The Duke's hand slid around to her front, finding the curve of her breast and squeezing it through her corset. Gemma heard a soft moan escape her, hardly able to believe such a wanton, unrestrained noise had come from her own mouth.
At the back of her mind, her rational brain was screaming. Stop this! At once! But the pleasure that was building inside her was far too great to resist.
The Duke's broad hand slid down over her ribs and down to the top of her thighs.
Gemma heard herself gasp and could feel dampness gathering beneath her legs.
She dug her hands into the Duke's hair, craving more of him.
Tried to angle her body against his so he might touch her where she needed it the most.
“Please,” she whispered against his lips. “Please.”
With his mouth still locked against hers, the Duke's hand slid between their bodies, moving over Gemma's gray skirts. His fingers skimmed over the silky material, and for a fleeting second, grazed the heat between her legs. She heard herself cry out, and he swallowed the sound between his lips.
He pulled away suddenly, leaving Gemma breathless. She caught herself suddenly before she could voice her protests.
A devilish smile appeared on the Duke's lips. “A good quality, wouldn't you say?”
Gemma's cheeks blazed. “How dare you?” she managed, but her voice was trapped in her throat. She knew well enough that her actions spoke for themselves. The Duke just laughed.
Gemma straightened her shoulders and tried to smooth the creases from her skirt. Tried to ignore the desperate pulsing between her thighs. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
The Duke shrugged airily and sank back onto the chaise. “Perhaps I should. But you are the one who seems to be blushing.”
Gemma gritted her teeth. She fought the urge to slap the self-satisfied smile off his face. Fought the urge to throw herself onto the chaise longue and beg him to finish what he had started.
Never would I give him that satisfaction!
On shaky legs, she made her way over to the door again and tried the handle.
Still, it refused to budge. She bent to peek through the keyhole, but as far as she could tell, the passage beyond was empty.
Drawing in a breath to steady herself, she turned back to face the Duke.
Her heart was still pounding and the very sight of him sprawled back on the chaise made the warmth in her cheeks intensify.
His dark hair was slightly tousled, and the faint redness of his lips hinted at her ravaging. But beyond that, he looked completely unflapped. How could he look so relaxed after what they had just done? Was such a thing really so commonplace for him that he might manage to look utterly unfazed?
Gemma knew the answer as soon as the thought had formed. While the Duke of Larsen might have been the first and only man to have elicited such a reaction from her, she knew she was just one in a long string of ladies to have felt his lips against her own.
She perched back on the edge of the pianoforte bench and squeezed her hands together.
“Forgive me,” said the Duke after a moment. “You are right. I should be ashamed of myself. I should not have… mistreated you in such a way. I shan't do it again. I promise.”
Gemma blinked, caught off guard by what seemed a genuine apology.
She nodded, barely trusting herself to speak.
“Thank you,” she managed. She kept her eyes glued to her folded hands.
“What will you do?” she dared to ask. “About Miss Henford? Will you marry her, even knowing all the dreadful things she said about your family? And about her plans to rid Larsen Manor of your mother and grandmother?”
The Duke sighed. “I don't know,” he admitted. He rubbed a hand over his square jaw. “I feel it is too late to change my mind. We are to be married in two days' time.”
“But you do not wish to marry her.”
“I do not wish to marry anyone at all,” he said flatly.
Gemma found herself smiling. It was such a rare thing to find someone else in the ton who shared her aversion to marriage. Although she felt quite certain that the Duke's reasons were very different from her own.
“You do not wish for an heir?” she asked him.
He shrugged. “I do not wish for an heir, no,” he said. “It is merely what is required of me.”
Gemma smiled faintly. What is required of me was an all-too-familiar concept to her as well.
“I do not wish to be married either,” she told him.
But as she spoke, she became suddenly aware that, by shunning marriage, she would also be giving up the chance to feel the kind of pleasure that the Duke had just made her feel.
Would be giving up the chance to see where such a thing might lead.
Because though she was doing her best to keep her face expressionless, and her mind on the conversation at hand, she was aware of her eyes drifting to the Duke's lips.
