Chapter 16
“Your Grace!”
Camelia stormed into her husband’s chamber, her sapphire gown swishing around her, her heart pounding with resolve as the door slammed shut behind her.
She had spent her wedding night alone, kept awake by restless thoughts of him. He had left her in the dining room, yearning for something she had never experienced.
That morning, they had eaten breakfast in silence as their schedules were read out, then everyone dispersed into their rigidly planned days.
“You have embroidery lessons with Pamela. Why are you here?” he asked without even acknowledging her with a glance.
He stood by his desk, his dark coat discarded, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal his corded forearms. For a moment, the sight of his broad back stilled her, until she remembered the reason she was there.
“We need to discuss my responsibilities. This schedule you’ve drawn is suffocating for both Lady Pamela and me.”
“Did Pamela say that?”
“No, I—”
“Then I see no issue with it. Continue with your day as planned, Camelia.”
“Lady Pamela is too afraid to say anything about her dislikes because she fears upsetting you!”
“You may address her as Pamela. After all, she is your daughter now,” he reprimanded her without addressing the issue at hand.
“Your schedule for Pamela and me is imprisoning us, not guiding us!” she spat.
He chuckled, his head still bent and his back still facing her. “Perhaps you need a cage, since you keep bringing me up, Camelia. It seems a fitting punishment to keep that sharp tongue of yours in check. Or would you prefer I find… other ways to keep it busy?”
“Is that your grand plan then? To distract me with your brooding charm? Because I assure you, I’m not so easily swayed!”
“I don’t have to look at you to know that you’re already swaying.”
Camelia stilled herself and cussed him inwardly.
“I’d rather run from you than sway for you,” she responded defiantly.
He finally glanced over his shoulder and eyed her with an intensity that made her flush. “You’d enjoy the chase, little flower.”
Camelia felt heat bloom within her, but the Duke continued working as if his words did not affect her.
Her fists clenched at her sides. “Face me when I’m speaking to you, Your Grace. I’m not a shadow to be dismissed. I’m your wife!”
He took his time, but eventually he turned towards her, his dark blue eyes glinting with a hint of rare amusement.
He leaned against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. The buttons of his shirt were undone, his cravat hung loosely, and Camelia gulped as she caught a glimpse of his bare chest beneath the fabric.
“Did you come here because you feel suffocated by your duties, Duchess? Or are you simply eager for your first lesson with me?” His voice was a low purr, laced with a dangerous edge that sent a shiver down her spine.
“I haven’t agreed to any of your lessons yet, and certainly not to producing an heir so soon.”
To her surprise, he chuckled, and the sound resonated through her.
“Not everything revolves around heirs, Camelia.” He stalked closer to her, pinning her in place with his dark blue eyes. “Though I confess, the thought of you carrying my child does stir… certain desires.”
His eyes trailed over her, slow and deliberate, as if undressing her.
She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat pooling low in her belly and the way her legs trembled when he stood too close.
“That’s not the point,” she said shakily. “The schedule you’ve set is tying my hands and rendering me useless. I can’t work under such rigid constraints. I need freedom to be a proper duchess, to guide Pamela, and to manage Brentmere.”
The Duke reached out, and before she could react, he closed the distance between them. With a gentle but firm push, he backed her against the cool stone wall.
“Tying your hands, you say?” The velvety whisper made her skin prickle. He seized her wrists with his right hand, his grip strong yet careful, and lifted her arms above her head, pinning them against the wall. “Like this?”
Camelia struggled against him. Her body ignited at his touch.
The Duke’s eyes traveled from her lips to her breasts, which perked up in her position and strained against her corset.
“Raph…” She meant for it to be a plea, but it came out as a moan.
“Stay still,” he growled, sending a jolt of heat through her core.
He tugged off his cravat, and Camelia noticed the slight wince as he used his left hand.
“Your shoulder—”
“Shh.”
The silk whispered as he deftly wrapped it around her wrists, binding them tightly until the fabric bit softly into her skin—a delicious restraint that made her heart race.
“Oh God!” she gasped.
“Are you afraid, little flower?” He peered down at her.
“No—yes—”
This shouldn’t feel so exhilarating.
He leaned in, his lips brushing the sensitive curve of her neck, a featherlight caress that sent tremors through her.
“You’re trembling already, Duchess,” he whispered against her exposed skin.
