He stepped into his bathing room and flickered a look over the walls and floor tiled with marble from Italy and a coal pit under the copper tub that kept the bath steamy even if wind and rain blustered outside the window. Here in his sanctuary, he was protected from the winter storm… but not from his own inner tempest.
Is it too hard to give her what she wants?
Bedding Ariadne didn’t seem like a hardship; the hardship came from giving over his trust to another woman.
Silas’s words did echo in his ear, but as he had long found out, logic and emotions clashed like oil and water.
When the water was delivered, he gingerly lay in the warm water and let out a groan when the heat permeated his tight muscles. After another minute, he sank back into the hot, sudsy water, closed his eyes, and rested his head against the back lip of the tub.
Ariadne…
He could not forget that moment he had lifted her off the horse, the softness of the skin beneath his palm but a moment ago, the delicate uncorseted waist he had circled with an arm, and the plush, rounded hips made for a man could fill his hands with.
Her soft perfume of lily water was subtle, feminine musk, and a potent aphrodisiac. Beneath the water, he went hard—but he ignored it.
Reaching for the bar of olive oil soap, he soaped his damp chest, the scarred skin and injured muscles twitching at the slippery sensation.
Perhaps his self-imposed celibacy was feeding into his inappropriate desire for Ariadne. Since ending his last relationship years ago, he hadn’t bedded anyone. Hadn’t wanted to.
Back then, being alone had seemed right somehow. His focus had been on work, success— carving his life back in a semblance of order. Marriage had been struck off his list of life desires permanently for any and all reasons.
Being a duke, he had a buffer against societal pressure; he had no need for a ravishing socialite with men panting after her like dogs, nor did he need her suitable dowry or her political connections.
Now, all he felt was desire.
The fantasy he’d fought to suppress rose in his mind’s eye, and, this time, he let himself dream. Closing his eyes, he imagined himself tucking his face into Ariadne’s neck and inhaling the fragrant aroma on her skin.
He wanted to see her as he sucked a spot of red on her neck and see how her feminine passion. He wanted to kiss her lips red, and he craved to see her when passion overtook her face. He wanted to swallow the breathless cries of her climax as she came apart in his hands.
He was so thick and hard on his thigh that he felt tempted to take himself in hand and satisfy the urge. Finally, he grasped himself and stroked his thickening flesh. His climax was nearing; he needed just a bit more to tip the scale— yet a rustling sound tore him from his fantasy. His eyes snapped open, gaze shooting to the doorway.
Through the haze of steam, Ariadne was standing there, small and prim, staring at him with enormous eyes. She wetted her plump coral lips, before she turned around and slammed the door behind her.
Devil and damn, how long has she been watching?
“It’s been five minutes,” Cedric said as he swirled his wine. He’d called Ariadne for supper, but not once had she looked at him. “Will you look at me?”
A footman appeared with the supper tray, and silently he placed the plates on the small table in his study.
“Your Graces.” He bowed, “Is there anything else you need?”
“Not at the moment,” Cedric dismissed him. Ariadne gave the footman a subtle but firm shake of the head, and he left the room.
She finally lifted her eyes and looked at him, but he still felt on edge, his grip on his equilibrium tenuous. Setting the glass down, and even while his neck burned, he asked, “Was that your first time seeing a man?”
“Yes,” she said firmly.
He lifted his glass, draining the remnants. “Did I disappoint?” he said silkily.
Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you teasing me?”
“I’m amused how bashful you are, yet you want to consummate the marriage in that god-awful nightgown,” Cedric said.
She puffed out a breath. “From what my mother told me, or well, glossed over by using euphemisms, that it was something to be done after one married.”
“There is no rush,” he said. “Take a while to get comfortable in your own skin first.”
Her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
