Chapter 21 #2
“You were very quiet in the carriage,” Victoria murmured, trying for a teasing one. “I know you aren’t quite as I could be, but last night -.”
“I was merely contemplating the play,” he gently interrupted.
“Oh? Are you now a devotee of Shakespeare?” she asked, grinning at him.
“Perhaps I am merely thinking of the most emotional moments in the play, Victoria,” he replied, his eyes twinkling. “The ones that would have the full attention of the audience.”
“Oh.”
Her eyes widened at what he was trying to imply.
“Yes. That is the extent of my interest in the Bard,” he whispered, as he led her inside with his hand hovering over her lower back. The ghost of his touch seemed more searing than a palm pressed hard on skin.
“It is an intermission.”
The reply was simple, but she understood. Their conversation the night before led them both to realize they were always made to endure what life dealt them. They needed to separate themselves from that and be as carefree as they were not allowed to be.
Their private box was located in the first tier, speaking of prestige and a hint of privacy. When the house lights dimmed as the overture began, the theater was bathed in a golden haze.
Richard ensured that Victoria sat first, and he settled into the velvet chair beside her. As husband and wife, they were expected to sit beside each other, but he opted to sit slightly behind her left shoulder. The duchess giggled nervously, not quite understanding what her husband planned to do.
On stage, the play began to unfold. Victoria shifted restlessly as she realized how Richard was almost completely submerged in shadows.
“You look like you’re brooding there,” she whispered.
“Well, I am. They need not concern themselves about my seat,” he whispered back, his warm breath on her nape. She shivered involuntarily. “I am brooding, Victoria, contemplating how I can touch your skin with six layers of fabric between us.”
Victoria gasped softly, her fingers gripping her fan, almost strangling its handle.
“Careful, Your Grace. We are not in the privacy of our bedchamber,” she managed to warn him breathlessly.
“The music is quite loud,” he observed cheekily, “and our curtains have been drawn forward.”
He leaned forward to rest his forearms on the back of her chair. They might simply look like a couple sharing a commentary about the performance. The ton would not suspect that his hand was moving with intent, knuckles grazing the bare skin of her shoulder.
“Richard,” she protested half-heartedly.
He proceeded to trace the line where her silk gown began, making her tremble.
“The performances are, uh, superb,” she managed to say.
“Is it?” Richard asked hoarsely. “Use your shawl to cover yourself.”
“It is getting chilly,” she agreed, as she did exactly what he asked.
“I might have to return home with nary an idea of what happened on stage,” he admitted, chuckling softly, as knuckle lowered to the swell of her breasts.
“Ah. There must be a punishment for that,” she said breathlessly.
“I am all ears,” he groaned, as he dipped his knuckle lower, rubbing the top of her breasts.
Victoria gripped the box’s railing, looking like a patron completely enthralled with Shakespeare. In fact, it would not have been a surprise for those who knew her well enough. She could not breathe. The sheer audacity of their silent and yet public intimacy sent a thrill through her.
With the sounds increasing to signal the peak of the first act, the duke reached to a nipple and circled it repeatedly with his rough thumb.
The duchess could only whimper her secret pleasure.
He looked just as enthralled by the performance, with his chest pressing against the back of her chair, as he fondled her breast.
“I-is this wise?” she breathed, as her toes curled in her satin shoes.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.
“N-no,” she admitted.
He squeezed her breast hard, rubbing the nipple more avidly.
“I wish it were my mouth giving you pleasure, the hard bud on my tongue. So delicious,” he murmured, as his squeezing became rhythmic.
Victoria’s heart pounded hard. She knew he could feel it on the palm of his hand – that same one weighing her breast.
“It’s too much,” she sighed, but she did not make a move to pull away from him.
The pleasure was too much. The added thrill of perhaps being caught by the judging eyes of the ton made her pulse between her thighs.
“I shall stop when you tell me to stop,” he promised darkly, his warm breath so close to her ear.
The possible danger to their reputation sent her on edge. So, no, Victoria could not find the words to refuse him. To refuse herself.
“You devil,” she whispered, instead, overwhelmed by his ministrations and the scent of sandalwood and pure masculine heat emanating from him.
“Ah, it’s time you get to know me, my Duchess,” he replied. “Touch yourself. Place your hand under your dress.”
“No. They will see.”
“Not now. Remember, I’ve contemplated the play,” he said urgently.
True enough, the loud drums and the shouting onstage would attract everyone’s undivided attention.
Still, she was careful. She placed her hand beneath her thigh and rubbed herself from there.
At first, it did nothing but frustrate her.
However, as her fingers made contact with her slit through the silk, she felt her chest heat.
Richard stopped fondling her breast. Disappointment coursed through her until she realized that he was moving directly beside her. His eyes were focused on the stage, but his hand quickly made its move to her skirts.
“W-what?”
“Put your shawl over my hand, darling,” he commanded softly.
“Who puts a shawl on their lap?” she asked.
“You, my dear. I know you are so close to your completion,” he said smugly.
With a huff, she obeyed his order, and soon his hand rustled her skirt up through the side and quickly found her.
“Such talent you have,” she panted, as he cupped her mound.
“Of course,” he said. “We are, after all, getting more acquainted with each other, wife.”
A finger slipped in, and Victoria let out a low moan, which was swallowed by the audience’s applause. Richard rhythmically used his fingers to pleasure her until she reached her release.
“I – I cannot stay here for longer,” she gasped. “You can’t keep on doing this.”
This time, he retreated, but not before giving her a predatory smile.
“I am so sorry that you feel faint, my dear,” Richard said, his voice a little louder.
Victoria’s eyes widened. It might seem like her husband had planned everything perfectly.
“B-but the play,” she said futilely.
At this point, both of them knew that they could just watch another play, perhaps with family members who would help them avoid a repeat of their current predicament.
“It’s such a tragedy not to finish watching it, but you aren’t well,” the duke insisted.
Then, he stood, helping to pull her up. She was not ill, but she might as well be, by the way her thighs were still trembling. Meanwhile, she made a note of her husband’s performance. He painted a picture of a concerned husband as he guided her to the back of the box.
“Is the Duchess not well?” a concerned voice called out from the closest private box to their right.
“It seems my wife cannot abide the heat of the theater tonight, Lady Morland,” Richard replied.
“Oh. It is best then that she retires for the night,” the Dowager said, her eyes widening.
As they left the theater, Victoria was fully aware of the ton’s scrutiny, but she did not care what they thought. They could weave more rumors, but none would matter. All that she craved was Richard’s desire and passion without being watched.
When they reached the carriage, they quickly climbed in and closed the door with a heavy thud, urging the coachman to leave immediately.
“Now, wife,” the duke said, as he pulled her onto his lap. “Where were we?”
Victoria squirmed in delight. She pulled at his cravat as the last of her restraint snapped. “Weren’t you talking about the layers of fabric on this dress? I believe it’s time to unpeel them. One by one.”