His kisses were slow and deliberate, trailing along her throat, each press of his lips setting her on fire. Her body arched instinctively, balanced precariously between the unyielding wall and his knee, which he pressed firmly between her thighs, anchoring her in a way that made her ache with need.
“I can’t,” she whined, lifting her head and revealing more of her neck.
“You are my wife, Camelia. Nothing is stopping you.”
Camelia felt wetness pool between her parted thighs. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her nipples stiff against her corset, the pressure almost unbearable as desire coiled tighter within her.
“This is what happens to a duchess who complains about her duty.” The Duke’s lips found the pulse at her throat, sucking gently, and a soft moan escaped her before she could protest.
He growled low in response, the sound vibrating against her throat as he moved to her lips, capturing them in a kiss that was both sweet and ravenous. But she cut it short, pulling away slightly to catch her breath.
“Please!” she gasped.
“Should I stop, little flower?” Raph whispered against her lips, making her shiver.
“N-No,” she stammered, and he plunged his tongue into her mouth.
Camelia moaned as he teased her tongue, deepening the kiss until her knees buckled. Her body melted against his, held upright only by his knee and the wall.
I’m drowning in him—his taste, his heat. How can one kiss consume me so completely?
Just as she felt herself slipping into abandon, he pulled back, his eyes dark with hunger. He untied the cravat, freeing her wrists. The sudden release left her reeling, her body still thrumming with unquenched lust.
“My chamber is off-limits.” His voice was rough with desire.
“Why is it off-limits?” Camelia looked at the bed and gulped, dazed and frustrated.
“It’s off-limits because I said it’s off-limits.”
“I don’t—”
“Your training can continue in your chambers, Duchess.”
“This is what you meant by training?” Camelia’s hands flew up in exasperation. “You truly are a mystery!”
“Do you want to go back to your duties with Pamela or your chambers?”
Camelia froze when she realized what he was asking for.
Although she longed to continue her descent into the Duke’s dark and passionate temptations, his words sparked a flicker of indignation, breaking through the haze of lust.
She stepped away from him, her hands trembling and marked where he had tied her. Smoothing her gown, she fought to reclaim her composure and her breath.
“I’m not going anywhere until you listen to me!”
“I should’ve kept your wrists bound,” Raph muttered under his breath.
Camelia stood in his chamber. Her presence charged the air, and the heat of their encounter could still be felt. His heart refused to cease hammering ever since she had stepped into Brentmere Manor.
He watched as she trembled before him. Her cheeks were flushed like a delectable rose, and though her legs quivered, her eyes blazed with resolve.
“Binding my wrists and not my mouth was your first mistake!” she snapped.
“You’re just begging to be tamed,” he drawled.
Camelia faltered for a second.
The thought of taming her sent a surge of hunger through him. His body tightened at the image of her submitting to him completely, her soft moans against his ear as he claimed her with deep, hard thrusts—
“We need to talk about Pamela.”
When Raph saw the urgency on her face, all his heated thoughts vanished, replaced by his urge to protect the girl.
“What is wrong?”
“She told me I’ll never be her mother. That must mean she doesn’t want me here. If I’m to reach her, you have to trust me to do it my way. No rigid rules, no packed schedules. They’re stifling her, and frankly, they’re stifling me too.” Camelia frowned.
Raph’s jaw clenched, his hands flexing at his sides as he fought the urge to push her back against the wall and silence her with another searing kiss.
He took a step closer, his tall figure looming, but Camelia raised a hand, stopping him mid-stride.
“Not so fast, Your Grace,” she said with finality. “You can’t just pin me to a wall every time I speak my mind. Or is that your only strategy for dealing with me?”
His lips quirked into a dangerous smirk. “It’s a tempting one, little flower. You seem to respond well to… being restrained.”
He enjoyed watching her react to his seductive words.
Camelia’s cheeks flushed, but she held her ground and spoke sharply. “Tempting or not, it won’t solve the fact that Pamela’s hurting. She’s not a ledger to be balanced with your schedules. She needs warmth, love, and protection. Not the chains of rules and regularities.”
Raph’s eyes narrowed, his control fraying at her boldness. “Those rules are the only thing protecting her. Structure is her shield in a world that would judge her for her birth. You’ll follow my lead, Camelia, or we’ll have more lessons to make sure you do.”
