The Duke’s Twin Lust by Lorena Owen

Chapter Eight

The brush of her lips against his felt like a slice of heaven.

Ernest took a step closer. He could not help himself. He craved to know what she tasted like.

She backed away, smiling up at him. He knew she did not mean to be coquettish, but her smile drew him in all the same. He took another step closer, bending his head so their lips could touch again.

Christiana raised her head eagerly. He liked that she wanted the kiss as much as he did. Their lips met once more, and she sighed, a sound that went straight to his groin. Their lips were pressed together, and Ernest let the feel of her spread through him. He let out a low guttural sound as his arms went around her.

Christiana shuddered in his arms, and Ernest wanted to know if he had caused that reaction. Why, he would love to be the reason why she was so shaken. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her closer, slipping his tongue into her mouth. Her lips parted quickly, and Ernest got a taste of his wife for the first time.

She tasted like cloves, like honey, like summer. She tasted like the best thing he’d ever had. Ernest pushed his tongue even deeper, the better to explore Christiana’s sweet mouth. He kissed her, sucking on her tongue and giving her gentle bites. Christiana moaned as she kissed him back, and Ernest realised he liked the sound of her moaning. She was an inexperienced kisser. Perhaps this was her first kiss. Ernest liked the thought of this. He did not want to think of her with other men, not then, not ever.

He ran his hands over her dress, wanting to feel more of her. He wanted to yank the dress off and take her, right then and there. He wanted to move inside her, to feel his pleasure heighten till he spilled his seed in her. The rawness of his emotions yanked at him. He had never felt this way towards any other woman, ever. How ironic that his first time wanting someone, really wanting someone, would be with his wife.

She had not touched him, and yet he was about to spill his seed in his breeches. The kiss was the best he’d ever had, of that he was sure. Even though she had no experience, her passion was second to none. He liked how she kissed, probing the far recesses of his mouth, searching for what he could not name. He wanted to kiss her forever.

Her hands came around his neck, pulling his head even closer. Ernest surrendered to her, pulling her even closer. They were locked in an embrace, joined at the lips. Ernest was aware of his aching groin, his manhood pressing against his breeches. He knew that might scare her off, but he wanted her to feel how much he wanted her.

The kiss went on for a long time, until finally, Christiana pulled away.

“Ernest,” she whispered, her green eyes clouded with desire. Ernest looked down at her swollen lips. He wanted to taste his name on her lips, wanted her to moan his name as they kissed.

But it would not do to scare her off.

“My lady,” he said. He was unsure of what to do, and knew nothing other than the fact that he wanted to kiss her again.

“Ernest,” she said again. “That was… amazing.”

Ernest felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips. “I’m glad I pleased you, my lady.” He looked down at her. She seemed dazed, and he liked that she had enjoyed the kiss as much as he had. “Your first time?”

She blushed and looked away. “Yes,” she whispered.

She looked even more beautiful when she was embarrassed.

“Did I do alright?” she asked, sounding almost anxious. “Was I a bumbling mess?”

Ernest felt amused. “You did very well, my lady. I am tempted to kiss you again, to show you how well you did.”

The red of her cheeks deepened. “Thank you, Your Grace.” Her gaze fell to the floor as she said, “I apologise if I overstepped my boundaries.”

“With what?” Ernest asked, confused.

“Kissing you,” she replied.

Ernest let out a bark of laughter. “Christiana, we are married. A kiss is not such a dreadful thing between two married people, is it?”

She shrugged. “I suppose not.”

Ernest took a step closer to her. He was aware of how much he wanted to feel her in his arms again. “My lady,” he started.

“Yes, Your Grace?” she said, looking up at him again. She looked slightly worried. Had she an inkling of what he wanted to say?

He reached out for her hand. The hand was sheathed in a glove, and Ernest removed it. He had been flummoxed when he saw her hand looking the way it did, thin and scabby looking, but he supposed he was used to it now. Her hand looked better now, almost as frail as it normally looked. He drew her hand to his lips.

“Would you like to come with me?” he whispered against her hand.

“With you? Where are you going?”

