Page 17 of Love, the Duke (Say I Do #3)
C HAPTER 17
MAN’S PRACTICAL GUIDE TO APPREHENDING A THIEF
SIR BENTLY ASHTON ULLINGSWICK
Don’t lose your heart in the search.
Ophelia’s stomach jumped with anxious trepidation and excitement as the last guest left and Hurst closed the front door. Her mother had retired to her room in the duke’s house over an hour ago, claiming exhaustion. Which Ophelia knew to be true.
There was no longer anyone between her and the duke and their wedding night. There were plenty of jittery feelings inside and they weren’t all about how the wedding night would proceed. Some were concerning the fact that the dowager duchess was going to find out more about the man who collected religious artifacts. The thought she might know by tomorrow who that man was and possibly if he was the thief only added to her stomach feeling as if it were tied in knots.
While all the busy preparations for the hastily planned wedding were being carried out, Ophelia realized she was actually looking forward to finding out the mysteries of the marriage bed. It wasn’t something that was talked about in her house, and not something she would bother her mother with to add to her stress and worry. But from various readings through her educational studies, and the occasional forbidden conversations with newly married young ladies at the parish, she had an idea of what coupling was.
When Hurst turned to her, she immediately threw her arms around his neck, hugged him tightly, and kissed his smoothly shaved cheek three short times.
His hands circled her waist, almost spanning it from the tips of his middle fingers to his thumbs. “I’m glad you are so happy to finally be alone with me.”
“Yes, I am.” As she suddenly felt shy at her forward reaction, she let her arms slither down his chest and drop to her sides. “It was a lingering afternoon. I’m glad it’s over, but the hug and kisses I just gave you were a way of saying thank you.”
Merriment danced in his eyes, delighting her. His fingers spread out over her hips and tightened around her. “You don’t have to thank me for marrying you.”
She smiled softly at his teasing words. “I do. A thank-you is always in order when someone does something wonderfully nice, and you did that when you told Wyatt and Rick my plight. I thank them too for relaying the details of it to their wives, and then Edwina for thinking the dowager might know someone, and—”
Before Ophelia could gather her next breath, Hurst had nestled her up against his chest and was kissing her fully on the mouth, cutting off her words. She had no time to catch herself or resist. Moments later, she didn’t want to. The kiss was unexpected and passionate from the first touch of their lips coming together. His demanding lips seared hers with urgency that momentarily confused her with his intensity.
There was no slow buildup of soothingly soft raindrop kisses and intimate caresses that slowly chipped away at her tensions and insecurities, as was the case the last time they embraced so intimately. Feeling as if a magical spell had been cast upon her, she fell right in line with his eagerness.
By instinct, she slipped her arms inside his coat and around his waist, holding him tightly to her before skimming her hands up his broad back to draw him closer. She wanted to feel his heart beating against his warm, firm, and muscular chest.
“I have been waiting all afternoon to hold and kiss you like this,” he whispered into her mouth.
Ophelia didn’t know what she said in response, or if she even tried to talk, but a deep-rooted moan of pleasure seemed to be what flowed past her lips in answer that she had been waiting as well. She only knew it was exhilarating to know of his deep desire.
The strong hardness of his kiss chiseled away at her innocence, concerning the depth of urgency two people could desire and share at the same time. His tongue swept into her mouth, searching and commanding. She joined the forceful passion of his embrace, allowing herself to feel and encourage all that he offered. His mouth, clinging to hers with such hunger, was a new experience and she wanted to embrace it all. Their breaths came together in ragged pants of eagerness that neither of them seemed to want to slow down.
He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “No more talk of anything about your search for the thief, the chalice, or who might be able to help you tonight. Nothing can be done about any of your worries until tomorrow. There will be talk of you and me,” he murmured against her skin as his lips left hers and kissed his way down the column of her throat to the neckline of her clothing and back up again. “Everything else will be for another time,” he whispered.
With her locked tightly in his arms, his lips moving so sensually over hers, swirls of delicious heat spiraled through her. She wanted to bask in the sensations and think of nothing else but how wonderful her husband made her feel.
“None,” she readily agreed.
He kissed her deeply, drawing the breath from her body as she shuddered in response. His tongue brushed and traced the fullness of her lower lip before he whispered, “I only want to hear your sighs and gasps and the way you moan when I—”
Sounds of masculine voices nearby broke them apart in an instant. A ragged gulp of air escaped past Ophelia’s lips when the kiss ended so abruptly. Her heartbeat throbbed with the emptiness of pleasure left unfinished.
Hurst ran a hand through his hair a couple of times with a frustrated scoff. But then he looked at her and smiled. “I fear you might be dangerous to have in the house, my duchess. You make me forget there are others around when you are in my arms.”
