Page 23 of A Trap by the Rakish Duke
His eyes clouded over with mistrust and his gaze dipped to her chest before moving back to her eyes. “No. Before I partake of my evening meal I will go riding as I had planned. There is no need to wait for me.”
“As you wish. I will see you in the morning.” Aurelia licked her bruised lips, buried the hurt in her heart and turned to leave Philip’s study.
I need him to trust me. I need him to believe in me.
She closed the door behind her and leaned her head against the wood in frustration. She had desperately wanted his kisses and had not wanted him to stop.
Why do I become so helpless in his presence? It cannot just be me that feels this heat, this need…
She recalled the way he’d obliged her when she’d tugged on his hair. The feel of his tongue caressing her skin still sent shivers of pleasure down her spine. He’d listened to her then and had responded to her touch.
Biting her lips, she stepped back from the door and made her way toward the spiraling staircase.
If she was to get anywhere at all with the Duke, she would need to make him yield to her in the same way she’d yielded to his kisses.
I need to seduce His Grace.
Chapter Nine
It was late in the afternoon and the sun hung low in the sky, casting streaks of gold over where Philip sat, his brow furrowed as he pored over a stack of documents.
The papers in front of him were important, concerning the estate’s finances and a few lingering debts, but he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate.
His thoughts, rather inconveniently, kept drifting back to the kiss he had shared with Aurelia the day before.
The softness of her lips, the way she had yielded to him for just a moment; it was all so vivid in his mind that he could still feel the warmth of her body beneath his hands.
Focus.
He scowled, shaking his head as if to clear it.
Ours is not a marriage founded on love or mutual respect. Aurelia is merely a payment, a means to settle part of her father’s debt.
He had to remind himself just who she was. She wasn’t his wife; not in every sense of the word.
And yet, Philip couldn’t shake the image of her from his thoughts. It wasn’t just the kiss; it was the way she had looked at him, as though she had been trying to reach past the walls he had erected around himself.
Frustrated, he rang for his butler.
“You called for me, Your Grace?” Mr. Wimbledon asked, his hands folded behind his back.
Philip nodded and rose from his seat, approaching the large window that overlooked the expansive fields of Oakdale Manor.
He needed air, perhaps even a ride, just to rid himself of these bothersome thoughts. But as he stepped toward the window, something, or rather, someone, caught his eye.
Aurelia.
She was in the field, bow in hand, aiming an arrow at a target in the distance.
“What in the devil is she doing?” he muttered under his breath.
“Your Grace?” Mr. Wimbledon inquired.
Philip turned, blinking as though he had just realized his butler was there. “You may return,” he told him. He had wanted to ask about Aurelia, but there she was.
Mr. Wimbledon bowed and scurried out of the study.
Philip turned back to the window. Aurelia looked graceful yet determined, with a certain look in her eyes as though she had been waiting for him to notice her.