But he could see she perfectly understood what he meant. He stared down at her worried green eyes. He knew he was causing her distress, but he did not think he could step away without asking her for what he wanted.

“Would you like to come to my bedchamber tonight?” he asked.

Christiana’s eyes widened, and he saw something close to fear in them. Ernest’s brows furrowed. How had his wife changed so much? The few times he had asked Christiana to his bed, she had indignantly responded in the negative. He had never seen anything close to fear in her. She had not been scared or wary of saying no. She had simply done as she pleased.

But right now, Christiana looked as though he’d asked her to pull off all her clothes, whether she liked it or not.

Christiana took in a deep breath. Gently, she freed her hand from his. It was the merest motion, but Ernest felt as though she had burned him. “I’m sorry, Your Grace,” she whispered, her gaze on the floor. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

Ernest stared at her. Was it his imagination or did she seem close to tears? He wanted to take her in his arms and assure her he would not push until she was ready, but he feared that moving close to her would wound her fear up to a higher pitch. And so he stayed where he was, nodding tightly.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” she said, the pain evident in her voice.

“I understand,” Ernest said shortly. She did not want him. It did not matter how much he craved her in that instant. He would not touch her until she wanted him to.

But why had she kissed him? Ernest found that he was getting more confused by his wife’s new behaviour. She had initiated the kiss, had she not? Why then was she suddenly no longer ready?

“I’ll… I’ll let you know when I’m ready,” she said.

With the way she looked now, Ernest knew she might not be ready for many months. “My lady, I hope you recall our conversation. The one about us needing to create an heir.”

Christiana gave a short nod. She looked terrified.

“My lady, there is no need to be scared of me,” Ernest said. “I won’t come to your bed till you want me to.”

Christiana looked up at him. “Really?” she said in a small voice.

Her vulnerability moved him. She was a maiden, untouched and unsoiled. She had probably heard stories of how much it hurt, laying with men for the first time. She was scared because she had no idea what was going to happen. Ernest’s resolve grew. When they finally lay together, he was going to make sure it was the best time she’d ever had.

“I won’t touch you, Christiana,” he said. “Not until you want me to.”

Christiana shot him a grateful glance. Ernest felt his heart instantly lighten. She looked instantly happier.

Ernest leaned forward and grabbed her hand. The feel of her skin against his felt like the purest of silks. “I need to leave now, my lady. We will talk more some other time, I hope.”

He brought her hand to his lips. “I’m glad we’re getting along just fine now,” he added after he kissed her. He meant every word. Before her attack, he had not spent a minute with Christiana that did not end up with him glowering as she stormed off. Christiana was a different person, a better person, and for that he was glad.

“And I as well, Your Grace,” Christiana said, the shadow of a smile on her lips.

Ernest gave a nod as he let go of her hand. He turned and walked out of the room, away from his wife. It was the hardest thing he’d done in a while.

* * *

Amelia woke up to the sounds of birds chirping outside her window. Her eyes were still closed, but she was aware of the smile that stretched across her lips the moment she regained consciousness.

She was happy. For the first time in a long time, she was completely and undeniably happy.

Throughout the day before and the night thereafter, she had thought of nothing but the kiss she’d shared with Ernest. It had been her first, and she had no idea a kiss could take you out of the world and transport you into a medium you knew nothing of in the past. The kiss had opened places in Amelia she did not know existed. She had felt a distinct burning between her legs as they’d kissed, that part of her that she rarely explored, and she had been aware of how much she wanted Ernest to pull her into his arms, lay her on the bed and have his way with her.

Amelia opened her eyes. She could see sunlight streaming through the windows into her room. She had never seen such a beautiful sight. Did a single kiss have the power to make her see things differently? Amelia could not say for certain. All she knew was that she wanted to see Ernest again.

At the thought of Ernest, she felt a tightening in the middle of her legs. Amelia blushed. These feelings were foreign to her, and she knew she had to get rid of them sooner rather than later. Lady Gillingham would be far from pleased if she knew Amelia was thinking of her husband in that way.

