Page 78 of A Spinster for the Cold Duke

Annabelle’s eyes rolled to the back of her head, but before she could scream, Henry swallowed the sound with a consuming kiss. Then he started to pump inside her in earnest.

His hips moved, slow then fast, then slow again, until she thought she would go mad from the pleasure.

“Yes, yes, yes.” She gasped against his lips before he sucked at her lower lip and angled his hips so that his member caressed her sweet spot and she exploded. Pleasure ripped through her.

Her inner walls clamped down around his thick manhood, and he groaned, pumping once, twice, three times, before pulling out and splattering his seed into a handkerchief.

“My Annabelle,” he moaned as he came.

Annabelle watched him. Her legs and hips still twitched with aftershocks.

By the time she had the presence of mind again, she found him pressing kisses to her cheeks, jaw, and the spot where her neck flowed into her shoulders.

“Please come visit Marchwood Hall,” he pleaded. “I want to?—”

A sharp knock at the door made them both freeze.

“Miss Lytton?” The butler’s voice carried through the heavy wood. “Begging your pardon, but you have visitors. Lord Oakley has arrived with Miss Florentia Lytton.”

The blood drained from Annabelle’s face. “Miss…Florentia?”

“Yes, Miss. Your sister, I believe.”

Annabelle’s knees nearly gave out, now for a completely different reason. Henry steadied her with firm hands. His expression was instantly alert and protective.

“Tell them I’ll be right there,” she called, her voice somehow steady despite the chaos in her chest.

Now, her orgasm and all the fuzzy feelings were completely forgotten.

They worked quickly to make themselves presentable. Henry straightened his cravat while Annabelle smoothed her skirts with trembling hands.

“It will be all right,” he said quietly while pressing a brief kiss to her forehead before unlocking the door. “I’ll go first.”

Annabelle waited several agonizing minutes before making her way to the drawing room. Her heart hammered against her ribs with each step.

The scene that greeted her was like something from a nightmare. Her grandmother sat stiffly in her chair. Disapproval radiated from every line of her posture.

Henry stood near the window with Celia. His expression was politely neutral. Lord Oakley, her father, sat uncomfortably on the settee.

And there, rising gracefully from her chair with that familiar melodic laugh, was Florentia—her younger sister whom she hadn’t seen in years.

“Annabelle!” Her sister rushed forward and enveloped her in an embrace that smelled of expensive perfume and secrets. “Oh, how I’ve missed you!”

Annabelle stood frozen in her sister’s arms, noting how Florentia had filled out and how her face had gained the sophistication that came with experience and heartbreak.

“If you recall, I told you that Florentia decided to return to London,” Lord Oakley said. His tone was carefully casual. “She’s missed England dreadfully, haven’t you, my dear?”

“Terribly,” Florentia agreed as she pulled back to study Annabelle’s face with eyes that held shadows that hadn’t been there before. “I’ve been such a fool, Anna. Such a terrible fool.”

The childhood nickname made Annabelle go even stiffer, and she saw Henry’s subtle shift in posture from the corner of her eye.

“How… unexpected,” Lady Oakley said coldly. Her disapproval of this disruption was evident in every syllable.

“Indeed,” Henry said smoothly, executing a perfect bow. “Miss Florentia Lytton, Lord Oakley. I should take my leave. Come along, Celia.”

As he passed Annabelle, his fingers brushed hers briefly, communicating a silent promise of support that she clung to desperately.

When they were finally alone, Florentia turned to her with tears in her eyes.

---