Chapter 16
Lord Aldworth’s walled garden was half-wild with violets and woodruff, hemmed in by ancient brick, lit by a single, floating lantern that made the columns shimmer like stars.
Rose had barely set foot inside before the soft chill nipped at her bare arms. Felix, in a rare display of chivalry, shrugged off his own coat and draped it across her shoulders.
His fingers brushed her collarbone with what might have been accidental delicacy.
They walked side by side along a stone path, the party behind them gradually dissolving into laughter and the brittle clink of glasses.
Rose had not wanted to come, but Felix had argued that a night away from Carden House might do them good.
Now, as the night deepened and the garden’s lanterns trembled on their hooks, Rose wondered if she had been outmaneuvered.
Inside the gazebo, the cold was different: deeper, more private, as if the world outside had nothing to do with the two of them. Felix leaned against the marble banister; eyes luminous in the half-dark.
“You look as though you’re about to be sentenced,” he murmured. “Would you prefer I stand trial as well?”
She tried to glare, but her mouth betrayed her. “You make it sound like a crime to be here with you.”
“Is it?” He inched closer, the heat of him sudden and unmistakable. “I rather thought we were past all that.”
Rose’s pulse beat high in her throat. She felt the jittery thrill of something forbidden, the memory of every midnight story she had ever pressed beneath a convent pillow.
“Don’t,” she said, but the word was soft, barely more than a sigh.
Felix took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Don’t what?”
She could not answer. Instead, she watched as his mouth found the inside of her wrist, the skin there as thin and transparent as paper. He held her gaze as he lingered, letting the tension stretch, then, still not looking away, he let his other hand settle at her waist.
He drew her forward until she was pressed between his body and the cold, fluted stone of the column.
“Does the marble suit you, Duchess?” he asked, voice low.
“I like it very much.” She opened her mouth to continue speaking, and Felix took the opportunity to kiss her.
First, he kissed just her mouth, then the line of her jaw, then the hollow where her pulse leaped. His lips were warm, coaxing rather than demanding. When she did not flinch, he deepened the kiss, his tongue clever and insistent.
Her hands found their way to his lapels. She gripped the fine wool, steadying herself as her knees began to fail her.
Felix’s laugh vibrated through his chest and into hers. “Easy, Rose. Let yourself savor this.”
“Someone—” she tried, but he covered her mouth with his own, silencing protest.
The taste of him—whiskey and masculinity—clouded her head. She let herself be kissed, and then, after a moment, she kissed him back.
He pressed closer, the length of his body a wall at her front, the column unyielding at her back.
His hands were everywhere: tracing her jaw, smoothing her hair, tugging at the ribbon that held her dress together at the nape.
He found the knot and teased it loose with an efficiency that suggested practice.
When the bodice slipped, his glance dropped with reverent admiration. His gaze swept every inch of her before returning to her eyes, waiting for any indication that she wanted him to stop.
Rose was not sure she could have spoken if she’d wanted to. The frigid air licked at her bare shoulders, but Felix’s hands were so hot she half-wondered if he’d burned her.
He pulled back a fraction. “If you wish to leave, now is the time.”
She shook her head, biting her lip.
“Do you have any idea how intoxicating it is to see you this hungry?” He smiled, and it thrilled her.
He guided her hand to the buttons of his own shirt. Her fingers fumbled, but he let her struggle, watching the way her breath shortened with each inch of skin revealed.
When his chest was bare, he took her hand and placed it in the center.
“Touch me,” he said. “This is all for you. Claim what you desire, my sweet.”
She splayed her palm there, feeling the rapid, uneven beat. Then, she ran it up and down, feeling every defined ridge of his muscled torso.
Felix bent his head to her neck. His hands wrapped around her, one at the small of her back, the other tangled in her hair.
“Tell me if you wish me to stop,” he whispered, but she only shook her head again.
He kissed her once more, more slowly this time. Then his hand slipped beneath her skirt, fingers seeking and finding the silk of her stockings. He stroked her thigh until he found the bare skin above the garter, then slid higher.
Rose gasped as he slipped one finger inside her heat, curling it against her, moving it slowly as if it was the time and place to tease.
Felix’s hand grew more insistent, and he added a second finger.
Each deep slide of his fingers inside her, drawing a fresh wave of pleasure that rippled through her body.
She met his touch eagerly, her hips rising to greet his hand, her slick heat gripping him tightly. His free hand roamed her body with possessive reverence. First, a thumb traced the curve of her breast, then it slipped down and anchored at her waist, guiding their shared motion.
The air between them was thick with the scent and sounds of arousal, a heady mix of sweat and desire that made Rose’s head spin.
Felix’s eyes locked on hers as his hand worked. She felt exposed, vulnerable in the most delicious way, as if every barrier she’d ever built was crumbling under the weight of his gaze.
He shifted slightly, angling his fingers to hit a spot deep within her that sent sparks of ecstasy shooting through her limbs. Her nails dug into the muscles of his back as she arched beneath him.
“Rose,” he breathed, his voice a ragged whisper against her neck. “The things you do to me…”
Her body responded instinctively, her legs tightening around his waist, drawing him closer, until the world narrowed to just this: the press of his chest against hers, the brush of his lips along her jaw, the overwhelming sensation of being utterly, blissfully consumed.
When release finally claimed her, it hit like a tidal wave. Her body convulsed around his fingers in shuddering waves of bliss. Her cry was muffled against his shoulder as he worked her through it. She sagged against him, boneless, her legs barely holding her up.
He held her there, letting her ride the tremors until they faded. Only then did he withdraw his hand, smoothing her dress down with surprising tenderness.
Rose was still shaking when he tucked a stray curl behind her ear. She looked up at him, unmoored, barely able to speak.