“I am becoming acquainted with that absentmindedness,” she answered, straightening her velvet spencer properly on her shoulders after their flurry of madcap kissing that still had her wondering, even hoping there would be more of the thrilling passion he’d already shown her. If so, she was quite certain that she would enjoy marriage.
Mr. Mallord came around the corner, stopped, and bowed. “I’m sorry, Your Graces. Mr. Gilbert asked me to check the front door. I’ll come back another time.”
“Wait,” Hurst said to the footman, studying his face. “I think I’ve seen you before. Do I know you?”
“He’s Mr. Mallord,” Ophelia spoke up. “The footman who came with us to London and is now in your employ.”
“He looks familiar.” He turned from Ophelia to Mr. Mallord. “Have we met before?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” He looked at Ophelia as if seeking her help. “Months ago, I delivered a letter to you from the vicar and waited for a response.”
“At the hunting lodge.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“I remember now.” Hurst paused. “We’re glad to have you here. That will be all, Mr. Mallord.”
He nodded, turned, and walked away.
“He’s a very thorough man.”
“We’ve always thought that. He also worked for my father for a short time. It was very kind of you to take our staff so that we didn’t have to turn them off.”
“I was pleased to do it for you.” Hurst picked up her hand and kissed it. “You go on up to your room and I’ll join you shortly.”
“All right,” she agreed, still feeling as if she couldn’t take in enough air. A little time to settle down and collect her thoughts would be good. She headed toward the stairs.
“Ophelia?” he called as her foot landed on the first step.
She stopped and turned back to him. “Yes?”
He gave her a twitch of a smile. “Dismiss your maid for the night. You won’t need her.”
That thought concerned and excited her as she climbed the stairs, made her way to her room, and did as he requested. She had always thought a lady’s maid helped the bride get ready for the wedding night. Believing Hurst knew more about what was to take place, she didn’t question him. It was possible for Ophelia to eventually work her way out of the half stays she was wearing without help. She could easily reach her back and untie the tightly held bow and work the laces loose so she could manage.
After her maid closed the door behind her, Ophelia looked around and wondered what she should do. A fire burned in the fireplace and the room was warm. Draperies had been drawn on both windows. On the tables that flanked the bed, lamps were lit but burning low. Another was on her dressing chest, giving the room plenty of comforting light. The white covers on the bed had been turned down and her best night rail had been laid out on top of them. All seemed inviting and tranquil.
The duke was coming to her room. That was good to know. She had wondered whether they would lie in her bed or his for their coming together. No one had told her. Her parents had only had one room to share. She hadn’t known until arriving at the duke’s house that morning and being shown to her room to dress for the wedding that she and the duke would have separate rooms with an adjoining door. She supposed she could get used to that.
If she was to ready herself for the night, she should get started. The first thing she did was remove her velvet spencer and leave on her sleeveless gown. After making herself comfortable on the stool in front of her dressing mirror, she removed her hat, fingering the netting as she laid it aside. Thinking about how quickly Hurst had taken care of the bee and what a disaster that could have been if he hadn’t. Too, it couldn’t have come at a more perfect time to cover the vicar’s muddling of the vows. No one seemed to notice and the chaos that would have followed if she had started wildly swatting at a bee was averted.
More important than anything was that Hurst had kept his word to her and that filled her with love for him. Love? Were her feelings love? Maybe they were.
With her hat off, she took the pins from her hair and was brushing the long length of it when the door between their bedrooms opened. Hurst walked in carrying two glasses of champagne and dressed only in his shirt and trousers. Even his feet were bare. In such a simple state of undress, it was easy to see his wide chest and shoulders, tapered waist, and muscular thighs in his formal trousers.
Ophelia had never seen a man so scantily attired, and the sight of him caused a shameless, primitive flame of desire to rush to her feminine core, curl, and blossom into an amazing feeling of yearning. It was close to madness that he could stimulate her just by the way he looked, and the way he was looking at her with such sensuality her skin pebbled with expectant shivers.
She placed her brush on the dresser, rose from the stool, and accepted the drink when he stopped in front of her.
“You look a little confused. Have you never seen a duke serve champagne before?”
“Certainly not one who wasn’t properly dressed.”
“Ah, I understand,” he said with a nod. “That means you’ve probably never seen a man without a shirt.”
“Never,” she answered, her gaze sweeping down to the open V neckline of his shirt stopped just below the hollow of his throat. “Not even my father or brother. They never left their rooms until they were properly attired.”
“That is not surprising. They probably never removed their coats and collars in front of you either. I must warn you that you will often see me without mine when we are in our chambers.”
It worried her a little that the duke wasn’t smiling but seeming quite somber for the occasion of the night. “That will be all right. You look quite comfortable.”
“There’s something I want to say before we go any farther with the wedding night.”
Ophelia’s heart felt as if it jumped to her throat and her body went rigid. Had she done something wrong? When she was filled with all these beautiful feelings for him that were too deep to express with words. What was he going to say to her?