Page 50 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
More silence ensued, making his chest ache when he looked back at her. Making him move closer to her.
The silence pulled him to her, pulled him toward the desire he had fought for hours—had perhaps fought since he had seen her in the library the night he had first met her.
He told himself he would not kiss her, and yet he crushed his mouth to hers, unable to hold back any longer.
Eleanor froze. She froze so suddenly that he almost wrenched himself back. But then her other hand rose, her fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck. His breath caught as he kissed her again.
A low sound tore from her throat, almost a soft groan, as if she, too, had been aching for the kiss.
“Eleanor,” he murmured, saving the taste of her.
Formalities be damned.I want her, and I do not know how to stop wanting her.
Her name rolled off his tongue, barely coherent for how soon he took her lips in another searing kiss.
Eleanor pressed close, and he leaned into her, almost pressing her back into the cushions. She arched against him, her hand moving from his neck to his jaw, cupping his face. Her thumb brushed his scar, and he had to stifle a groan, for she touched it like it was nothing.
He consumed her, drunk on her taste and scent, knowing that she could never bring him another dessert and hope it was good, for nothing was sweeter than her. His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt his member stiffening with need.
A knock sounded at the door before it was opened, and Spencer jerked back so abruptly that he startled both himself and Eleanor. Her eyes were wide, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
“Your Grace, I came to see if everything was all right,” one of the footmen said, ignoring what he had seen—or perhaps he had not seen anything. “I heard a crash from outside.”
Spencer cleared his throat. “All is well, thank you. In fact, I-I should speak with Fulton to have the greenhouse checked over. There… there should be no more incidents.”
Without another word, he quickly left the drawing room, muttering about how incidents led to dangerous situations and they ought to be avoided.
Chapter Fourteen
“Does your wife know about your trips to London and back?”
“Theodore,” Spencer warned quietly, as if that would deter his friend.
“I am simply curious. IfIwere her, I would wonder where my husband rushes off all the time.”
“And I am grateful you arenother,” Spencer muttered.
Theodore waved a dismissive hand. “After all, it is your honeymoon. You should be ravishing her in your bed, no? You should be showering her with affection, whispering words of adoration by candlelight, raining kisses on?—”
“I will not ask you again to stop enquiring about my marriage.”
Theodore merely grinned at him and gave a shrug, merrily walking down the street.
They were merely a part of the crowd—two men in a horde of them—blending into the bustle of London’s East End. The narrow street reeked of fish and smoke, lined with warehouses, taverns, and merchant stalls, the distant clamor of dockworkers ringing in the air as they made their way toward the river.
Spencer had left early that morning after an incredibly awkward breakfast where he could not meet Eleanor’s gaze.
Eleanor.
NotDuchessanymore. Not since he had uttered her name as he kissed her. And now he did not know how to act, how to recover from what he had done. The confession he had made while he kneeled before her, aching and wanting.
“I do not know how else to want you.”
“No,” he finally said. “I have not told her about the trips.”
“Do you not think you should?”
“No. I think I should focus on what is going in and out of Southgate Dockyard because I know for certain that it is not medical supplies.”
