“My husband shares another’s bed. What would it matter if I did too?” she asked.
The infernal logic somehow broke him. He kissed her. It was an intimate thing, as he wrapped both arms around her waist and nestled her body against his. Her lips parted for him instantly, encouraging him to deepen it and entangle her tongue with his own. As the passion grew, the more her hands pulled at him. At first, they were holding onto the lapels of his frock coat, then one hand slipped beneath the coat, finding a place on top of his waistcoat and resting her palm over his heart.
When they parted from their kiss, still resting their foreheads together, he could see her smiling.
“Your heart is beating as fast as mine is,” she said with a giggle.
“You tend to have that effect.” He adjusted their position, turning so he could gently kiss her on the forehead. “We cannot.”
“What?” she said, her voice breaking, though he still held the two of them together. “Why not? You seem as excited by our kisses as I am.”
“Believe me, Your Grace –”
“Not Your Grace!”
“Diana,” he said, kissing her forehead another time. “I would love to, but … I couldn’t risk you like that. If your husband ever found out.”
“Why would he find out?” she asked, moving her hand across his beating heart another time. “He is barely here as it is. When would he ever see us together?”
“Ah, do you have to be so logical about this?” he said with a laugh, pulling another giggle from her as he sealed his lips with hers, kissing her another time. “We’ll see,” he murmured between kisses, keen to enjoy this kiss for as long as possible.
His body wouldn’t be calmed, though, and at the mere idea of what Diana had suggested, he was stirring so much that he had to reach down between them and adjust his trousers.
My duchess will be the death of me … I fear it!
***
Diana pushed her story away, tired of writing for one night, and rubbed her eyes, looking around the candlelit library. She was lonely, and ever since her walk with Owen two days before, what they had discussed had tormented her mind with longing. The last two nights when she had called him to the library, they had stolen a few kisses, but each time she had tried to push it further, he pulled back from her, determined he said to maintain her honour.
What honour do I have left? I am a ruined woman because my husband has been unfaithful!
In the grander scheme of things, though, there was something else that bothered her more.
What care I for honour when I am falling in love?
She knew it beyond doubt now. When she had returned from her walk with Owen, she had pressed the snowdrop she had picked from the gaps in the snow between the pages ofThe Castle of Otranto,determined to preserve it and keep it for as long as possible, as though she could preserve the memory of that walk in itself.
She stood to her feet and crossed the library, feeling slightly sturdier on her right foot than she had done for some time, and pulled the bell, calling Owen to her. She waited for him in the middle of the library, standing between the candles with her eyes on the doorway until it opened.
“You called for me, Your Grace?” he asked.
Diana tried her best to shed her nerves, feeling them flutter anxiously in her stomach. She walked towards Owen, admiring his handsome features as he hurried to close the door behind himself, clearly observing the way she was moving towards him. She said nothing but reached up and kissed him. He responded at once, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her body towards him. She felt safe, nestled in his arms, his tall height bent down to her as he pushed the kiss, deepening it all the more. When her body was tingling, still arching towards him, he parted from the kiss, smiling down at her.
“Good evening to you too,” he said with a chuckle.
She giggled and took hold of his hands, drawing him further into the room. “Show me, Owen, please,” she said, reminding him of their past conversation.
“Diana …” He paused and winced, clearly knowing they should not. “It breaks propriety, every rule I put in for myself. I am a butler; I should not be doing this with my duchess.”
“You have already kissed me!” She pointed out with a laugh.
“Yes, but this is one step further, is it not? In fact, it’s leaps and bounds further!”
“Then do not think of me as the duchess,” she pleaded with him, drawing him forward until they were standing on the rug in front of the roaring fire. She adjusted their hands so that they were palm to palm, then passed her fingers through the gaps between his, anchoring herself to him. “Think of me as only Diana. It is you and me here, Owen. No duchess and butler.”
She reached up towards him again. As she tentatively kissed him, he was restrained at first, then something broke him, though she did not know what it was. Perhaps it was her words, or maybe it was the way she had gently nibbled his lip, being playful. He abruptly loosened his hands from hers and took hold of her waist, grasping onto her and deepening the kiss. She loved its heat and urgency.
When he parted from their kiss, he moved his lips down her neck, hovering for a moment at the top of her neck, on a sweet spot below her ear. He began to work the spot, kissing her, teasing her with brushes of his tongue, and nipping her. She moaned at the feeling, knowing that Gilbert never did anything so caring in their night together. He had kissed her once, in a dominating way. Everything else had been much further south.