His hands. And once, treacherously, toward that bulge beneath his breeches.
She longed to feel those hands, those lips, back on her body.
Longed to experience the heights they might take her to.
Half an hour ago, Gemma had had no qualms with eschewing her wifely duties. Sacrificing the chance to ever feel a man inside her. But now she found herself craving it. And those wifely duties… they felt like anything but an obligation.
How can I be thinking such things about a rake like the Duke of Larsen?
She prayed her desire did not show on her face. Regardless of the passion with which he had kissed her, Gemma had no doubt that, once this party was over, the Duke of Larsen would never think of her again.
The knowledge stung inexplicably. Gemma cursed herself. How could she be bothered by such knowledge when she had come to this party in the first place to celebrate his wedding ?
“You do not wish to marry?” the Duke repeated.
“You sound surprised.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I assumed all young ladies wished to marry.”
Gemma snorted. “What a limited understanding you must have of young ladies.”
The Duke gave her a frail smile that she struggled to read. “I suspect you may be right.”
“Why should I wish to spend my life as nothing but a means for a gentleman to produce an heir?” said Gemma. “Am I not worth more than that?”
A smile appeared in the corner of the Duke's lips, but he did not speak.
“In any case, it is not as though I have a choice in the matter,” Gemma continued.
“Marriage is what is expected of me, particularly given my father's situation.” She could hardly believe she was speaking of such things to the Duke.
But there was something about his own openness and honesty that made her feel oddly comfortable in his presence.
What a strange thing , Gemma thought distantly, given after all that just passed between us.
“I am sorry you feel that way,” said the Duke. He got to his feet, folding his arms across his chest and peering down at Gemma. “This aversion to marriage. Would it have anything to do with your reputation?”
“My reputation?” Gemma repeated her voice hardening. “What exactly do you mean by that, Your Grace?”
Infuriatingly nonchalant, the Duke shrugged a shoulder. “Gentlemen in the ton do not seem to warm to you. I merely wondered if perhaps your disinterest in marriage was because, as far as the men in your circle are concerned, the feeling is mutual.”
Gemma clenched her jaw, that familiar anger at the Duke returning hurriedly. She glared at him. How could I have even considered opening up to him as I did? What was I thinking?
At once, all the empathy she felt toward him over his marriage to Miss Henford disintegrated.
An arrogant, outspoken man like him deserved an unhappy life.
Gemma stood, boldly taking a step toward him and tilting her head back to look him in the eye.
He was almost a whole head taller than her, but she refused to let that rattle her.
“Do I have to remind you,” she began, forcing herself to keep her voice level, “that you seemed to warm to me? Very much, in fact.” Her ears grew hot as she spoke; she could hardly believe she was daring to put words to what had gone on between the two of them.
Perhaps the Duke would protest that he had been too intoxicated to know what he was doing when he had climbed into bed with her.
And that he had been merely playing with her when he had taken her in his arms just minutes ago.
But Gemma knew better. She had felt his arousal.
Had witnessed what the feel of her body had done to him.
And she knew that not even a cocky, self-assured man like the Duke of Larsen could deny such things.
She looked at him squarely. “I hardly think what you showed me could be classified as disinterest .”
The Duke's lips parted, but no words escaped. Gemma could tell he was taken aback by her outburst, and there was something immensely satisfying about rendering him speechless.
“Well,” he said finally. His voice came out husky, trapped in his throat. “I—” He stopped speaking suddenly as the lock clicked and the door to the music room flew open.
Gemma exhaled in relief and rushed toward the door.
“What…?” Lord Anderson stepped into the room, a puzzled expression on his face at finding the two of them alone.
“Was this your doing, Anderson?” the Duke demanded, getting to his feet. “Did my grandmother put you up to it?”
The Baron glanced quickly over his shoulder into the corridor, then back at Gemma and the Duke. “What on earth are you talking about? And what on earth are you two doing in here?”
“Nothing.” Gemma shoved her way past him. “I am leaving.” And she was out the door before either man could respond.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9 (Reading here)
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57