Eventually, he steered his thoughts from the kiss they had shared. Lust, like everything else, would bow to duty.
For now.
“Do you, Raph Hartton, the Duke of Brentmere, take Lady Camelia Wilmore to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do,” Raph said, his voice resonant, his gaze never leaving hers.
“And do you, Lady Camelia Wilmore, take His Grace, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do,” she said clearly, though a tremor betrayed her nerves.
They exchanged the rings, and Raph felt the slight tremor in her hand.
The rector smiled at them both. “You may now seal your union with a kiss.”
Raph stepped closer to Camelia and heard her breath catch. His hand cupped her face, and his thumb brushed her jaw. Holding her in place, he leaned in until their lips met.
Camelia let out a soft sigh. Her mouth was warm and yielding, and Raph bit back the hungry growl that rumbled in his chest. Their last kiss plagued his mind, and he desired more of her.
Not here, not now.
His hands fell to his sides as he reluctantly pulled back, aware of the watching eyes.
The congregation erupted in polite applause, but Raph’s attention lingered on Camelia. Her lips were wet and parted, her eyes wide with a mix of awe, desire, and… fear?
As they turned to face the guests, Pamela caught his eye from the front pew. Her expression was unreadable, and her shoulders were tense.
I need to concentrate on my duty… for Pamela’s sake.
Raph and Camelia began to walk up the aisle as the guests applauded and congratulated them politely.
Their steps were hushed on the stone path as he led her to the waiting carriage, its sleek black-lacquered exterior gleaming under the midday sun. He tried not to be distracted by her soft curves, but her presence stirred a primal heat within him.
“What happens now, Your Grace?” Camelia’s soft voice cut through his thoughts and the murmurs of the guests.
Raph glanced at her, noticing how her eyes glistened with unshed tears and her lashes fluttered as she fought to compose herself. His chest tightened, but words of comfort eluded him as they did with Pamela, his nature too guarded to offer solace.
“You are a duchess now, Camelia.” She looked up at the mention of her name. “You have new duties, and I expect you will fulfill them as best as you can.”
“And my duties as your wife?” she retorted with a glare.
Raph bit the inside of his cheek.
“Oh, I’m certain you know them,Duchess,” he drawled, smiling at the lords and ladies who congratulated them.
“Then perhaps you’d care to remind me, since my memory seems tragically faulty,” she responded sharply.
He stepped closer to her until the heat of her body enveloped his thoughts.
“I will gladly remind you,” he murmured, low enough that only she could hear. “And I promise, little flower, by the time I’m finished reminding you, that wicked tongue of yours will be far too busy begging for mercy to form another insolent syllable. It will be my pleasure to tame you.”
He watched as she swallowed hard and her lips parted. But before she could muster a retort, Lord Lempster approached them.
The Earl’s weathered face softened as he pulled his daughter in a warm embrace.
“My dearest girl,” he said with pride, “you truly make a radiant bride.”
Camelia clung to him, her voice a tremulous whisper. “Oh, Papa!”
