Page 72 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
“Now, Kenneth,” she cried out, her voice sweet and pleading. Her body yearned for release, feeling every inch of him filling her again and again.
He obeyed as her cries grew louder and more insistent.
Finally, her body shook once more with release. He followed closely behind, lost in the waves of pleasure crashing over them.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“You know, my dear,” Kenneth murmured, his voice low and husky, “I find myself quite distracted this morning.”
The morning sun streamed through the windows of the breakfast room at Dunford Castle, casting a warm glow on the intimate scene within. Kenneth and Beatrice sat close together, their hands intertwined beneath the table.
Beatrice raised an eyebrow, a coy smile playing on her lips. “Oh? And what, pray tell, is causing such distraction, Duke?”
Kenneth’s eyes darkened as they roamed appreciatively over her form. “I’m afraid it’s you, my dear. That dress is positively sinful.”
“This old thing?” Beatrice teased, smoothing down the fabric of her gown. “I had no idea it would have such an effect on you.”
“Everything you wear has an effect on me,” Kenneth growled, leaning in closer. “Though I must admit, I prefer you in nothing at all.”
Beatrice’s cheeks flushed, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh my, what would the servants say if they heard you speaking so scandalously?”
“Let them talk,” Kenneth replied, his hand sliding up her thigh beneath the table. “I’m more interested in what you have to say or perhaps what sounds I can coax from those lovely lips of yours.”
Beatrice’s breath hitched as his fingers traced tantalizing patterns on her skin. “Kenneth,” she whispered, her voice trembling with desire, “we can’t… not here…”
“Can’t we?” he challenged, his lips brushing against her ear. “I’m the master of this castle after all. I say we can do whatever we please.”
Just as Beatrice was about to give in to temptation, a discreet cough from the doorway made them spring apart. Mr. Jennings stood there, his expression as impassive as ever though a hint of amusement glinted in his eyes.
“A message from the Dowager Duchess of Newden and Lady Bernmere, Your Grace,” he announced, his voice as impassive as ever.
Kenneth took the letter, his expression growing more bewildered as he read it. “It seems, my dear,” he said to Beatrice, “that we are to have visitors for tea today. The Dowager Duchess and Aunt Marjorie are on their way to visit the Dowager Duchess of Whittleby and wish to stop by.”
Beatrice’s eyes widened. “Today? But we haven’t prepared anything!”
Kenneth chuckled, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “My dear, I don’t think a royal banquet would be enough preparation for those two. We’ll just have to weather the storm as best we can.”
As the hour of the visit approached, Dunford Castle was a flurry of activity. Maids dusted and polished, footmen arranged flowers, and Mrs. Potts muttered darkly about “last-minute visits from relatives” as she prepared a veritable feast of tea cakes and sandwiches.
At precisely three o’clock, the Dowager Duchess of Newden and Lady Bernmere swept into the drawing room, a whirlwind of lace, feathers, and strong opinions.
“Kenneth, my boy!” Lady Bernmere exclaimed, engulfing her nephew in a lavender-scented embrace. “You’re looking peaky. Beatrice, are you feeding him properly?”
Before Beatrice could respond, the Dowager Duchess of Newden had taken her arm. “Never mind that, Marjorie. What we reallywant to know is when we can expect a little pitter-patter of feet around this drafty, old place.”
Beatrice felt her cheeks flame. “We… that is to say… we’re not?—”
“Now, now,” Lady Bernmere interrupted, lowering herself onto the sofa. “No need to be coy, my dear. We were young once too, you know. Why, I remember when my dear late husband and I first got married. We could barely keep our hands off each other!”
Kenneth choked on his tea while Beatrice wished fervently for the ground to open up and swallow her whole.
“Perhaps,” Kenneth managed, once he’d recovered, “we could discuss something else? The weather, perhaps?”
But the two older ladies were not to be deterred. For the next hour, they regaled the mortified couple with tales of their marriages, interspersed with increasingly outlandish advice for conceiving an heir.
“Oysters, my dear,” the Dowager Duchess insisted, fixing Beatrice with a stern gaze. “At least a dozen a day. They worked wonders for my grandson.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Bernmere scoffed. “What they need is to sleep with their heads pointing north. It’s all about the magnetic fields, you know.”