There was a knock on the door, and Mary entered, carrying a tray.

“Breakfast, Your Grace,” Mary said, setting the food across Amelia’s legs. Breakfast consisted of rolls, breads, butter, preserves, and a pot of hot chocolate. Amelia felt a stomach rumble as she looked down at the food. If she kept stuffing herself full with these delicacies, she would outgrow Lady Gillingham’s gowns soon enough.

“Good morning, Mary,” Amelia said as she started on the food. “Where is Ernest today?”

“Out with his boxing instructor, Your Grace,” Mary said.

Amelia nodded. She was mentally taking notes of the things she noticed Ernest liked to do. She finished the food pretty quickly, and Mary cleared the tray afterwards.

“What do you want to do today, Your Grace?” Mary asked as she dressed Amelia up in one of Lady Gillingham’s pale yellow gowns.

“I don’t know,” Amelia admitted. Since Ernest was busy, there was little else to do. She supposed she could find Rebecca, but she did not think Rebecca would like that very much. Amelia knew she needed to give Rebecca some time to mull over her apology and realise it was a sincere one. It would not do to disturb her right now.

“Shall we take a stroll in the gardens?” Mary suggested. “You’ve not been to the garden yet, and I assure you it is a marvellous sight.”

Amelia nodded. That sounded like a good idea. “The garden it is,” she said.

They walked out of the manor together, Amelia nodding in greeting to the maids she passed. She had only been in the estate for three days and had not seen most of the formidable building, and so she looked around in awe as she walked, staring at the beautiful paintings adorning the walls and the rich carpeting beneath her feet. Sometimes, Amelia still couldn’t believe she was going to have to live in this place for the next few months.

The garden was an expansive area on the eastern side of the grounds. Amelia gasped when she saw the plants, cornflowers and lilac flowers, daisies and wild strawberries, all lending themselves into a bright conflagration of colours. It looked like something out of a painting. Amelia breathed in deeply. She loved the smell of the garden, the freshness hovering in the air. It was a very beautiful place.

“Mary,” Amelia said, turning to the maid. “Why doesn’t Lady Gillingham like it here?”

“What, Your Grace?” Mary asked, as though she hadn’t heard the question.

Amelia repeated herself. It made no sense to her. Lady Gillingham had spoken of her life as though it was a truly dreadful place, and Amelia could not understand what was so off-putting. Lady Gillingham had a wonderful husband, leagues of maids, and a sister-in-law who seemed as though she’d been keen to be friends once upon a time. And she had tried to ruin it all. Amelia could not understand why.

Mary shrugged. “The duchess is a complicated woman,” she said.

That was an understatement, Amelia thought.

“There has to be some reason why she thinks this place is simply dreadful. I’ve been here for only three days, but I can’t see why she would want to escape it all. Perhaps I’m missing something, and you can point me in the right direction,” Amelia said.

“The duchess has been through a lot,” Mary said.

Amelia stared at the maid. Mary looked as impassive as ever, but Amelia rather thought the maid was hiding something from her. Was there something she knew and was not saying?

“Do you mean something other than the story you told me about the stable boy?” Amelia asked.

Mary looked like the last thing she wanted to do was answer the question. Still, she gave a faint nod.

“Ah,” Amelia said. Mary did know something, but was not willing to share.

Amelia wanted to prod. It seemed only normal. Lady Gillingham had waltzed into her life, upended it, and asked Amelia to pretend to be her. Amelia had a right to know what Lady Gillingham was running away from. The duke was harmless, one of the best noblemen Amelia had ever met. He was kind, patient, and caring. Rebecca did not seem as terrible as she pretended to be. So why couldn’t Lady Gillingham stand this life?

Amelia sighed. Mary was not going to tell her. She supposed she would find out one day, one way or the other.

“I understand you can’t tell me, Mary,” Amelia said, and she saw Mary’s shoulders sag with what she was sure was relief. Amelia turned around to look at the lilac flowers. She reached out to grab one of them, feeling the petals in their fist. Then, she turned back to Mary. “But, would you show me where Ernest takes his boxing lessons?”