Page 45 of His Arranged Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #5)

“I just…” he broke off, seeming almost annoyed to be groping for the words.

“It’s just that when you came into my life, Frances, I found myself at a loss.

All my life, I have known the right thing to do.

I knew how to behave to get my father to turn his attention elsewhere.

I knew how to charm, how to make friends if I wished.

When James pushed our father out of this tower, I knew at once that I had to take the blame.

When I was abroad and the letters stopped coming, I knew that I had to return.

And then you came along, and suddenly I did not know what to do. ”

He took a tentative step closer, the warmth of his body seeping into her skin. He lifted a hand, letting his fingertips slide down the curve of Frances’s cheek.

“I was at a loss, but I could not admit it,” he whispered. “I tried to regain control. I tried to stay composed, to convince myself that this was a marriage of convenience and nothing more.”

Frances’s breath caught in her throat. “Is it not just a marriage of convenience?”

He gave a slow, wry smile. “I suspect that you already know the answer to that, my dear. You have been the most inconvenient woman I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Wallflower, indeed!”

Frances stared up at him, her chest tightening.

“You care for me?” she said, almost to herself.

Lucien took another step closer, cupping her face in his hands. They were chest to chest now, and Frances felt for all the world as if she were on fire.

“I love you, Frances,” he whispered, eyes fixed on her face. “I am not sure I can live without you.”

Her breath hitched in her throat. Almost without thinking, Frances surged up on her tiptoes, flinging her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his.

Lucien caught her up at once, lifting her off the ground and pressing her against him, returning her kiss.

Every inch of her was on fire. Frances wound her arms tightly around his shoulders, pulling him towards her.

They broke apart, gasping for breath, and Lucien pressed a hot, hasty kiss to the side of her neck.

“I have thought of nothing but you, Frances,” he whispered urgently. “Please, say that you forgive me.”

“I wish you would forgive me,” she responded at once, pulling back to look him in the face. Her feet were still dangling high above the floor, and there was a sort of delightful helplessness about the whole situation. “I should have tried harder to understand.”

“Perhaps we can begin again?”

She nodded eagerly. “We should start right at the beginning.”

He tilted his head to one side, heat gradually dawning in his eyes. “We could begin on our wedding night.”

Frances felt a smile creep across her face. “I should like that very much.”

He kissed her again, and Frances closed her eyes and sank into the sensations. Her chest constricted, but pleasantly so, and she felt the familiar spark of desire in her stomach.

Lucien crossed the room with her in his arms, loosening her robe as he went, and gently set her down on the chaise . The velvet was soft and luxurious against her skin.

He kissed her again, his hands sliding down the curve of her hip and resting on her thigh. Supporting himself over her, he pulled back, gaze soft.

“You’re beautiful, Frances,” he whispered.

She smiled, flushing. “I believe you might have said that before.”

“Have I? Well, you ought to get used to it, as I’ll be saying it many more times.”

He kissed her again, bunching the nightgown in his hands until she felt the brush of his fingertips on bare skin.

Closing her eyes, Frances parted her thighs, allowing him to slide his hand upwards to her core once more.

He moved more languidly than before. Impatient, she moved to touch his wrist, intending to hint that he should speed up his movements.

Abruptly, Lucien gave a low, wry laugh and seized both of her wrists in one of his hands, pulling her arms above her head and pinning them to the pillow above her. Frances’s eyes flew open, and she gasped.

His grip was not hard, but she knew without trying that she would not be able to wriggle free easily. Of course, if she should begin to struggle, Lucien would release her immediately, but even so, there was something truly thrilling in it all.

“Now, now,” he chided. “Don’t be impatient.”

Color flooded Frances’s cheeks, and her breath hitched in her throat. He resumed his ministrations, pleasure building up inside her with agonizing slowness.

After a few moments, he released her wrists, but Frances obediently kept her arms above her head. Grinning wickedly, Lucien sat back on his heels. His hands dropped to his waistband, and Frances watched with fascination as he freed himself, leaning forward to kiss her again.

“We can stop here, if you wish it,” he whispered.

“Stop?” she echoed. “Don’t you dare.”

He chuckled against her skin, the vibrations thrilling through her. “Breathe, my love.”

He pushed inside her slowly, giving Frances ample time to accommodate to the new feeling.

It was strange, and at first she could not decide whether she liked it.

Then he began to move, slow at first, then gradually increasing in pace.

Something sparked inside her, and Frances sucked in a ragged breath, arching her back.

Lucien growled, low in his throat, and reached up to pin her wrists once more. He trailed the pad of his thumb tenderly across the inside of one of her wrists, and Frances closed her eyes.

Pleasure built up quickly inside her now, a determined rhythm that matched Lucien’s movements.

His hips stuttered, and Frances bit her lower lip hard enough to taste copper.

He leaned down, impulsively kissing the sore spot on her lip, and her climax rushed upon her without warning.

Gasping, Frances wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held on tightly while the aftershocks rushed through her.

He groaned roughly, pressing himself against her, and gradually slowed.

They lay like that for a moment, until Lucien abruptly lifted himself up onto his elbows. He was flushed, sweat beading on his brow, and stared at her in a disoriented, dazed sort of way.

“Forgive me,” he whispered. “I’m crushing you with my weight.”

Frances, still out of breath, reached up to touch the sharp line of his jaw. “No, I like it, oddly enough.”

He broke into a smile at that, and leaned down to give her a quick, hasty kiss—rather chaste, considering the circumstances—and rolled onto his side.

“Did I mention,” Frances offered faintly, “that I love you, too?

“You did not, but I think I should like to hear you say it again.”

“Very well,” she twisted onto her side too, propping herself up on her elbow and smiling down at him. “Lucien, you insufferable man, I quite adore you.”