Page 58 of Trapped with the Forbidden Duke
“I see.” He cocked his head, giving her a slow once-over. “Then why are you in mine?”
“Ah…” she trailed off. “Only to… get my bearings, of course.”
Edwina’s eyes were heavy-lidded, and she pushed away from her spot to approach him.
She tapped his empty glass. “Another? I think I may pour myself one if you do not mind.”
“Do you wish me to serve you?”
The words carried another meaning that he had not intended, Lucien realized.
Edwina froze before a smile spread across her face—one he had not seen since their first meeting in that private room at the Raven’s Den.
The faux seduction. Or, rather, not faux, but forced because it did not come easy. At least not when it was overshadowed by nerves, as he suspected.
“Let me serve you, husband,” Edwina told him, her voice a low purr, but there was also a tremor in it.
As they had that day, her hands trembled as she poured them each a glass. He made to lift his glass in a salute, only to find that she had already gulped down most of her drink.
Lucien steadily sipped his whisky when she stepped away, her fingers falling to the loose tie of her robe.
His eyes widened. This close, he could see the way her body shook. A small, almost indiscernible tremor, but he had long learned to read people.
Still, her robe slid off her shoulders, baring arms that he had already skimmed his fingertips over. Her thighs, hidden by a gown that was so thin that she may as well have worn nothingbeneath her robe, grazed the almost transparent fabric. The dusky nipples he could see made his head spin.
Heavens.
Edwina stepped closer to the table he’d been sitting at and set her glass down, leaning over him unnecessarily. He looked up at her, and a low heat flared in his stomach at how, from this angle, her curves and her breasts were heavier, and all he craved was to touch her.
She is beautiful.
It was all he could think about, and as much as he ached to pull her onto his lap, to indulge in even just one small part of her, to know how her skin might taste with how heavenly she smelled, he restrained himself.
“Stop,” he ordered, his voice rough and quiet in the night.
Edwina’s reaction was immediate. She froze for a moment before drawing back.
“Stop? Why? Is the angle not to your liking? Will it please you more if I do something diff?—”
Lucien shook his head. “Go back to your room, Duchess.”
She drew back, her fists curled against her chest, which rose and fell heavily with nervous breaths. Nervous, embarrassed breaths, he realized, for he could see the blush staining her cheeks.
“Why?” she asked again, her voice weaker this time.
Because I can see that you do not want it. And as much as I want you, I will not take my wife out of misplaced duty.
He did not tell her that, only turned away, his jaw tight as he tried to regain his composure.
He only needed to make her leave quickly.
“Just go, Duchess,” he reiterated, this time a little more sharply than before.
Edwina exhaled, snatched her robe up from where it had fallen to the floor, and walked back to her room.
He ought to call her back, to clear his head of lust and speak with her, but he wanted his wife to want him when he took her to bed. He wanted her fists clenched in his sheets from desire, not trepidation or anxiety. He wished to lavish comfort and praise upon her when she was ready.
By the time Edwina had left his room, all that remained of their encounter was the heavenly scent of jasmine and rose. He clenched his fist in an effort to control himself as the scentteased his senses. How he wished to lick her, to see if she tasted as sweet as she smelled.
