Page 63 of Never Beguile a Duke
“I am,” she panted, her body relaxing as the discomfort faded. “You’re a bit larger than he was.”
“Am I?” A wicked grin split the Duke of Beaufort’s face. “Allow me to show you the benefits.”
He directed her hips forward again, adopting a slow rocking motion which encouraged the tendrils of warmth pooling in her abdomen to spiral outward and ignite her blood.
Fingers curling around his shoulders, Winifred moved in rhythm with him, a soft gasp escaping each time her hips rolled forward. This felt nothing like relations with Mr. Hollingsworth. Where he had been selfish and uncaring of her experience, the Duke of Beaufort seemed to draw pleasure in every moan he wrung from her body.
A groan rumbling in his chest, he dug his hands into her skin and increased their pace, driving himself deep into her center. His mouth recaptured hers, muting the cries falling from her lips as he thrust harder.
Her nails carving half-moons into his back through his muslin shirt, she ground herself against him. “Please…”
“Silas,” he murmured against her mouth.
“Silas,” she gasped, her head tilting back as the fire blazing across her skin intensified. “Don’t stop.”
“I have no intention to,” he panted, his voice straining, and he slid forward in the chair, altering his angle and plunging deeper.
She cried out, clinging to him as wave after wave of desire scorched her skin. Nothing she’d experienced prior prepared her for the blinding pleasure spreading through her limbs.
The trembling began in her abdomen and expanded outward until her body, screaming for release, vibrated with need. Her stomach clenched, and she climaxed, screaming out his name as the orgasm tore through her.
He followed her over the edge, his own cry of release drowning out her voice. He drew her against his chest, his rapid breathing entwining with hers.
A soft tapping came at the door, and they both whipped their heads toward the chamber’s entrance. The handle depressed, but the locked door did not open.
Winifred’s heart stopped. If they were discovered in this position, a forced wedding would be the only solution.
Miss Juliette’s quiet voice crept under the door. “Miss Fernsby-Webb?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SILAS MORTON, DUKE OF BEAUFORT
Damn! How did Juliette know Miss Fernsby-Webb was in the chamber? Did she hear their amorous activity?
“What do you need, Juliette?” he ground out, pinning a struggling Miss Fernsby-Webb to his lap.
“I was hoping Miss Fernsby-Webb would finish assisting me dress,” came the muffled reply.
Silas frowned. “Are you currently standing in the corridor in your underclothes?”
Silence answered his question.
“Go back to your chamber,” he said, adding more stern inflection than he intended. “When I see Miss Fernsby-Webb, I’ll pass along your request.”
“She’s not in your chamber?”
He exchanged a glance with Miss Fernsby-Webb, who vehemently shook her head. “She is not.”
“Oh.” Disappointment seeped through the door. “Thank you, Father.”
“At some point,” Miss Fernsby-Webb said, her head twisted toward the door, “you’re going to need to explain who was in your chamber. Miss Juliette is an intelligent child. If the lady wasn’t me, your daughter will want to know who she heard, as that woman might become her future mother.”
Horror seeped through Silas’ body. “You expect me to discuss something this personal with a nine-year-old?”
“Yes.” Miss Fernsby-Webb stopped struggling to free herself from his hold and glowered at him when he refused to release her. “Allow your daughter some say in her future, and she’ll trust you a bit more.”
“And this experience raising children comes from where?” he asked, his harsh tone causing Miss Fernsby-Webb to recoil.
