Page 57 of Wedded to the Cruel Duke

Phoebe placed her hands upon his broad shoulders to steady herself. As her body slid down against his, he sucked in a harsh breath.

She looked up at him, but did not remove her hands from his shoulders, even as she stepped solidly onto the carpeted floor. Instead, her fingers curled at the nape of his neck.

At that instance, his infamous control snapped once more and his fingertips dug into her waist as he pulled her in, his mouth slanting over hers in a fiercely demanding kiss.

Phoebe answered him with a soft, joyous moan, meeting his kiss with her own. Her lips moved over his, quickly learning from his example. When her tongue tentatively touched his, Charles could swear his soul leaped out of his body in sheer joy.

Only when his lungs burned for air did he part from her, resting his forehead against hers, his eyes closed, his breathing ragged.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“Charles.”

“Hmm…?”

“I rather prefer you like this,” she admitted with a soft, shy smile. “In the future, please do not avoid me.”

He looked at her in surprise. Her brown eyes were gazing at him in earnest, without a trace of guile in them.

“You,” he rasped. “You are going to be the death of me someday.”

Her smile grew wider. “I very much prefer you alive, dear husband, so you should stay that way. Now, if you do not mind, I would like you to kiss me again. And bear in mind what I just told you—”

This time, Charles did not hesitate as his lips swooped in to claim hers once more.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Phoebe was still shamefully nodding off when she walked into the breakfast room the next morning, a full half-hour later than she was accustomed to.

If her maid had not inadvertently roused her for her morning toilette for the second time in two days, she had no doubt that she would still be abed, dreaming of the sorts of things that she would never be able to say out loud.

What had unfolded in that room beneath the trapdoor had been an education of sorts for her. She had never thought her husband capable of such stormy passion—or that she would be able to respond to it with such wanton abandon… And then the events that unfolded at the library showed her the opposite side of him too and only served to catapult the feelings tenfold.

Her cheeks heated up at the mere recollection of it. Yet, she could not help but long for more of the same.

I do not think it is wrong for me to desire my husband at all,she defended herself.

It was most certainly unusual—most ladies did not particularly express a great liking for their husbands. Tolerance, perhaps, but nothing like the toe-curling, spine-tingling anticipation that Phoebe was now feeling.

So lost was she in her thoughts that she was greatly surprised to find Charles already seated at the head of the breakfast table, keenly engrossed in that morning’s paper as he usually was. Sunlight spilled into the room, bright and golden.

The curtains have been pulled back, she realized in wonder.And where is O’Malley?

The footman, who reveled in partaking in his share of their meals, was nowhere in sight. Nor was Huxley.

“Good morning, Phoebe,” he greeted her with an arched eyebrow.

For one with an aversion to sunlight, he looked exceedingly pleased with himself.

“Ah… good morning,” she murmured, suddenly feeling coy. She sat down as she usually did across the table. She stole a glance at him as she unfolded her napkin and to her mortification, she found him smirking at her.

Smirking!

Oh, you must be so proud of yourself now!

“I trust that you had a good night’s rest,” she remarked in as casual a tone as she could muster.

“No better than yours, I would think.”