Page 39 of The Matchmaker Meets her Duke
Did sheknowwho Peter was to her? Why would she invite her former betrothed to a party she knew Pandora would be in attendance? Did she mean her ill? But they barely knew each other! Or could she be working with the Dowager Viscountess, trying to make trouble for her and Emmett and anybody that the Dowager counted as a family?
Pandora shook these thoughts out of her head. There had to be an explanation. The music had trilled to a slow quadrille, and dance cards were filling up. Peter was talking to Henrietta about some tale regarding his travels in East Africa, but Pandora held no interest in it. She patted Henrietta lightly on the back, bowing as she excused herself.
Pandora felt a new lightness in her spirits as she made her way through the room. She was Emmett's wife now, not Peter's, and she was grateful. She could not believe she had ever wanted him, that she had wept over him for days on end after he deserted her at the altar and her name danced on the lips of thetonfor weeks.
But she also felt grateful for having encountered Peter here tonight. A much-unanticipated encounter, but it had served as an insight into the state of her heart: that the pain of losing what could have been no longer seared her heart, that she no longer desired him. Or maybe she had never really desired him in the first place. Maybe Emmett had swept in with his chiseled perfection and gleaming skin, and his teasing humor and the way that he floated through a room as if he were walking on air, and shown her what true desire was.
And she did desire him. Truly. She wanted him now. He made her laugh, and he made her feel safe but he made her feel something else too.
But she would not think about that now, or what the new Duchess had against her for inviting Peter here tonight. She wanted to be with Emmett, to mold her body against his, to feel the heat of his touch hot against her skin.
Pandora searched the room, but Emmett was nowhere to be seen. One final sweep across the ballroom, and she made for the garden where she supposed he might be.
* * *
"Emmett?" Pandora could not be certain if the figure leaning away from the pond and the huge walls and the layers of fruit trees was her husband. But in that instance the moonlight fell over his shoulders, lighting the rich curls of his hair. ItwasEmmett.
"Emmett," she sighed, making toward him. "I thought you might be here."
"I saw you come in here," he said and scooped her into a surprising hug that filled her with warmth. Emmett was not an unaffectionate man, but it was not what she had been expecting. She shivered and pressed herself against him. The feel of his body entwined in hers… it felt better than anything she had imagined.
They remained that way, tucked in the dark warmth of the night garden, two souls trembling in each other's embrace.Trembling.Pandora realized this, that she was trembling, with a little alarm.
She tried to speak, to explain herself. "I was… I ran into an old acquaintance."
"As did I." His voice was so gentle in her ear, his breath a hot caress. She felt a shiver as it ran across his spine, and wondered if perhaps Emmett needed this hug even more than she did. What had happened to him? Who had he run into? Perhaps she would know by first telling him hers.
"We were trying to escape your grandmother and the Dowager Viscountess and then Pe–"
"Hush," he chided gently, and Pandora's words fell away. His scent, clean and dangerous, ignited a surprising heat in her. She gazed up at him, grateful that she had found him. Their breaths mixed hotly as his hand cupped her cheek. Choked up with desire, Pandora's eyes fluttered shut.
She wanted him to kiss her. She did not care that they could be stumbled upon by anyone, that they ought to be behind the closed door of their chamber. She wanted him to kiss her, and she wanted him to kiss her now. She parted her lips. "Emmett, I–"
His fingertip traced the outline of her lower lip, and all the breath in her body caught in her throat. Their foreheads remained pressed together. Then Emmett lowered his mouth to hers, and their lips met in a wet, hot slide.
Pandora clutched desperately to him, a wild fire lighting her spine from within. Devastating heat pooled in her legs. She wrapped her hands tight around his neck, wishing they could close their eyes and disappear into the sweet confines of their chamber. She wanted to be without apparel. She wanted his prodding, exploring touch to burn into her skin.
He gave her lower lip a hungry nibble, and Pandora gasped her pleasure.
"Emmett," she said and was shocked by the hoarseness in her own voice.Emmett what?It was a plea, a question, a statement. She wanted anything. He would take all of her, and she wanted him to.
They kissed rough and deep. He cradled her head with one hand, while his other hand explored her body. A throaty groan as he squeezed her bottom through all those layers of clothing. Then he was drawing her gown forward, pulling it over the tops of her breasts, over her corset with the wax inserts.
"Emmett, heavens, yes,"she mumbled, vaguely aware that she was yapping gibberish as his lips, wet and soft as petals lingered on her neck, as he trailed down the smooth sides of her breasts.
Pandora held on tight to him. She steadied herself, certain that she might fall and pass out from this much desire. She could not remember a time when she had not desired Emmett. She could not imagine a time when she had not wanted him to herself, to hold and to touch and to call her own. She could not imagine any other man making her body bow to sensation… tracing slow circles around the hardened peak of her breasts as she cried out his name. He blew warm air over her nipple. Then took it into his wet mouth and sucked.
Pandora moaned and writhed in his arms. A powerful thrill was building, crashing, throbbing below her waist. She wanted Emmett's touch down there. She dug her fingers into his hair as he kissed her nipples, begging him to stop. Then begging him not to stop. Every inch of her lit up with the burning, urgent need to be possessed by him.
The night air breezed through the garden, tousling her hair, whipping at the tip of her nose but she didn't care. It was a small sacrifice to pay for the glorious feel of his mouth tracing down her breasts, peeling away the last of her chemise. This man was on his knees before her, his hand sliding up the bare skin of her thigh, sending shivers racing through her. His tongue cold and wet and hot and punishing, tracing lower still–
"Duchess Willcrow?"Heavens!
Pandora gasped at the sound of her name from the familiar voice. She reeled, nearly losing her footing. Emmett caught her. A steady hand on her waist, he lifted the straps of her chemise before the owner of the voice could come into view.
"Lady Wellington!" Pandora cried, flush with a hot mingle of pleasure and shame.
The smile on the Duchess’ face was gentle and perhaps deliberately oblivious. Surely she was well aware of what it was she had been doing with her husband in the garden, but she felt grateful that she was pretending otherwise.
