Page 58 of A Trap by the Rakish Duke
Aurelia felt a rush of frustration, longing and anger blending into an urgency she struggled to control. She wanted to push him away, to fight the overwhelming need that pulsed between them but her body betrayed her. A small whimper escaped her lips and Philip’s grip tightened ever so slightly.
He leaned closer, his lips grazing the skin of her neck. “Do you understand,wife?”
She could hardly speak, her heart racing as her body arched into his as though it craved the very touch she wanted to resist.
“Yes,” she finally managed, her voice barely audible.
Philip exhaled, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. He remained motionless for a moment longer, inhaling the sweet scent of her, the tension between them tangible.
Then, just as suddenly as he had cornered her he pulled away, his hand leaving her hip as he turned around and walked toward the door.
He paused at the threshold, casting a final glance at her over his shoulder.
“Do not forget what I said,” he murmured, before disappearing into the hall.
Aurelia stood frozen by the window, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her mind whirled with thoughts of Oliver’s words, of Philip’s possessiveness and of her own uncertain feelings. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm her racing heart.
Everything had simply left her more confused than ever.
Philip sat in his study, a deep frown etched onto his features as he watched Oliver casually pour himself a cup of tea. The fire crackled in the hearth, but the warmth did little to ease the tension in the room.
Without looking up from his cup, the Viscount broke the silence. “If you have something to say, Philip, best get on with it. Glaring daggers at me is of no help.”
Philip narrowed his eyes, irritated by the feistiness in his friend’s tone. This was a serious matter, at least to him.
“What did you tell her?” he huffed, his voice clipped.
Oliver raised an eyebrow and took a slow sip of his tea.
“Not much,” he replied, his tone light as if the matter was of little consequence.
He set the cup down and finally met Philip’s gaze.
Philip leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression betraying his simmering frustration. “You must have said something, or I would not be asking.”
Oliver sighed, leaning back in his chair as well, clearly more at ease with the situation than Philip. “When I arrived and found you were not home, I was about to leave. But Aurelia…she appeared troubled.”
Philip’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing further. “Troubled? By what?”
“By you, of course,” Oliver said with a slight chuckle, though it was clear he wasn’t making light of the matter. “She mentioned that you two had an argument. It was not difficult to see that something was weighing upon her.”
Philip clenched his teeth. The idea of Aurelia confiding in Oliver, even about something as minor as an argument, unsettled him.
Oliver’s eyes softened as he continued. “Philip, your wife cares about you more than you give her credit for. You may not see it, but it is there. You should start believing that instead of letting wild imaginings fill your head.”
Philip’s silence was telling. What could he say? He knew Oliver had no interest in Aurelia beyond friendship, but the mere thought that she might seek solace elsewhere, that she might even seek someone else to warm her bed, rattled him deeply.
After a long pause, Philip finally spoke. “I can manage my family,” he stated, his voice laced with defiance as he jutted his chin.
Oliver smirked, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I do not doubt that, but there is a right way and a wrong way, my friend. You gain nothing by keeping her in the dark about what is going on. She will only become more confused.”
Philip glared at him but said nothing.
Oliver’s words rang true, however, each time Philip contemplated telling Aurelia the full details of her father’s dealings, the weight of it became unbearable.
She was already torn between her loyalty to her family and her loyalty to him. Philip feared what might happen if he added more to that burden.
“You think you know so much,” he muttered, a hint of bitterness creeping into his tone.
