hips upward, grinding into his pelvis, searching for more of that delicious friction. She wanted more. So much more. Everything he had to give.
In one swift thrust, he entered her. The sharp sting was so painful it took her breath away. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Edward had always been gentle toward her. If he knew he’d hurt her, he’d pull away, and she simply couldn’t let that happen. She needed this. They needed this.
He moved with deep, sure thrusts, each more forceful than the last, and slowly the pain began to ease. Deep-seated satisfaction bloomed within her chest. This man was hers. Nothing could part them now.
A little moan escaped her lips as something swirled inside her, spiraling, faster and faster, like an unraveling spool of thread. This one moment was like everything she’d ever dared hope for, and more. The connection between them was powerful and soul-gripping. It threatened to consume her whole. At any moment, she was going to shatter. Then, with one final thrust, he pushed impossibly deeper and stilled.
His breathing was labored, and it took him a full minute to gather himself before he finally rolled off of her. This was the moment, she thought, that regret would start to sink in. The moment that he’d shower her with apologies and beg forgiveness. She’d promised herself that if she went through with this, she wouldn’t remain long enough for him to pollute the moment with shame. What was done was done, and she was happy for it.
Without a word, she kissed his forehead and pulled away, just as she felt him reach for her.
“Stay,” he said.
She hesitated, drawn by his warmth and by the rough, erotic rumble of his voice. How desperately she wanted to curl up within the shelter of his arms and drift off to sleep…but she couldn’t. She’d already risked too much by coming here.
“I can’t,” she whispered, disentangling herself from his arms. “Someone will discover us.”
Quickly, she scrambled off the bed. She stumbled around in the darkness and retrieved her robe, sliding the silky material over her shoulders. She blew a kiss into the air, smiling to herself. Edward was hers. Surely now, after their passionate encounter, he wouldn’t hesitate to propose. It was the next logical step.
She slipped out the door and into the passageway, tiptoeing her way back to her bedroom. He was hers now. And no one, not even her brother-in-law, could possibly object to the marriage. Smiling to herself, she ran her fingers along the cool surface of the wall when someone rounded the corner from the opposite end of the passageway, candle held high.
Daphne stopped abruptly and looked up, into the face illuminated by the orange glow of the candle flame. “Edward?”
“Daphne,” he said, surprised.
Her heart stopped, then leapt into her throat. “My God,” she gasped. “What have I done?”
* * *
The next morning, Ashton Lewis Fitzgerald, Duke of Claymore, rolled onto his back and drew in a deep, satisfied breath. The smell of sex still lingered in the air, permeated the crisp white sheets. Gwendolyn had found her way into his bed. She always did, one way or another. And he always welcomed her with fervor. And last night had been unparalleled. His blood still buzzed from the feel of her skin, from the taste of her sweet honeyed lips. Perhaps it was just the brandy, but last night had been different, powerful. The way she’d moved, the way she’d arched into him, giving herself completely, had taken him to new heights. Their couplings had always been pleasant and passionate. But until last night, he’d never truly felt connected to her.
Already he craved more.
Even her scent had changed. New soap, perhaps. Lavender with just a touch of mint. He’d drawn it into his lungs and inexplicably felt a sense of rightness .
Owens, his valet, pushed the curtains open to let in the blinding midmorning sun. Ashton rolled onto his stomach and pulled the pillow over his head to
In one swift thrust, he entered her. The sharp sting was so painful it took her breath away. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Edward had always been gentle toward her. If he knew he’d hurt her, he’d pull away, and she simply couldn’t let that happen. She needed this. They needed this.
He moved with deep, sure thrusts, each more forceful than the last, and slowly the pain began to ease. Deep-seated satisfaction bloomed within her chest. This man was hers. Nothing could part them now.
A little moan escaped her lips as something swirled inside her, spiraling, faster and faster, like an unraveling spool of thread. This one moment was like everything she’d ever dared hope for, and more. The connection between them was powerful and soul-gripping. It threatened to consume her whole. At any moment, she was going to shatter. Then, with one final thrust, he pushed impossibly deeper and stilled.
His breathing was labored, and it took him a full minute to gather himself before he finally rolled off of her. This was the moment, she thought, that regret would start to sink in. The moment that he’d shower her with apologies and beg forgiveness. She’d promised herself that if she went through with this, she wouldn’t remain long enough for him to pollute the moment with shame. What was done was done, and she was happy for it.
Without a word, she kissed his forehead and pulled away, just as she felt him reach for her.
“Stay,” he said.
She hesitated, drawn by his warmth and by the rough, erotic rumble of his voice. How desperately she wanted to curl up within the shelter of his arms and drift off to sleep…but she couldn’t. She’d already risked too much by coming here.
“I can’t,” she whispered, disentangling herself from his arms. “Someone will discover us.”
Quickly, she scrambled off the bed. She stumbled around in the darkness and retrieved her robe, sliding the silky material over her shoulders. She blew a kiss into the air, smiling to herself. Edward was hers. Surely now, after their passionate encounter, he wouldn’t hesitate to propose. It was the next logical step.
She slipped out the door and into the passageway, tiptoeing her way back to her bedroom. He was hers now. And no one, not even her brother-in-law, could possibly object to the marriage. Smiling to herself, she ran her fingers along the cool surface of the wall when someone rounded the corner from the opposite end of the passageway, candle held high.
Daphne stopped abruptly and looked up, into the face illuminated by the orange glow of the candle flame. “Edward?”
“Daphne,” he said, surprised.
Her heart stopped, then leapt into her throat. “My God,” she gasped. “What have I done?”
* * *
The next morning, Ashton Lewis Fitzgerald, Duke of Claymore, rolled onto his back and drew in a deep, satisfied breath. The smell of sex still lingered in the air, permeated the crisp white sheets. Gwendolyn had found her way into his bed. She always did, one way or another. And he always welcomed her with fervor. And last night had been unparalleled. His blood still buzzed from the feel of her skin, from the taste of her sweet honeyed lips. Perhaps it was just the brandy, but last night had been different, powerful. The way she’d moved, the way she’d arched into him, giving herself completely, had taken him to new heights. Their couplings had always been pleasant and passionate. But until last night, he’d never truly felt connected to her.
Already he craved more.
Even her scent had changed. New soap, perhaps. Lavender with just a touch of mint. He’d drawn it into his lungs and inexplicably felt a sense of rightness .
Owens, his valet, pushed the curtains open to let in the blinding midmorning sun. Ashton rolled onto his stomach and pulled the pillow over his head to
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