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He’d gone beyond anger, sailed straight past rage, and crashed into a place of primal fury, where blood ran in colors he hadn’t known to exist.
She’d not only not run, she’d prepared to defend him—absurd as that was. He didn’t know what to do with her, and he didn’t have the faintest notion what to do with himself. He couldn’t help but feel . . . He couldn’t help but feel. All manner of emotions, and all of them at once.
“For a bride of convenience, you are proving to be a great deal of trouble.”
From his expression, one would think she’d suggested nightly abdominal surgery. Performed with a knitting needle and a spoon.
This is a marriage of convenience.” “That’s what we agreed.” “There will be no affection involved. In fact, every precaution will be taken against it.” “I’m surprised you believe we’ll need any precautions.”
She watched closely for his reaction. His reaction was to refuse to react at all.
That hidden pocket of yearning that she’d sewn up tight years ago—his kiss ripped it open at the seams. A flood of emotion poured forth, overwhelming her. A surge of passion and desire and . . . And something else. Something she didn’t want to acknowledge, much less name. She’d pore over it later, no doubt. Her mind wouldn’t allow her to let it alone. But as long as his lips touched hers, she could delay that dreaded reckoning.
He released her and stepped back. She swayed on her feet, finding her balance. “Thank you.” It was entirely my pleasure, he thought. And I shall never forgive you for it.
“Please.” Her breaking voice pierced through his haze of lust.
Please. It echoed through his mind again. A fresh shiver of arousal traveled the length of his spine. He gave himself a mental shake. She was not sighing in ecstasy, you clotpole. That was only his desperate, lonely, sex-starved imagination, grasping at any phantom resembling affection.
“Well? You must have things to do. Take breakfast. Confer with the housekeeper, now that you’re mistress of the place. Do something ridiculous with your hair.” “I’ve accomplished the first and second, and I will politely decline the third. I’m out of occupations at the moment.” “Wonderful,” Khan interjected, striding toward her. “You can take over this one.” He pressed his racquet into Emma’s hand. Before making for the door, he mouthed two words. Save. Me.
“Where do you think you’re going?” the duke demanded. The butler turned in the doorway. “I’m not certain, Your Grace. Perhaps I’ll do something ridiculous with my hair.”
The butler opened the ballroom doors and cleared his throat. “Your Grace, I hate to interrupt.” Ash stepped away from his wife, relieved. “Liar. You love to interrupt.” “Surprisingly enough for us both, this time I am being sincere.
He sat up, caught her hands, and pushed them back against the mattress on either side of her head. “We discussed this.” “I know. I’m sorry, I forgot. I can’t think when you touch me that way. Or when you touch me this way, for that matter.”
“Think like a duchess, Emma. Cleaning, furnishing, and repairing the home will give employment to dozens of people, many of them in dire need. It’s not wasteful. It’s patronage.”
“Admiring,” he echoed in disbelief. “Yes. Perhaps even lusting.” That settled it. None of this was real. He was dreaming. Lord, let me never wake.
“I am wildly attracted to you. Physically attracted to you. I have been from the first. And yes, I’ve done a great deal of staring.” She stepped free of her pooled chemise. “I want you with a keen, carnal passion. I won’t pretend otherwise, and I’m not going to apologize for it. Not anymore.”
He gave up. It was over. Brute lust overruled his every emotion, intention, and thought. She’d made her bed, and he meant to take her six different ways on it. Tomorrow the servants could collect what pieces remained.
Can you . . . I’m feeling a bit fragile right now. It would mean a great deal if you’d hold me. You know, with your arms.” Brilliant, Emma. As if he might have tried to hold her with his knees or eyelids without those instructions.
Though perhaps a minor incident . . .” The same footman’s hand shot toward the ceiling. “Bees! Hornets! Spiders! Snakes!” “Frogs. Locusts. Rivers of blood,” Cook deadpanned. “I believe we’ve covered all the plagues, Moses.”
She could scarcely speak. “That was quite nicely said.” “You think so?” “Did you practice it on the way here?” His chin pulled back in a gesture of offense. “No.” “I wouldn’t think less of you for it.” “Then yes, I did. But that doesn’t make it any less sincere.”
