Bridget swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. She had taunted the lion once again, and now, she awaited his teeth.
CHAPTER 19
Bridget put her hands on her hips and stared at her husband with a look of bewilderment. After their guests had left, she had thought that he might throw himself upon her, but he had not. Instead, he stood sullenly in the banquet hall. For the first time, he seemed to lose his stony composure. He raked his hand through his hair and shook his head. “You are impossible,” he said.
“Me?” Bridget asked. Outrage seemed like a good disguise for her unfulfilled desire. “You did not need to make everyone leave!”
“I did.”
“I thought you ignored other people’s whispers,” Bridget said. “I see now that you do not. Are you going to apologize for criticizing my behavior so harshly? For holding me to a standard which you cannot obtain yourself?”
“Not everything is about you, Bridget.”
Bridget? The informal address sent a jolt of pleasure through her. He spoke so informally about her and so soon. She had only been his wife for a handful of hours!
“Well,Lewis,” she said, drawing a warning glare from him. “It is highly unfair that you hold me to such an absurd standard. You expect everything from me, yet you offer nothing in return.”
They stood several feet apart, but at her words, he stalked slowly closer. Bridget’s breath hitched. His steps were careful and measured, as though he wanted her to notice once again how massive he was. When he was a hair's breadth away, he halted.
“Is that so?” His voice was dark and sonorous. “And what would you like, my wife? Do you even have the words to express what you desire?”
The scent of his familiar cologne filled her nostrils, accompanied by the warmth of his body. They were alone, and they were wed. Bridget took a trembling step backwards, her back striking the wall. His Grace followed her. He stood so near that Bridget had to crane her neck backwards just to meet his eyes. His blue eyes were dark and cold, like a winter’s night, and Bridget suppressed a shiver.
He raised a hand and stroked her cheek with his knuckles, and Bridget’s breath caught in her throat. His hand was massive against her face.
“I asked you a question,” he said. “Do you have no words to share, my wife? I feel as though you ought to. After all, you seemed so inclined to talk at breakfast.”
“Th-that was different,” she stammered.
“Oh?”
He let his hand drift lower, brushing over the side of her neck and down her shoulder. Bridget shivered, as he reached the top of her gloves. His fingers stroked down the length of her arm, so warm that she felt him even through the silk material.
“Why is it different?” he asked.
Bridget tried to find a reply, but her thoughts scattered before her like fallen leaves tossed in the wind. “It just is,” she rasped.
He seized a handful of her skirts and pressed himself flush against her. Bridget gasped. His body was muscular and strong beside her own, and no man had ever stood before her like that, keeping her pinned to the wall with his weight and will alone.
“I give you nothing, Bridget. That is what you said.”
She swallowed hard.
He twisted her skirts and drew them up. Bridget gasped and instinctively brought her legs together, as cool air swept over her stocking-clad calves. Then, her knees.
“You cannot mean to…here!” she exclaimed.
“I am the lord and master of the house,” the Duke said. “I will take my wife wheresoever and whensoever I desire it.”
With a strong pull, he swept the skirts up to her waist, exposing her thighs and her womanhood to himself and anyone who might happen by. Bridget groaned, as that familiar ache coiled between her legs. She pressed her spine hard against the wall behind her, trying to anchor herself.
“What are you doing?” Her voice scarcely rose above a whisper.
“Giving you nothing,” he said.
Her husband caressed the inside of her thigh, raising gooseflesh on her skin. Bridget’s breath quickened, despite her resolve to maintain composure. He trailed his fingers idly over her thighs. His touch was barely there, and it was maddening. She wanted more of him.
Her hips jolted forward against his thighs, and her face flushed with mortification. Bridget’s knees grew weak. If it was not for the wall and her husband, she doubted she would be able to keep herself upright. His fingers trailed up her thigh and over, and allthe air left Bridget’s lungs, as he caressed her sex. She tried to stifle a moan, but it emerged sounding like a strangled cry.
