Page 46 of Wedded to the Cruel Duke
Charles felt his mind go blank the moment Phoebe had stepped up to him and pulled his lips to crash down on hers—but that lasted only a mere moment as the fire he had been leashing for the better part of the week exploded out from him.
His self-control had been hanging by a thread; now, it hadsnapped.
With a groan, he sank his fingers into her hair as his lips moved upon her untutored ones. He could vaguely hear some of her hairpins clattering at their feet, but he could care less.
Phoebe might not have had any experience in the art of kissing—a fact that filled him with sheer masculine pride—but what she lacked in that department, she made up for with sheer passion.
And, by all that was holy, was she the most wonderful student! She learned quickly just how to fit her mouth to his and had himgroaninginto the kiss. Her body molded to his chest as his tongue swiped along her bottom lip.
When she moaned softly, her body arching into his, how could he resist delving into the velvety sweetness of her mouth?
He would plunder her until they were both out of breath. Ravish her until they were both dizzy from the lack of air…
When he finally dragged his lips away from the sweetness of her mouth, her eyes slowly fluttered open. He could see his own lust reflected in their warm caramel gaze.
It was then that the enormity of what they had done, whathehad done, crashed upon Charles.
He wrenched himself away from her, the separation an almost physical ache that screamed through him.
“I…I should not have done that,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. So, sorry—”
“Sorry.” The word came out in an indignant huff.
Charles painstakingly raised his gaze back to her. Her lips—swollen from their kiss—had hooked up in a bitter smile. Her back was ramrod straight as if a bar had been lodged in her very spine. Color had risen to her cheeks, her heaving breasts, and in spite of himself, he could not help but want her all the more.
“You aresorry.”
He wanted to reach out to her. To tell her he had not meant it that way.
But Phoebe had already stepped out of his reach, shaking her head, her thick locks in wanton disarray.
“Well, I am sorry, too,” she spat out, before she turned on her heel and rushed out of the dining room without sparing him another glance.
Even then, he had wanted to chase after her. Make amends with her.
Push her up against the wall and let her know in no uncertain terms that she washis…
In the past few days since he had known her, she had managed to twist him up in so many knots that he honestly did not know where one ended and another one began. His mind—previously ordered and logical—had become a complete and utter mess, lusting after her at every waking moment, even when he should have beenfuriouswith her.
He stomped off in the direction of his rooms when he came upon O’Malley, who appeared to be heading off into the dining hall to test the dinner.
To prevent Phoebe from asking further questions about him testing the food, he had started having the footman test it a good half hour before dinnertime.
“Good evening, milord,” O’Malley greeted him. Perhaps the footman had seen the thunderous look on his face, for he refrained from making his usual remarks.
“I will not be dining at the dining hall tonight,” Charles bit out angrily.
“Will you be having supper brought to your rooms, milord?”
In the past, there were times when Charles had been so engrossed with his work that the footman would bring his dinner to him in his study.
He paused, before nodding curtly and stomping off in the direction of his rooms. Then, he stopped, and without even looking at the footman, he added, “You may also bring the Marchioness’s food to me for inspection before it is brought to her.”
“As you wish, milord.”
In all honesty, he had no appetite for dinner. All of it had dissipated, reduced to cinders and dust in the conflagration of his lust and anger.
Never before had Charles experienced such conflicting emotions.