Page 90 of Trapped with the Forbidden Duke
“I am,” she whispered, heat rushing through her.
On legs that trembled with anticipation, Edwina kneeled on the sill, facing the window. Thankfully, the grounds beyond were empty. She gasped when cold air kissed the back of her thighs as Lucien pulled her dress to her hips.
He wasted no time in entering her, unexpectedly slow. Until his anger took root and his hips slammed against her own, the sound almost too loud in the room. Edwina could barely containher soft groans of pleasure. Her husband was rough with her, not taking his anger out on her specifically but venting through her.
Her hands splayed against the glass, and desperately hoping that a maid would not come in to see if she had to clear away the tea tray after the guests’ departure, Edwina took comfort in what her husband was doing. Rather than shutting her out as he had once done, he invited her in—or rather invited himself into her.
Pleasure rolled over Edwina in shudders and gasps, and by the time Lucien emptied himself into her, she was shaking.
“May I have your release?” he asked, his voice low and demanding as he crouched behind her, his teeth sinking into the back of her thigh.
“Please,” she gasped.
When his tongue entered her, Lucien ensured that she reached her climax, feeling every groan he made against her. By the time they were finished, her back was damp with perspiration, and Lucien pressed his forehead to the nape of her neck.
“Was I too rough? I did not wish to grip you so tightly. I… I lost myself, and all I thought of was you. Of finding a way to bring you closer, to take out my frustration in a better way.”
“I had guessed,” she whispered, turning in his arms. “Shall we take a walk in the gardens? Some fresh air might help.”
Wordlessly, Lucien nodded.
Edwina’s body still shook with the exertion as she guided her husband out of the room and towards the gardens.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“This is your favorite place,” Lucien noted as they entered the stone-walled flower garden deep within the main gardens.“I have seen you come out here often.”
“Montgomery Manor’s garden once flowered beautifully, and I spent a great deal of time there when Nicholas was gone, either chasing laudanum or off at war. The fresh air and scent of flowers always helped calm my mind. Lavender, in particular.”
“Like the scent packets in your wardrobe at Montgomery Manor.”
“You know the flower in my scent packets?” Edwina laughed.
“I was given access to your room to assess what needed to be renovated.”
Lucien cleared his throat, hoping she would ignore that he had committed that detail to memory. That, and how she particularly liked rose and jasmine oils. Those scents drove him so wild with want that he could barely contain himself.
Even now, his body still shook slightly with how hard he had taken her in the drawing room. Every fiber of his being had begun to fray at his cousins’ presence and had snapped completely at Allan’s inane jokes.
Of course, Allan wouldn’t have known about Nicholas’s addiction, but Lucien had taken one look at the fear on Edwina’s face, only there for a moment, and quickly made his decision.
Every ounce of anger he’d felt was funneled into thrusting into his wife—not because he was angry with her but because he simply wanted to give in to something else that consumed him. And from the way she had cried out for him, he had trusted her to tell him if it had been too much.
“Not by me, you were not,” she teased as they settled onto one of the four stone benches facing the small pond in the center that had a low wall built around it.
Apparently, Lucien’s father had been a troublesome child, and the wall had been commissioned by Lucien’s grandfather.
Silence settled between them until Edwina glanced at Lucien, and he felt the oncoming question. Already, he bristled.
“May I ask you what happened? Why you are so cold towards your cousins?”
“It is not being cold,” he told her flatly. “I—yes, it looks that way. I understand. But… my relationship with them is difficult to explain.”
“Then I shall listen.”
As gentle as the offer was, Lucien knew he couldn’t allow himself to speak about what had happened. But he could give her something—an extension of understanding.
“My mother died in childbirth,” he began, shrugging. “I never knew her apart from my father’s paintings of her. He adored her and did not remarry, for his grief was too great. He had apparently always said that even for duty, he could not replace his wife. He had his heir; he did not need a woman replacing his wife. Mrs. Galley told me that when I was young. When I was seven, my father passed. There were terribly romantic stories about it throughout Stormhold.
