Their bodies had come together, their clothes wet but the skin underneath shockingly hot. Instinctively shielding what shouldn’t have been happening, not with an innocent and not withthisinnocent in particular, Ambrose had spun her around to the carriage without breaking the kiss. Now if any curious bystander peeped out their window they would see the bulk of his greatcoat and little else as his broad physique easily dwarfed Mara’s sylphlike frame.
His fingers then plunged into copper coils, greedily exploring the texture of her hair while his tongue traced along the seam of her lips and then, with a broad stroke that elicited another gasp, explored inside the moist cavern of her mouth.
One stroke, two, three, before he retreated to sink his teeth into her lower lip and tugged until he heard a soft, helpless mewl spill from the depths of her throat. The sound had turned his blood to flame and his cock to marble. It throbbed against his trousers, as hard as it had ever been, a damp bead of his seed already waiting at the top.
Anchoring a fist amidst her riotous mane of curls, he’d dragged her head back and deepened the kiss in a vain effort to sate the beast that was bucking within him, snarling for release. Given free rein, the beast would have taken Mara in the carriage, pushed her against the seat, and done indescribably wicked things to her. Things that would make her scream. Things that would make her pant. Things that would make her beg.
Things that were for a mistress, not a wife.
Letting go of her hair, he’d staggered away, keeping his expression consciously blank while behind it his brain pin fired in a hundred different directions.
What the bloody hell was he doing, kissing her like that?
Kissing her like he couldn’t wait to feel her slick, virgin quim tighten around his pulsing member as he slid inside of her, inch by torturously delicious inch. Kissing her like he wanted to spend an hour, a night, alifetimeexploring every curve, slant, and hollow of her delectable body.
When his gaze grew hooded, Ambrose was the one that looked away.
Away from Mara.
Away from the carriage he still wanted to put her in.
Away from his own secret, burning desires.
And he knew then, in that flash of unacceptable weakness, that he could never kiss her like that again. Because if he did... if he did, the future he had painstakingly envisioned would come crashing down around him. And with it, his control. The control that heneededto prevent himself from ever turning back into the small, sniveling, helpless coward of boy he’d been when he had allowed his father’s heel to press on his neck.
“I’ll call on you tomorrow at half past ten. Wear clothing suitable for the outdoors,” he’d said, and it wasn’t a question but a demand. Because that was what the Duke of Southwick did, he reminded himself. He demanded things. Of people. Of places. Of objects. And they obeyed him without fail, becausehehad his heel ontheirnecks where he was able to execute ruthless, unwavering authority.
His wife would be no different.
Marawould be no different.
Another piece in his proverbial kingdom to be moved at his command.
He had waited for her to say something, but she didn’t speak. Her lips parted, but no noise escaped. Instead, she’d merely stared at him with her wide, coffee-colored eyes. Then, after giving the tiniest of nods, she had turned and walked away.
Chapter Five
March 1813
Southwick Castle, Derbyshire, England
Ambrose was atSouthwick Castle.
Ambrosewas at SouthwickCastle.
Ambrose was at Southwick Castle.
As Mara fled up the stairs, the train of her dress leaving a wet, slithering trail in her wake, those two things—Ambrose and Southwick Castle—seemed nearly impossible to reconcile.
For as long as she’d known him, her husband had made no secret of the loathing he harbored for his ancestral home. He’d never gone into great detail as towhyhe hated the rambling labyrinth of turrets, long twisting hallways, and towering great rooms with chandeliers made from the antlers of animals long since dead, and she’d never dared ask, not wanting to risk his ire.
It was bred into Mara’s bones not to provoke a man’s temper but instead to do everything in her power to keep it dormant. To remain quiet, keep her questions to herself, and tiptoe when she wanted to run.
Thus, she hadn’t ever queried what it was about this estate in particular that made Ambrose’s eyes frost over when it was mentioned in conversation, or why he had never shared a single story of his childhood here. She’d merely come to take it for granted that this was the one place hewouldn’tcome, and if it was to be her prison, then at least it was a prison that held her greatest adversary at bay.
Yet here he was, in the flesh, and the unfairness of it brought a flood of hot, needling tears to her eyes as she called for her maid to help her change into dry garments.
Why now, she wondered with an uncharacteristic surge of resentment that burned in her chest like acid as she raised her arms above her head and her maid, Agnes, got to work on the row of buttons that ran the length of her spine. Now, when she’d finally—finally—gathered the courage to do something about her circumstances. To do something forherself.
