He finally glanced over his shoulder and eyed her with an intensity that made her flush. “You’d enjoy the chase, little flower.”
Camelia felt heat bloom within her, but the Duke continued working as if his words did not affect her.
Her fists clenched at her sides. “Face me when I’m speaking to you, Your Grace. I’m not a shadow to be dismissed. I’m your wife!”
He took his time, but eventually he turned towards her, his dark blue eyes glinting with a hint of rare amusement. He leaned against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. The buttons of his shirt were undone, his cravat hung loosely, and Camelia gulped as she caught a glimpse of his bare chest beneath the fabric.
“Did you come here because you feel suffocated by your duties, Duchess? Or are you simply eager for your first lesson with me?”His voice was a low purr, laced with a dangerous edge that sent a shiver down her spine.
“I haven’t agreed to any of your lessons yet, and certainly not to producing an heir so soon.”
To her surprise, he chuckled, and the sound resonated through her.
“Not everything revolves around heirs, Camelia.” He stalked closer to her, pinning her in place with his dark blue eyes. “Though I confess, the thought of you carrying my child does stir… certain desires.”
His eyes trailed over her, slow and deliberate, as if undressing her.
She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat pooling low in her belly and the way her legs trembled when he stood too close.
“That’s not the point,” she said shakily. “The schedule you’ve set is tying my hands and rendering me useless. I can’t work under such rigid constraints. I need freedom to be a proper duchess, to guide Pamela, and to manage Brentmere.”
The Duke reached out, and before she could react, he closed the distance between them. With a gentle but firm push, he backed her against the cool stone wall.
“Tying your hands, you say?” The velvety whisper made her skin prickle. He seized her wrists with his right hand, his grip strong yet careful, and lifted her arms above her head, pinning them against the wall. “Like this?”
Camelia struggled against him. Her body ignited at his touch.
The Duke’s eyes traveled from her lips to her breasts, which perked up in her position and strained against her corset.
“Raph…” She meant for it to be a plea, but it came out as a moan.
“Stay still,” he growled, sending a jolt of heat through her core.
He tugged off his cravat, and Camelia noticed the slight wince as he used his left hand.
“Your shoulder?—”
“Shh.”
The silk whispered as he deftly wrapped it around her wrists, binding them tightly until the fabric bit softly into her skin—a delicious restraint that made her heart race.
“Oh God!” she gasped.
“Are you afraid, little flower?” He peered down at her.
“No—yes?—”
This shouldn’t feel so exhilarating.
He leaned in, his lips brushing the sensitive curve of her neck, a featherlight caress that sent tremors through her.
“You’re trembling already, Duchess,” he whispered against her exposed skin.
His kisses were slow and deliberate, trailing along her throat, each press of his lips setting her on fire. Her body arched instinctively, balanced precariously between the unyielding wall and his knee, which he pressed firmly between her thighs, anchoring her in a way that made her ache with need.
“I can’t,” she whined, lifting her head and revealing more of her neck.
“You are my wife, Camelia. Nothing is stopping you.”
