Page 84 of His Duchess of Scandal
His tongue was too heavy for words, but they did not need them. He heard the quiet“Oh my”from Lady Redham, who stood behind Hermia.
His attention remained on his wife as she hesitated. But then her hand slid into his.
Charles wasted no time leading her to the dance floor as the waltz built.
Not pulling her flush against him was agony in itself, for he wanted her as close as possible. He wanted their bodies aligned, pressed so close that not even a breeze could slip between them.
The need seized him so suddenly that he almost pulled her into him right then and there. Instead, he kept his composure and held her at a proper distance.
As soon as he met her eyes, though, every proper thought flew out of his mind. He pulled her into the first steps of the waltz and tried not to think of the warmth of her hand on his waist.
Immediately, he was swept beneath the spell of the dance. His heart pounded so hard, and he swallowed back the urge to tell her such a thing. He led her through the steps, his mind whirring, unable to stop thinking of the taste of her kisses, the look in her eyes when she had noticed the bulge in his breeches the night before.
Her hands on his waist and shoulder almost drove him to insanity. He needed them elsewhere. Needed themeverywhere.
He held her eyes throughout the dance, and all he could wonder was whether she could sense his thoughts tumbling over one another.
Hermia’s breath came short and quick, and her fingers curled slightly. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was having the same thoughts.
He fought not to lose his footing, his hand tightening around her.
“I saw you speaking with Grenford,” he finally said, needing a distraction. “I believe I warned you against being in his company.”
“You did,” Hermia agreed. “But he approached us, and I did not want to turn him away in front of a group.”
“I only beg you to be wary of him.”
“And you still have not explained why,” she pointed out.
Charles’s grip tightened on her. Not in warning, but frustration.
Fine.
“My family has a history with his. Does that satisfy you enough to heed me?”
Hermia, ever needing to rile him up, smirked. “Hmm, family. I see. So it is not because you are jealous of another man?”
Charles stumbled over the next step, taken aback, but then quickly collected himself and leaned in. He did not care if he tossed fuel over the embers of his desire. He would burn, and could only hope his wife would burn with him.
“Yes,” he admitted. “Both. I am indeed jealous, Hermia, because you aremywife, and I detest any man who looks at you with interest.”
He heard her breath catch, and he dared to let his fingers stroke up her spine. She shivered against him.
“And instead of dancing such a proper waltz, where I cannot pull you as close as I want, I should be tasting my wife. I should be overwhelmed with your scent and taste, and yet…”
He let his offer hang in the air, pulling back in time to see her blush.
“Then you did not get your fill that night at Anton Bentley’s,” she dared to say.
It only made something snap inside him. Because, ofcourse, he had not gotten his fill, and he was tired of pretending otherwise.
As soon as the waltz ended, Charles dragged her off the dance floor, ignoring the looks from her sisters and Levi.
He had only one intention.
He led her out of the ballroom and ushered her into one of the side rooms, locking them both in.
Hermia stared back at him, her breasts straining against the neckline of her dress, and Charles knew the last thread of his patience and control had well and truly snapped.
