Page 15 of Unraveled by the Duke (Scandalous Duchesses #1)
Inside, Celia felt mossy wood beneath her feet. A ladder stood in the middle of the room, leading up into a hole in the ceiling. Alexander ascended, and Celia followed, thinking this must still be a dream.
In the room above, one wall was absent, creating a balcony over the still pool below.
Alexander sat on the edge, and Celia joined him.
“Why is this house in such a state of disrepair if it is the source of such happy memories?” she asked gently.
Alexander frowned. “We left Finsbury after my mother’s death. Father couldn’t bear to live somewhere where he would be constantly reminded of her. This was Cheverton Estate back then, but Father had the name assigned to the house outside Kensington, and it has remained thus ever since.”
A long pause ensued.
Alexander took another long sip from the bottle before handing it to Celia. The drink was beginning to go to her head, blurring the lines of her inhibitions. She moved closer to Alexander, leaning against him. He wrapped his arm around her, silently encouraging her to rest her head on his shoulder.
Celia sighed, watching the glitter of moonlight on the water as it was disturbed by invisible insects and night creatures.
“If only everything could remain so simple as this,” she sighed.
“We would have to be the only two people in the world.”
“I’m afraid I am capable of creating complications all by myself,” Celia said, closing her eyes.
“I can attest to that.” He chuckled.
Celia opened her eyes at the jest. “You are a rude man,” she said, laughing.
“It is not what I am known for, but you seem to bring out the rebellious streak in me. I cannot account for it,” Alexander replied.
“I should warn you that I am known to be impulsive and mischievous. I used to dress as a young man and wander the streets of London. Who knows what such a wild woman will do next?”
“I cannot wait to find out.”
He looked at her in the moonlight, his eyes shadowed but his stare direct. She could not see his eyes, but she could feel them on her. She could feel their lingering touch. She wondered if they had wandered to the thick fabric that concealed the swell of her breasts.
“I might push you into the pool,” she threatened.
“And I might pull you in after me,” Alexander countered. “Then, we would both be wise to get out of our sopping clothes before we catch our deaths.”
Celia’s breath was coming quick and fast at the very notion. The dream remained at the forefront of her mind. Its substance was hazy, now that her mind was separated from it by the veil of wakefulness. But the sensations it had engendered were all too real.
Those same sensations caressed her body now, warming her from within and caressing her skin from without.
“That sounds like an invitation for both of us to jump in,” Celia whispered, her voice husky with desire.
He is my husband. Though it feels like the actions of a wanton harlot, I am allowed to seduce my husband.
Alexander leaned closer, as though to kiss her. But at the last moment, he seemed to shake himself. Turning away, he put the bottle to his lips and took a swig.
“I think not. A week, we said. There are still four days left. I would wait.”
Disappointment coursed through Celia, dousing the flames of her attraction like a deluge of water from the depths of a glacier.
“Yes, I would not interfere with your plans for our marriage,” she said coldly. “If you will excuse me, there is a chill in the night air. I should be in my bed.”
But something was wrong with her legs. As she stood up, they betrayed her, shaking as though her knees were made of rubber. She wavered, close to the edge, and suddenly felt dizzy.
Alexander caught her, steadying her.
“I think you are not used to wine. I will take you back,” he said.
“I am perfectly fine!” Celia protested, trying to push him away.
She could not tell who had initiated the kiss. It might have been her, her inhibitions eroded by the wine just as her coordination had been. It might have been him, similarly compromised. Or it might have been synchronicity, both choosing the same moment to give in to their desire.
The contact, so long desired, was bliss. She felt her body melt against his, and it had nothing to do with the weakness induced by strong drink. The intoxication came from the feel of his warm, hard, but soft lips on hers.
For a long, delicious moment, she was content with the feel of his lips pressing against hers, his body hard next to her, and his arms tight around her. Then, his lips parted, and she felt his tongue prod her. It was a shock.
Her mouth opened, and their tongues met. Celia descended into delirium. She had been oblivious to how such an intimacy would feel. How delightful it could be.
Her mouth opened wider, allowing him access, and he responded. The taste of wine on his tongue was arousing, intimate. She tangled her fingers in the mane of his hair, felt his hands explore her back and hips. His fingers probed and squeezed as though trying to feel her skin through the dress.
The kiss had begun chaste and innocent. It did not remain so for long. Now, she was aware of his ardor, could feel it pressing against her. She’d had no idea that flesh could resemble stone, could attain such rigidity. Could feel as it did and make her feel such… such… bliss.
She ran one hand down his bulging pectoral muscles and the ridges of his ribs.
Such magnificent manhood. Surely this was how Zeus and Jupiter were perceived by their pagan followers—masculine, strong, unyielding, and irresistible. She was giddy with her boldness as she cupped his manhood over his breeches.
She was rewarded by his sharp intake of breath. She held his gaze, seeing it darken as she squeezed him gently. The kiss resumed, harder than before. He reciprocated her touch, finding her jewel where it hid beneath her skirts.
“Oh, goodness! Oh my!” Celia cried out to the night.
Suddenly, she stumbled backward and teetered on the edge of the wooden platform. Alexander tried to pull them both back from the edge, but leaned too far over. Both fell into the dark water below.