The Scoundrel Duke of her Heart by Violet Hamers
Chapter Twelve
Jenny was hoping for some solitude to rein in her emotions but Nicholas followed her out of the ballroom. Her steps quickened so she could lose him but she did not stand a chance against his long strides and he saw where she entered. A moment later, he joined her in the small salon she had hoped to take refuge in, demanding, “What was the meaning of that?”
She moved toward a window and stood there, pushing the heavy curtain aside to peek outside. She saw nothing but a lit garden and people walking about. “I suggest you employ a little more maturity in your communication with my friends. They deserve to be respected.”
He crossed the room to a liquor service and began to help himself to some brandy. “And I suggest you don’t behave like a petulant child and demand I take you home the next time you encounter my own friends.”
She gaped at him, then closed the curtain and turned fully to face him. “Listen here, Nicholas. It is bad enough that I have to deal with your grandmother but I will not have you dictating my social life.”
“Oh?” He set the glass he had picked up down and covered the distance between them. “I had not the slightest notion that protecting you is dictating to you.” His eyes flashed as he held hers.
“All I am asking for, Nicholas, is respect for my friendships.” She tried to ignore the way his eyes were slowly traveling down her body, warming her in places she did not want to think about. “Any slight to them is a slight to me.”
Nicholas did not appear to be listening to her because he stepped closer. There was barely any distance between their bodies right now and her heart was stuttering in her chest, stealing her breath. She swallowed and tried to draw his attention back to her face. If boundaries were to be set in their marriage, now seemed like a good time to begin setting them. “Look at me, Nicholas,” she said in a resolute tone.
“Oh, I’m looking at you, Jenny,” he murmured huskily, his eyes focused on her chest.
Her breath caught and she fought the tiny tremors running through her body. “I mean, look up at me.”
He obeyed, his mouth curving into a devilish smile. “I should anger you more often, Jenny. You look positively ravishing like this.”
Her hands came up between them to his chest but instead of pushing him away as was her intention, they remained there, paralyzed by the desire building in her veins. Nicholas took that as an invitation and he lowered his head until their lips were a hairsbreadth apart.
“I am looking at you now. What is it you wanted to tell me?”
“I…” Her lips suddenly felt dry and her tongue darted out to moisten them, causing his gaze to drop to her lips.
“You minx,” he rasped before taking her lips in a searing and demanding kiss, pressing his hard body against hers.
Jenny gasped at the evidence of his desire and he took advantage of her surprise, deepening the kiss and twirling his tongue with her in a tantalizing dance. Her blood rushed away from the rest of her body to her delicate center and she leaned against him, sighing and running her fingers through his hair. She even rose on her tiptoes to give him more access to her mouth.
A primal growl sounded from deep in his throat when she did that and his hands moved downward, one seeking her breast and the other bunching her skirts up.
“Nicholas…” she moaned, uncertain what to do with the sensations building in her body. She was aflame with want and didn’t know how to ask him to sate her. When his hand sank deeper into her bodice and he found the tiny bud cresting one of her breasts, she shuddered and bucked against him.
“I have you,” he murmured against her neck. “I have you, Jenny.” He hiked her skirt higher and stroked the tender skin of her thighs while his mouth descended from her neck to the curve of her breasts.
Just when Jenny thought she could not last another moment without having more of him, footsteps sounded in the hall just outside the door. His hands stilled but he did not release her. Then his head slowly came up and he blinked.
“This is not right,” he said, his voice deep and husky. “I should not have touched you like this.” Regret flooded his gaze and he released her, taking several steps back.
Her hands moved up to her swollen lips while her heart twisted painfully in her chest, her pride falling and shattering to pieces. She wanted Nicholas. God help them but if the lump pushing against the front of his breeches could be judged, then it would be concluded that he wanted her, too. Something like that could not be feigned, yet he would not allow himself to want her. And this was what wounded her.
The doorknob twisted and the door was pushed open a crack. Nicholas cursed under his breath and she quickly began to rearrange her appearance. But then it was closed with a soft click and the footsteps retreated. The person attempting to enter must have changed their mind. There was no telling who it was because the person had only opened the door a crack and they were out of their line of view.
She hurriedly finished smoothing her wrinkled skirt before brushing past him to the door. “Jenny…” he called after her.
“I have to go,” she said without looking back.
* * *
Nicholas cursed again, this time aloud before tugging at his breeches. He wanted to go after Jenny but the current physical predicament in which he had placed himself would not allow him to. Not if he wanted to keep his dignity.
She had looked wounded when he had expressed his regrets about touching her. But what was he supposed to have said? He ran a hand through his hair and sat down in a chair. Damn his body for wanting her this intensely. Damn his grandmother for choosing her to be his wife. But more importantly, damn him for accepting.
He was trapped. Crying off now would be akin to ruining her. Nicholas rose from the chair and strode to the liquor service to pour himself something to calm him down. After several fingers of brandy, Nicholas was nowhere near calm. The evidence of his desire was no longer prominent but his blood was pounding with need and he was pacing the salon.
He had two choices: Move the wedding date closer so he could marry Jenny and bed her, or marry her on the agreed date and not bed her at all as he had intended. It was a difficult choice to make. On one hand, he wanted her, perhaps more than he had ever wanted a woman in his life, and on the other, he still felt as though she was forbidden for him.
Finishing the last dregs of his brandy, he set the snifter down loudly before striding out of the room to the front hall and ordering the majordomo to arrange for his carriage to be brought. A short while later, he was riding back to his house.
He rested his head against the seat and closed his eyes. But when the image of Jenny’s flushed face flashed in his mind, he sat up and knocked on the carriage roof, urging the driver to drive faster. The journey from any part of London to his house had never felt this long.
“Ramsay!” he barked as soon as he stepped into the house.
“I shall summon him for you, Your Grace,” Bentley said, closing the door and taking his coat and gloves.
“Good. Tell him I want a bath. A very cold one. With ice.” He began to take the stairs two at a time. He would do almost anything at this point to make his body forget Jenny.
When he arrived at his bedchamber, he drew open the curtains and opened the windows wide. One would ask him why he would subject himself to cold when there were other ways he could relieve his frustration. But he planned to take his celibacy seriously.
His valet, Ramsay, entered with two footmen carrying buckets of water. “Cold water,” he said, “as you requested.”
“What about the ice?”
“The ice is coming, Your Grace.” He directed the footmen to the dressing room where the tub was. “May I ask why the windows are open?”
Nicholas shrugged out of his coat. “I have a fever.”
Ramsay raised his brows. “I see. Shall I call the physician?” Another footman entered with a bucket of ice.
“No, this is a different sort of fever.” He was anxious for them to finish filling the tub so he could have his bath. “Tell them to hurry.”
With a nod, Ramsay disappeared into the dressing room. “Your cold bath is ready, Your Grace,” he said when he reappeared, raising one brow. “Are you certain you do not wish for me to call the physician?”
“Do not trouble yourself, Ramsay.” He proceeded into the dressing room and put his hand in the water to test the temperature. It was freezing.
“As you wish, Your Grace.” His valet excused him, closing the door firmly behind him.
Nicholas shed the rest of his clothes and dipped first one leg into the tub, wincing and cursing, then the other before submerging his entire body, biting down hard on his lower lip.
Several minutes later, he was out and shivering but he no longer wanted Jenny to the point of losing his mind. If this was the torture he would have to endure for years, then perhaps he should rethink his decision. He might be able to convince Jenny to cry off. After all, she had only agreed to marry him to get her father out of debt.
That was it! He had to get Jenny to change her mind and call off the wedding.
