Page 68 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke
Was the wine bottle already empty? Was she going to fetch more?
She took a step—or tried to—but wobbled dangerously.
“Whoa!” she gasped as she lost her balance.
In two strides, Gerard was beside her, steadying her before she could fall. Her hands landed on his chest, warm and soft, lingering longer than they should have.
He reminded himself that she was drunk, yet the heat that shot through him when she looked up at him, heavy-lidded eyes and lips a deeper pink thanks to the wine, was impossible to ignore.
“You didn’t come to my bed,” she mumbled, her lips curved in a pout that was uncharacteristic of her.
“Ours is a marriage of convenience, remember?” he said, though he had to fight to keep his voice steady.
Wilhelmina hummed in response, her fingers tracing up his chest to his shoulders, as if testing boundaries in a dangerous game.
“Did you want me to come to your bed?” he asked, his voice low, husky, betraying the hunger he had long tamped down. “Doyou want me to?”
He thought of the times he had imagined pushing open the adjoining door and finally making her his.
Her eyes darted away. “No.”
Then, almost immediately, she was back on him. Her hands wandered down his arms, squeezing, exploring.
“You’re very strong, aren’t you?” she teased.
“Duchess,” he warned, his throat dry.
But she did not pause. The wine had unraveled the control she usually wielded. Her hands drifted lower, and he had to catch them before they slipped past his waist.
“You’re not sober,” he growled, attempting to jolt her back to awareness.
“Obviously.” She laughed, a sound light and dangerous. “Or else I wouldn’t be doing this.”
“I don’t want you doing this while your judgment is clouded,” he said, injecting authority in his voice. “I want you to be of a clear mind. Willing. Begging me to touch you.”
Her eyes widened, blinking as if struck. Speechless, lips parted, she bit her lower lip in sudden realization.
For the first time, Wilhelmina seemed shaken, pulled toward sobriety by his words alone.
Gerard would touch her only when she asked, fully aware and consenting. Tonight, she was not in such a state. Every instinct urged him to guide her safely to the stairs. She was steady enough now to ascend on her own.
“Go to bed, Wilhelmina,” he murmured, his hand hovering near her elbow.
She looked back at him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glassy.
Without waiting for her response, he marched upstairs and shut himself in his chambers.
Away from her.
Away from the sinful, delicious thoughts of her.
Chapter Twenty
“Good heavens.”
Wilhelmina woke up feeling like her head would explode.
Her mouth was dry like desert sand, not that she had been near anything like it. The sun streaming through the hastily drawn curtains assaulted her eyes. She groaned aloud and rolled over on the bed, hoping that would be enough to wake her up completely.
