Page 12 of The Duke’s Untouched Bride (Regency Second Chances #3)

Owen’s hands clenched at his sides, and she saw the war playing out across his features.

Whatever walls he’d built were cracking, and it terrified him.

The realization sent a strange thrill through her; she affected him.

Despite his coldness, despite the careful distance, she had the power to unsettle him.

“How?” The question came out breathier than she intended. “How am I dangerous to you?”

His hands rose to cup her face. They were warm and rough and reverent all at once.

Her breath hitched. That simple touch undid something in her. It loosened the tight braid of restraint she’d clung to for days.

“You make me forget myself,” he said hoarsely. “Forget what I said I’d never want. Never need.”

His pupils dilated, and for one charged heartbeat, they stood there. She watched as his control frayed before her eyes.

Then, his control snapped.

His mouth claimed hers with a desperation that stole her breath.

This was nothing like the awkward peck at their wedding. This was fire and frustration, a year of silence exploding into desperate contact. His lips were firm and demanding. They coaxed responses from her she didn’t know she could give.

Iris’s hands fisted in his waistcoat. She could not say if she meant to push him away or pull him closer. She’d imagined kissing him properly so many times during their long separation, but her imagination had been a pale shadow of reality.

He tasted of wine and something darker, more intoxicating. When his tongue traced the seam of her lips, she opened for him without thinking.

The sound he made, low and rough, sent heat through her. His hands slid into her hair and sent pins scattering across the dining room floor with soft metallic clinks.

He backed her up against the table. The edge pressed into her spine through the layers of silk and stays.

She didn’t care. All that mattered was his mouth on hers, his hands tangled in her hair, and the solid weight of him pressing closer. One of his hands left her hair to span her waist. He pulled her against him until she could feel the rapid beat of his heart through his waistcoat.

This was what she’d imagined on her wedding night.

This desperate need, this connection that went beyond words.

She could taste his hunger and feel the tremor in his hands as he held her.

He was coming undone just as she was. All that famous control was crumbling beneath the force of whatever this was between them.

Her own hands had somehow found their way to his hair, messing the carefully styled dark strands. He groaned when she tugged gently and the sound vibrated through her.

She felt powerful suddenly, knowing she could affect him this way. That beneath all his walls and distance, he wanted her.

A thin wail pierced the air.

They broke apart, breathing hard.

Iris’s lips felt swollen and sensitive. She could still taste him and feel the phantom pressure of his mouth on hers. His hair was thoroughly mussed where her fingers had tangled in it. His eyes were wild.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other. Both were stunned by what had just happened.

Evie’s cries grew louder and more insistent.

“I should…” Iris’s voice came out rough. She cleared her throat, trying to gather her scattered wits. “I need to go.”

He stepped back immediately. The loss of his warmth was almost painful. “Of course.”

She moved toward the door on unsteady legs and paused at the threshold. When she looked back, he was gripping the back of his chair so hard that his knuckles had gone white. His cravat was askew, and his waistcoat wrinkled where she’d gripped it.

He looked thoroughly unraveled.

“Go,” he ground out. “Before I do something we’ll both regret.”

His dismissal hurt more than it should have. But Evie’s cries were becoming frantic, so Iris fled up the stairs. Her lips still tingled from his kiss. Her hair remained half down because the pins were lost somewhere on the dining room floor.

I must look frightful.

The thought crossed her mind, but as Evie’s cries intensified, Iris decided not to care about her own appearance.

She found Sally pacing the nursery while holding a red-faced Evie in her arms.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace. She won’t settle. I’ve tried everything.”

“It’s all right.” Iris took the baby, who immediately quieted. “Thank you, Sally. I’ll take over from here.”

The maid bobbed a curtsey and left, though not before casting a curious glance at Iris’s disheveled appearance.

Iris sank into the rocking chair with Evie cradled against her chest. The baby’s cries had softened to hiccups and her tiny fist clutched at Iris’s necklace.

“There now,” Iris murmured. “All that fuss for nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing, was it?

That kiss had changed everything. Or perhaps it had simply revealed what had always been there, simmering beneath the surface.

The Duke had called her dangerous. The memory of his rough whisper sent fresh heat through her. Her lips still felt tender, and she could taste him faintly when she ran her tongue over them.

Is that why he’d left? Not because he felt nothing, but because he felt too much?

She rocked slowly, trying to calm her racing heart. Her body still hummed with unfulfilled desire. Every nerve ending felt alive in a way she’d never experienced.

If Evie hadn’t cried, how far would they have gone?

Go. Before I do something we’ll both regret.

The thought made her cheeks burn.

What did he mean? What could happen between them that they both would regret?

Evie’s breathing evened out and her grip on the necklace loosened as sleep pulled her under. Iris continued rocking and allowed her mind to spin.

What happened now? Would her husband retreat even further and use this moment of weakness as an excuse to rebuild his walls? Or would he finally let her in?

The house settled into quiet around her. Somewhere below, she heard the Duke’s study door close. He’d retreat into his work now. He would use ledgers and contracts to avoid thinking about what had passed between them. And tomorrow, he’d pretend it had never happened.

But Iris wouldn’t forget the heat of his mouth, the desperation in his touch, or the raw honesty when he’d admitted to wanting her. She would continue to hear the way he’d groaned when she’d touched his hair, as if she’d unlocked something primal within him.

She touched her lips gently, still feeling the ghost of his kiss. Her hair remained half-undone, and she could feel where his hands had tangled in it.

She’d been patient for a year. She could be patient a little longer. For Evie’s sake, yes, but also for her own. Because buried beneath her husband’s fears and walls was a man worth knowing.

She’d glimpsed him tonight. She’d felt him in the desperate press of his lips and the tremor in his hands.

And she wanted more.