“We’re leaving,” he said, his voice turned hoarse.
Rose blinked. “Now?” He nodded, not looking at her. “But—Lord Aldworth… The guests… We can’t just leave.”
Felix fixed her with a look so dark and intent it felt like a hand closing around her wrist. “We can. We will.”
He quickly worked to right her clothing, then caught her hand and began to march her through the hedges, pausing only to make certain she followed. The only sign of the prior interlude was the wild rush of her pulse and the taste of him, still clinging to the roof of her mouth.
They emerged from the maze just as the lamps along the terrace flared to life. Felix did not slow. He led her past the startled footman, past the strings of laughter and the swell of music. A few heads turned, but most were too drunk or preoccupied to notice.
They nearly collided with David at the French doors. He took in their state—Felix wild-eyed, Rose half in tow, both disheveled—and smiled as if he had been waiting his whole life for this tableau.
“Not feeling well, Carden?” David asked, his voice laced with delight.
Felix did not release Rose’s hand. “Lizzie needs Rose. We’re leaving.”
David’s gaze flicked from one to the other, and a slow, wicked smile unfurled. “Of course. Safe journey to both of you.”
Rose looked at David, at his perfect comprehension, and felt herself blushing to the roots.
Rose watched the door of the master suite of Carden House click shut, the sound final and heavy, sealing the rest of the world away.
Felix didn’t hesitate. He turned, capturing her mouth slowly, hungrily.
He didn’t just undress her; he dismantled her.
As his fingers worked the buttons at the nape of her gown, Rose marveled at his precision.
There was no clumsy fumbling; he moved with the terrifyingly smooth grace of a man who understood exactly how much anticipation a woman’s skin could hold before it caught fire.
When the silk finally pooled at her feet, Rose instinctively tried to cross her arms over her shift, the old habit of the wallflower resurfacing. Felix caught her wrists, his grip firm but velvet-soft, pinning them gently at her sides.
“Don’t,” he murmured, his voice a dark, honeyed rasp that made her knees weaken. “I’ve spent weeks imagining the lines of you. Let me see how much better the reality is.”
His gaze was a physical weight, devouring her with a focus so intense she felt bared before he even touched the ties of her shift.
When he eased the linen over her head, Rose trembled, the cool air prickling her skin.
But the chill was fleeting. Felix was there, his hands splaying across her ribcage, his thumbs grazing the undersides of her breasts with a practiced, reverent touch.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, the word a vow against her skin. “You are absolutely devastating, Rose.”
He led her to the bed; his own clothes discarded with elegance. When he joined her, the sheer heat of him made her breath hitch. Rose felt small beneath him, but not powerless; the way his hands shook as he touched her neck told her exactly how much control she held.
“Look at me, Rose,” he commanded softly, his hand sliding down the curve of her stomach, his fingers trailing patterns that sent sparks dancing across her nerves. “I am going to be gentle with you. And make you enjoy each second of this. All of it… just for you, darling.”
He began to explore her, his experienced touch finding the damp, silken heat between her thighs. Rose let out a broken sound, her head tossing back against the pillows.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he praised, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You’re so responsive. So perfect for me. Give me more of those sounds.”
When he positioned himself over her, the air in the room seemed to vanish. She felt a sudden tension in her limbs, a slight tremor of uncertainty, and he stilled.
“Easy,” he whispered, his thumb catching a stray tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. “I’ve got you. Just breathe for me.”
When he entered her, and the sharp sting of her innocence breaking made her gasp, he stopped instantly.
“You’re doing so well,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to hers. “Just a moment, darling… let the sting pass.”
Rose watched his face, seeing the mask of the duke crumble into something raw and worshipping as he rained soft, drugged kisses on her eyelids and temple, whispering praise into her skin until her grip on his shoulders softened from a clutch to a caress.
He moved slowly with a calculated, rhythmic grace designed entirely to coax the pleasure back into her body. Each time her breath hitched in a new, sweeter way, he rewarded her with a low, possessive murmur.
“Yes, just like that. Wrap your legs around me… that’s it. You were made for this, Rose. You were made for me.”
The pleasure began to build, a terrifying, golden tide that eclipsed the memory of the pain. Felix must have seen the change in her eyes when the pleasure took hold, for he picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming deeper, more demanding. His hands slid under her hips to tilt her up to meet him.
“That’s it. Take it all. Look at what you do to me,” he rasped, his own composure finally splintering as she tightened around him. “You’re incredible. God, you’re perfect.”
When the world finally shattered, Rose cried out his name. Her body vibrated with an intensity she hadn’t known she possessed. Felix followed her heartbeat later with a guttural roar of surrender as he pulled out of her, his climax spending over her belly.
As he collapsed against her chest, the silence returned, and Felix’s lips pressed to the damp curls at her temple.
“Was I…” she began and stopped.
“Incredible,” he whispered, his voice thick with uncharacteristic awe. “I told you, Rose. You’re a revelation.”
She almost cried at that—not from happiness, but from the fear that it could only ever be fleeting.
“I never expected this,” she said, voice slurred with exhaustion. “Not with you. Not with anyone.”
He laughed, a low, contented rumble. “You’re remarkable, my duchess. I hope you know that.”
She closed her eyes. “I don’t. But you can keep trying to convince me.”
He kissed her hair gently, reverently.
They drifted into sleep, still twined together. The world beyond the room was held at bay by the simple, impossible act of wanting.
Rose thought, as she faded, that this was what it meant to be home.
In the morning, there would be breakfast, and Lizzie, and the million tiny rituals that made up a life.
But for now, there was only this: two bodies, two hearts, and the hope—fragile, bright, and real—that they could make something new.