Page 83 of Her Beast of a Duke
“You will not. I have enough light for both of us. Until you have your own again.”
Oscar exhaled, pressing his head to her chest, and she stroked his hair, comforting him softly. Her hands moved further down, mapping over his back, and soon, she could feel him growing aroused at how she sat astride him.
Her mouth quirked. “And if you wish to make a new memory in this room, this bed ought to be comfortable enough to?—”
She could not finish her sentence before Oscar had her hips lifting, and her dress pushed up again, for they were often too impatient to fully undress.
She waited to be turned around or lain on her back, but this time he kept her astride his lap. His eyes held hers as he freed himself, his length brushing between her legs.
It was intimate, a position designed so that they could scarcely look away from one another, and Isabella felt her entire body go light when he guided her hips down to take him inside her. He tugged the neckline of her dress to free her breasts, pressing his face against them. His teeth caught her nipple, and she arched, gasping out at the stretch between her legs, and how she was fully flush against him.
She would never tire of intimacy with Oscar, not when he pushed up into her, filling her deeper, and not when her hips sought out their own hasty rhythm. But they both slowed again, wanting to take their time, even if they were impatient.
Isabella rode her husband desperately, her head tipping back, her hair spilling down her back for him to tangle his fingers intoas he groaned into her chest. She bounced on his lap; her release rising, her moans entirely too loud and undone, but she didn’t care. The northern wing was far away enough from the rest of the inhabitants that she had a chance of not being heard.
And after all, when her husband pleased her so well, who was she to deny herself the utmost vocal affirmation?
The rocking of his hips into her had her moans punching out over and over, had her chest tight and her breath short. She moaned into his neck, nails scratching over old scars, and she gasped out as her release rose.
“Isabella,” Oscar groaned. “Heavens, I can never get enough of you.”
She breathed out a laugh as she rode him harder, in tighter circles, her desperation mounting. “And I you. Please, husband, let go for me. Come apart for me.”
Oscar let out a choked noise, as if the intensity had heightened for him too, and with one last thrust of his hips up into her, he pulled out of her, his release spilling on her belly, though his hand remained on her soft nub, caressing just at the right moment?—
For her own release, she broke free like water through a dam.
Together, they climaxed, and once that ebbed away, she slumped against his chest, happy and loose-limbed.
“Yes,” he murmured, running his fingers through her hair, “I do believe this is the start of new memories in this room.”
Chapter Twenty
Candlelight and the clatter of utensils filled the dining hall of Rochdale Castle, and the sound of it was so unusual that Oscar was still taking his time getting accustomed to it. He had already drunk two glasses of wine, had already made sure to integrate himself into the conversations, and yet the reality of his full dining hall still unsettled him.
“Your Grace.” A female voice snagged his attention, snapping him out of his almost dissociative state. He blinked at Isabella’s youngest sister, Alicia. “You must enjoy such a large gathering. Isabella has often said that you both prefer eating alone.”
He caught his wife’s gaze, trying not to frown in question. She had written about such things? And not only that, but she had worded it not to make him seem as though he had forced her to eat alone. She only smiled softly at him, lifting her shoulders.
“Well…” He cleared his throat. “When one does not have company, one does not entirely have a need for a large dining hall.”
“So it pleases you, then, to have company tonight?” Alicia pressed, her eyes bright. For a lady so young, he had already seen her persistence. There was a sort of stubbornness to her that he recognized from Isabella.
“I imagine it does not,” Edmund snorted, and Oscar looked toward where his friend sat on one length of the table. He was next to Isabella’s friend, Lady Mary, who watched Isabella with keen, knowing eyes, as if sensing anything amiss that could not be spoken about.
She seemed protective, and Oscar liked that. Isabella deserved somebody like these protective ladies around the table.
“Alicia.” This time it was Hermia who spoke. She sat next to the Duke of Branmere, and on the Duke’s other side was Charles’s daughter from his first marriage, and Hermia’s stepdaughter, Phoebe. The trio hadn’t kept to themselves despite being their family unit, and it was clear to see just how much the sisters shared their lives despite living so far apart. “Leave His Grace alone.”
“Oh, Hermia,” Isabella laughed, “we are family. I am certain you can call my husband by his Christian name.” Her beautiful eyes caught his, and Oscar’s body jolted, as it always did when he looked head-on at her. He gave her a small nod to confirm her offer.
“Then may I call you Oscar?” Alicia asked, leaning forward to cup her chin, smiling self-assuredly. “Isabella will tell you that I extensively believe in dropping titles altogether. I understand the need for them, but I find it bizarre that, upon meeting another lady, I still must call herLadyjust for the pleasure of others who think it is courteous.”
Despite himself, Oscar laughed, short and surprised. “You have very strong opinions, Lady Alicia.”
“See! This is what I mean.Pleasecall me Alicia. Just Alicia. I do not need to have a title before my name. I am a lady plenty enough otherwise.”
“Then we may be Oscar and Alicia.”
