His hands cupped her buttocks, and he waited a second, half-expecting her to pull away. When, instead, she hooked her arms around his shoulders, he pulled her up into his arms and whipped around to press her against the back of the entryway door.
She gasped as if shocked, or perhaps the wood was cool against the nape of her neck, but still, she did not try to escape him.
One hand still cupped under her buttock, his other returned to the roots of her hair, holding her face close even as he kissed her, deeper and deeper.
The scent of her—vanilla and wildflowers—was intoxicating. The soft cushioned feel of her rosebud lips on his was sensational. The way her back arched away from the door in order to press herself up against him like a cat was frustratingly delicious.
He could not control himself. All inhibitions gone, Alex hooked his hands in her skirts and started to hitch them up.
He had not anticipated that they would consummate this farcical marriage, especially upon their wedding night, but now that it appeared the option was open to him, he could not help himself.
She was simply too exquisite.
And when her fingers hooked in the roots of his hair, tugging gently, he could not help but growl between gritted teeth.
For someone so young and innocent, she certainly knew how to drive him wild with lust.
He had to have her. He needed to have her. She would not be his, not truly, until he had claimed her.
But when his fingers slipped between her thighs, stroking her most private areas through the material of her undergarments, her entire body stiffened.
What happened next, Alex's rational mind was utterly prepared for. Yet, his mindless, lustful self, was stabbed right to the core as Emmaline shoved him away hard, her palms once more against his chest.
“Please, Your Grace, we cannot. I… I fear I am not ready to… to…” she stammered, and the fear in her voice made him angry.
It was not anger at her but at himself for ever making her fearful.
Gently, he gripped her face and kissed her only softly upon the forehead. “In this, at least, I am no monster.”
Chapter 10
When Emmaline awoke the next morning, she was astonished that she had managed to sleep at all. Having only ever slept in her own bed at her father's London house or countryside estate, otherwise sharing a bed with Jane were they ever to spend a night away from home, she was quite surprised that she was so well rested.
In fact, her night had been quite pleasant. Though she did not remember her dreams often, she had small flickers of remembrance from this night, dreams of tenderness and lust that made her heart race.
Still, as she laid in her new bed as the duchess of Westmarch, she stared up at the ceiling and her confusion and anger returned to her.
How could The Duke of Westmarch and The Devil Lord be the same person? How was it possible that she could be married to them both? How could she be so abhorrent of the devil and all he stood for and yet, utterly attracted and downright feverishly frustrated in the presence of the duke?
Her feelings made no sense. The duke had been deceitful, the devil cruel, and yet, he was all she could think about.
It was him she was thinking about when there was a knock upon the bedroom door, so much so she wondered whether perhaps it was him, come to finish what he had begun in the foyer the night before. And that made her heart thunder.
He shall not have me!She declared to herself strongly. She would not be wooed into bed just like that, not by a man who had proven himself so untrustworthy. No matter how much she felt for him or how wonderful his kiss had felt the night before.
Her fingertips rose to her lips, reimagining the tingle she had felt when he had kissed her. The same sensation lingered between her thighs.
Cheeks growing hot, she cleared her throat and called, “Come in!”
When the door opened, she was disappointed to find that it was an older woman, perhaps in her forties or fifties, wearing the typical dark, plain yet well-kept garb of a servant.
“Your Grace, I am Mrs. Farthing, his grace's housekeeper,” the woman said, dropping into a curtsy at the end of the bed. “His Grace has asked me to see you dressed and brought down for breakfast. Until the duke has secured you a lady's maid, I am to be at yourself service.”
“Oh, I… umm, thank you, Mrs. Farthing,” Emmaline said, “But that is truly not necessary. I may make do on my own if need be.”
“Hmm. That need not be, Your Grace,” Mrs. Farthing said. She crossed the room and pulled back the heavy draped, causing Emmaline to squint against the early morning sun, before she turned and added, “My employer sees fit to have me help you and so I am at your bidding.”
The woman's tone left no room for argument and so, Emmaline dipped her head and said, “Very well.”
