Chapter 5 #2
“Then you will have to force me,” she warned him, fury surging past any desire she felt in his presence. “You’ll have to throw me over your shoulder and carry me out of this salon, kicking and screaming and telling everyone what a heartless wretch you are.”
“Don’t tempt me, madam.”
“You berate me for confiding in the Duke of Kingham that I am your wife, and yet you expect me to believe that you would cause such an undignified scene?” She scoffed.
“I doubt that even you would stoop so low. Besides, I would shout to the rafters that I am your duchess. Perhaps then, all your chums and your scandalous guests could see your despicable treatment of me for themselves. I should think that would make a divorce quite easy for me to obtain.”
For the second time, she tore herself away from his grasp and moved toward the door. But Riverdale was faster and stronger, and she was no match for his muscled build as he braced his hands on either side of the door and pinned her between his massive body and the paneled mahogany.
“Damn you, woman,” he growled in her ear, his breath falling hotly over the bare skin of her throat. “You push me too far.”
Sybil was about to tell him that he did the same to her when something astonishing happened. Riverdale buried his face in her throat, inhaling deeply as he pressed his lips to her.
He was kissing her neck.
And her body’s response was instant. Her knees went weak as a surge of awareness pulsed to life between her thighs. Suddenly, she was thinking about how his raw, powerful strength had felt poised above her. How it had felt to have him inside her, stretching her, claiming her.
Her own hands were pressed to the cool, sleek wood too, as if she were poised for escape. But fleeing was the last thing on her mind when he opened his mouth and sucked on the side of her neck as if she were honey and he needed to consume every drop of her.
A sound fell from her lips. Her forehead tipped toward the door, resting there as she tried in vain to gather her wits.
To muster resistance. Kisses on her throat in the middle of the morning were decidedly not part of the bargain.
Particularly not after he so arrogantly suggested that she would be cavorting with other gentlemen, when he was the only one between them who had been unfaithful.
This house party and his entire secret club were a testament to that.
And still, she couldn’t summon the desire to pull away from him.
Instead, she remained where she was, soaking in his heat and strength.
Tilting her head to the side to give his traveling mouth access to more of her throat, lips parting on a sigh.
“Why do you smell so bloody good?” he asked as if it were an accusation, his lips grazing her ear as he inhaled again.
Sparks danced down her spine. She chased them with her resolve, returning to her senses.
“Why do you care about my perfume?” she countered, though with considerably less bite than she had wanted.
He kissed his way down her throat to the place where her neck and shoulder met, one of his hands leaving the door to settle on her waist as if it belonged there.
“Because I can’t get enough of it.” He kissed back up her throat, caressing her waist.
He sounded annoyed.
“I have no intention of changing it to please you,” she warned, inhaling sharply as he suckled the lobe of her ear. “What are you doing?”
“I wish I knew,” he muttered.
And then, just as swiftly as he had entrapped her against the door, he turned her, flipping her about so that her back was pressed against the sleek wood and she was looking up at him.
Her palms flattened on his chest. Not pushing him away.
Instead, her fingers had a mind of their own, grasping at his coat and holding him to her by the handful.
His head dipped toward hers. “You should have stayed at Riverdale Abbey where you belong.”
She was about to argue that he shouldn’t have abandoned her there in the first place, but in the next instant, his lips were on hers, smooth and demanding and insistent.
He devoured her with kisses that sought to punish and claim, and fool that she was, she opened eagerly to him, surrendering to his questing tongue.
She kissed him back, eyes falling shut as she gave in to the bliss of his lips on hers.
It didn’t matter that she was furious with him.
That he had left her on their wedding day.
That he had broken her heart and then forgotten her existence.
That he only wanted her as a broodmare now.
All that mattered was this moment, his lips moving with exquisite tenderness over hers, gentling in a way that suggested he savored her instead of merely consuming. That this was about more than frantic coupling or possessive fury. Everything felt suddenly unique and complicated.
No, no, no. That was all wrong. This was all wrong. He was most wrong of all. She was furious with him. He could have her in the evening, but she did not owe him her mornings, her afternoons, her kisses.
Least of all, her obedience.
What had she been thinking? She had almost allowed him to have his way with her against the door.
Sybil turned her head to the side, breaking the kiss, heart pounding, lips swollen as she stared up at him. “I hardly think it necessary for you to accost me in the midst of the day, Your Grace.”
Her words were cool but rather unfortunately tinged with a breathlessness she hoped he wouldn’t hear.
Some perverse part of her remained attracted to the Duke of Riverdale despite everything he had done and regardless of his abysmally low opinion of her.
He had treated her as if she were no better than the dirt beneath his shoe, and what had she done in response?
Melted for him as if she were helpless to resist.
“Accosting you, madam? Need I remind you that you were kissing me back?”
Furious heat stole over her cheeks. “You hardly left me with any choice.”
“You can tell yourself that all you like, but we both know the truth.”
Just then, the door rattled and cracked open behind her.
“Someone is within, you bloody oaf,” Riverdale snapped.
“Oh Christ,” muttered a masculine voice that sounded soused. “The salon is already in use. We shall have to find another room, m’love. Apologies to you both.”
A feminine giggle was the muffled response. “Or to all of you.” The woman on the other side of the door hiccupped. “Algernon, sometimes you have a dreadful lack of creativity. What if they’re having an orgy…”
The woman’s words trailed away as she and her lover ventured on, presumably in search of another chamber for their use.
Sybil glared up at her husband. “An orgy?”
He gave her an indolent shrug. “Anything is possible.”
She pushed him away from her. “You utter reprobate. You had the audacity to take me to task over an innocent game of charades—”
“I can assure you there was nothing innocent about that game, madam,” he interrupted.
“And yet you’re hosting this lecherous revelry that is little better than a Roman Bacchanal,” she finished, ignoring him.
“Which begs the question what you’d been doing at this fête before you broke in to my room like a house cracksman and dumped a pitcher of water on my head,” he retorted.
“I might ask you the same thing.”
“I have been hosting the house party.”
“Pray do not pretend as if that is a virtuous endeavor. We both know what transpires at these wicked house parties of yours.”
They glared at each other. How she could have gone from passion to fury in such a short amount of time, she would never know. It seemed to be a unique effect that her husband had upon her.
A knock sounded at the door, interrupting them again.
“Children, are you finished arguing?”
Sybil recognized the bored masculine drawl this time. It belonged to the Duke of Kingham.
“No,” Riverdale snapped.
“Yes,” she answered simultaneously.
“Go to the devil, King,” Riverdale added.
“Are you both clothed?” Kingham returned, unperturbed. “I should so hate to have my tender sensibilities shocked.”
“Of course we are.” Riverdale jerked the door open to reveal the dapper duke dressed to painstaking perfection on the other side. “Are you spying on me now as well?”
Kingham brushed at his coat sleeve. “I wouldn’t dream of it, old chap. Your shouts were traveling down the hall. I thought that perhaps, in the interest of privacy, I ought to inform you.”
“Indebted,” Riverdale bit out. “Now kindly carry on with your day.”
“Of course.” King smiled slyly and extended his arm to Sybil. “Your Grace? I was just on my way to charades. Perhaps you would care to join me?”
Relief coursed through her as she stepped forward, accepting his offering as if it were a lifeline tossed to her at sea. “I would dearly love to do so. Thank you, Kingham.”
“My pleasure.”
She slid her hand into the crook of his elbow and didn’t bother so much as a backward glance for her husband as she sailed out of the salon on another man’s arm.