She arched an eyebrow, undeterred, her lips twisting in a snarl. “Is that what you call tying me up and kissing me senseless? If so, I’m not sure who’s teaching whom, Your Grace.”
He stepped closer, his voice a low growl. “Camelia, you’re playing with fire, and I’m not above burning you in the most delicious way.”
Camelia’s breath hitched, but she pressed on with fierce determination. “Fire or not, I see Pamela for who she is. She’s like a bird in a cage, afraid to fly or even sing. All I ask is that you let me try my way. Trust me to know what she needs.”
Raph’s gaze hardened, his thoughts churning with fury.
“You presume much, Duchess,” he said in a clipped tone. “Pamela’s well-being is my responsibility, as it is yours. My rules have kept her safe all along, and they will continue to keep her safe. You do not have my permission to change anything.”
Camelia’s eyes flashed with hurt, but she didn’t back down.
“Are you keeping her safe? Or smothered? You can’t lock her away from the world forever.
Or me, for that matter. I’m your wife, not your puppet.
” She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“Tell me the truth—do you still mourn Pamela’s mother?
Is this fortress of rules your way of ensuring her safety because you couldn’t save her? ”
The question struck him like a blade, and for a moment, his eyes shuttered. All of his buried pain and anger surfaced.
How dare she probe there, summoning ghosts I’ve long buried?
His voice turned cold, a sharp edge cutting through the charged air. “You’re dismissed, Camelia. This lesson is over.”
Camelia’s face flushed with anger, her frustration etched in the tight set of her mouth. “But I—”
“I said, you’re dismissed!”
She flinched at the sound of his raised voice.
“Camelia, I—”
Before he could apologize, she spun on her heel, her gown swirling like a storm after her, and stormed out. The door slammed shut behind her, leaving him alone in his room.
The echo of her departure rang in his ears.
I nearly lost myself in her lips, her body, her heat.
He paced to the window, cursing himself as he gripped the ledge and stared out at the gardens. Camelia’s writhing body haunted him. Her bound wrists made her irresistible, exposing her most distractingly delicious parts.
“I cannot allow her to get under my skin,” he reminded himself.
Raph exhaled sharply, his breath fogging the glass pane. He had to regain control and remember the purpose of his marriage. His left shoulder stung, and the familiar pain jolted him back to reality.
He turned, his gaze falling on the desk where his cravat lay discarded, a silent reminder of how close he had come to surrendering to his wife. He almost allowed his desires to consume him.
Pamela is my priority. Camelia and the heir business can wait.
The decision settled over him like a shroud, grounding him in the midst of his lust.
He had married Camelia for Pamela’s sake. To give her a mother and a guide, but he hadn’t expected Camelia’s fire to burn so brightly, threatening to unravel the carefully constructed world he had built.
He sank into a chair, running a hand through his long hair.
“Damn her,” he muttered to himself. “She’s too much, too bold, too… tempting.”
And yet he craved every challenge she threw at him.
His thoughts drifted to Pamela’s cold words to Camelia.
Perhaps Camelia’s method might work.
Raph rose in frustration, pacing again, his boots thudding softly on the polished floor.
“I should summon her back,” he said aloud, then shook his head. “No. She needs to cool off, so do I.”
Her anger only made her more alluring, and he would end up binding her again just to see her yield.
He stopped himself, clenching his fists at his sides.
Camelia will learn to follow my rules, or I’ll teach her… slowly and thoroughly.
He moved to the decanter on the sideboard and poured himself a measure of brandy.
“She thinks she can defy me,” he murmured, swirling the liquid. “But she’ll learn her place as my Duchess.”
He took a sip, and the burn grounded him.
His mind flickered to the portrait of his sister in the hall, the one Camelia had noticed. The memory of his sister’s death tightened his chest.
He wouldn’t let Camelia dig into that wound. Not now, not ever, because some secrets had to stay buried.
He set the glass down on his desk and crossed to the door, where he paused and imagined Camelia, her anger still smoldering. He pictured her pacing and cursing him while her body still ached from their encounter.
Raph fought the urge to find her and finish what they had started.
He turned away, heading for his study instead. As he settled at his desk, he began drawing up a new schedule, his quill scratching across the paper.
“For Pamela’s sake, I’ll keep her at arm’s length…”
For now.