust. He wanted to say it again, until it became a sin, a prayer, a spell.

But then—stillness.

Her breath, quick and shallow, brushed his damp skin. He felt her go still, muscles tensing in his arms.

She lifted her head.

And he was utterly undone.

Her cheeks were flushed rose, and her eyes bright, heavily lidded with desire. Her lips glittered, and her bosom heaved. An angel, in all its divine perfection, could not have appeared more alluring in that moment.

She was beautiful. No, not beautiful— transcendent . And in that moment, Seth forgot every lie, every scheme, every reason he had for keeping his heart guarded.

“This is not right,” Amelia breathed, pushing against him.

For a moment, he held on, arms tightening instinctively, not wanting to release her. When her pushing became more urgent, he let her go. She stood and took a few quick steps across the room, smoothing her skirts and flicking her hair from her face.

“Why?” he croaked, almost flushing at his own desperation.

Amelia glanced around, turning as though searching for something she had lost.

“Just... we are not married, and... it is just... not right. It is wrong. We must not,” she babbled.

Seth frowned, leaning forward with elbows on his knees, hands clasped. He tried to govern his desire for her, refusing to let it rule him.

She was desirable. He did want to bed her. But there were more important priorities than that.

His freedom.

How long was left on the marriage clause? A month? No more than two, certainly. Two months at most to escape this last arranged betrothal and make it seem like it was not his fault.

“I do not regard it as wrong. We are betrothed and merely doing something that every betrothed couple do. At least those that are happy having a little fun.”

She gaped at him. “Well, then, I am happy to be someone who dislikes fun . We will not... do this until we are married. That is what is decent and proper.”

She sounded like she was trying to convince herself. Seth rose, grinning like a rogue. The smile that women who knew him expected to see. And thought they could resist.

“There, we disagree,” he murmured, inching closer to her, “I think that we are promised to each other, and it helps our future marriage to get to know our mutual needs and explore our... desires.”

He reached out to stroke her raven hair, but she stepped back quickly.

Her reaction was precisely what he wanted, but he recognized the disappointment that lay deep down.

It was irrational, but he also wanted to see his advances reciprocated and enjoyed.

It would not serve his ultimate goal, but part of him didn’t care.

She is dangerous. If I am not careful, she will bewitch me, and I will not care when the shackles close about my ankles.

“I shall go and keep company with my Aunt Phyllis. I will see you at dinner,” Amelia burst and practically dashed from the room.

A woman trying as hard as I not to give in to lust. But why?

Was it Puritanical morality? Or something else?

Seth shook his head, walking through the hallway and then into his own chambers. With a bellpull, he summoned Blythe, his butler, sitting before the fire in his bedchamber as he waited. Blythe appeared momentarily.

“You rang, milord?”

“Yes, Blythe. I have some particular requirements for tonight’s dinner. I would like only one servant and would make it the new girl, what’s her name?”

“ Perkins , Your Grace… Elizabeth Perkins…” Blythe sounded almost aghast, “But Your Grace, she is young and inexperienced. She is not ready to serve alone at supper. I would be happy to—”

“No, it must be Perkins,” Seth commanded.

“Your Grace. I fear that would be putting undue pressure on the girl. It would not be fair,” the butler protested.

“Those are my orders, Blythe,” Seth said with finality, “see they are carried out.”

Blythe hesitated a moment, then nodded his head reluctantly.

“Very good, Your Grace. It shall be as you command. Will there be anything else?”

“Ah, yes. Fetch me brandy,” he instructed.

If Amelia was offended by his advances, good . It would surely accelerate the end of their betrothal. To that end, he would make life at Hillcrest as unpalatable a prospect as he could.

By the time supper arrived, Seth had imbibed several brandies in his rooms. He did not change his clothes and ambled downstairs to the dining room, carrying a fresh glass.

The Willoughbys and Amelia were already seated, though the table was only half set.

He wondered how long they had been waiting and judged it to be longer than would be considered acceptable by Lady Prescott’s relieved visage as Seth entered the room.

“Ah, good evening, Your Grace. I was beginning to think I had misremembered the time for dinner,” Lady Prescott chuckled awkwardly.

“You did not. I am late. Thank you for pointing it out,” Seth remarked, depositing himself at the head of the table.

“It is customary to apologize for keeping your guests waiting,” Amelia ushered into the silence as Lady Prescott paled.

“I am not a friend of custom,” Seth replied with a sly smirk. Perhaps that is a part of my education you can help me address as my wife. Here’s to my education!”

He raised the glass above his head as though in a toast. Then he noticed the empty glasses next to each place setting. Elizabeth Perkins was hurrying around the table with jangling cutlery, trying to complete the setting.

“For heaven’s sake, girl!” Seth barked, “My guests have not even been served an aperitif. Sherry, girl! At once!”

Perkins jumped at the snap in his tone and dropped the cutlery, which clattered to the floor.

Lady Prescott jerked too. Amelia glared at Seth before pushing her chair back and standing.

She began to help the maid pick up the cutlery, smiling kindly at her.

Seth saw the young woman’s hands trembling and felt guilt at the fright he had given her.

It is all for the greater good. Once this is over, you will not have to put up with me, Elizabeth Perkins, as I do not intend to set foot in this house again.

“That is a servant’s job,” Seth intoned, tossing back an unhealthy swallow of brandy.

“As you said upon greeting us today, traditionally, the wives in your family often partake in chores,” Amelia pointed out, “now, sherry for three? Or do you wish to join us?”

Seth felt silly at his overbearing act. He glowered at her as she cheerfully dispensed glasses of sherry to her family. Once all had a glass in their hand, Amelia raised her own.

“Now then, what was your toast, Your Grace?”

“It was so long ago, I quite forgot,” Seth shot back, draining the last of his brandy. “I will have another of these while you are up.”

If this does not send her running, then nothing will, short of my proclaiming myself a devil worshipper or a republican.

“I think that you have had quite enough,” Amelia frowned, taking her seat, “but I see a decanter has been brought out if you wish to serve yourself.”

Her self-control was remarkable. Seth narrowed his eyes, trying to fathom her game.

What is it that she desires so greatly that she will endure such provocation? She is wealthier than Catherine Halsey and with more social capital than Sarah Vickers. Both could not stand me and broke the betrothal. What does she hope to gain?

Nor for the first time, he considered that she was in league with Tharpe Monkton. But then he seemed positively gleeful at the prospect of the marriage clause being defaulted on. The problem with playing a drunkard was that the act eventually became a reality.