Chapter Nine
Freddie’s mouth went dry as he could not help but take in the sight of the beautiful woman before him.
On the beach, when she had been scared and shaking, he had forced himself to avert his eyes.
But here, in the soft candlelight, with her standing before him dressed like that, he found it hard to look away. Impossible.
You can return the cloak to me tomorrow was what he knew he ought to say, but the words would not come to his lips.
There was something enchanting about her, like a siren calling out to him.
And so, although he knew he shouldn’t, he took a step forward, took his cloak from her, and kept hold of her hand.
“Elizabeth…” he said, feeling the need to speak her name, even though it caught on his lips. And then she raised herself up on tiptoes, and he leaned down to meet her, and their lips crashed together in a kiss that certainly warmed him to the soles of his feet.
It ought to have ended there. After all, they were in the Duchess of Tewkesbury’s house, for goodness’ sake. It was not exactly a sensible place for a liaison to remain secret. And yet he could not resist.
She pressed her body against his, and he could feel the cold, wet material between them.
It was part desire and part altruism that led him to pull the flimsy fabric over her head and throw it on the floor.
Then he enveloped her in his arms, wanting to make sure she did not catch a chill, and held her trembling body against his clothed form, feeling lust so strong that he could not breathe.
*
Elizabeth knew she was supposed to say no, she was supposed to be horrified, she was supposed to find all of this repulsive.
And yet… she knew she had kissed him first. Or at least made the move to.
She wanted him with every fiber of her being.
Without even understanding what exactly she wanted, she knew that a passion for him burned within her stronger than anything she had known could exist.
And somehow, miraculously, it seemed he wanted her as well. Quiet Miss Elizabeth Trowbridge, who spoke to no man, and yet the Duke of Redfield was holding her like this, kissing her like this, making her want to cry out for more.
He swept her up into his arms and then laid her down on the bed, where she suddenly became rather more aware of her nakedness and reached for the blankets to protect her modesty a little.
But he put his hand out first and murmured, “Don’t. You’re beautiful.”
And so, as he divested himself of his cravat and shirt, which were themselves soaking wet, she let him look at her, and in turn she drank in his statuesque form—her eyes drawn to his muscled chest, covered with a smattering of dark hair, and his low-hanging drawers, which dripped water onto the fine floor of Elizabeth’s borrowed bedchamber.
Until they were gone too, cast into a heap with the rest of the wet clothes, before the duke joined her on the bed.
“You mustn’t catch a chill,” Elizabeth found herself saying, surprised at her boldness, a smile lighting across her lips.
“No, that would be a disastrous end to the house party, wouldn’t it?”
His lips ghosted across her collarbone, kissing up her neck until he found her lips again. Their tongues met in a kiss more passionate than any which had come before it, and when his leg slipped between her thighs she gasped, desperate for their bodies to be closer.
“Elizabeth…” he murmured into her hair, as his fingers trailed down her stomach, to the sweet spot between her legs which ached for more.
She froze for a moment, and he stopped, his eyes meeting hers. “Sorry. I shouldn’t…”
“No,” she said hurriedly. “I don’t want you to stop.” She could feel the heat rushing to her cheeks as she admitted that. “I just… I don’t know what to call you.”
He grinned then, a smile which made her heart flip. “Frederick. Freddie.”
She nodded shyly, and then moaned as his fingers moved, building up a pleasure within her she had not known existed.
“Freddie, please, more,” she cried out, and as they finally joined together, she clung to him, and held tightly as she rode the wave of pleasure that was cresting within her.
*
“Well,” she said, her hair splayed across the pillow, her cheeks pink and her eyes bright, “I guess I am thoroughly ruined now.”
“It can still be our secret…but I cannot deny that you are, indeed, ruined.” Freddie rolled over and leaned on one elbow, looking at the beautiful woman beside him.
This was certainly not how he had anticipated this house party going, nor that evening ending.
But he was where he was, and he wasn’t going to regret it.
“They do say wherever the Duchess of Tewkesbury is involved, you end up with a marriage,” he said thoughtfully.
Elizabeth wrinkled her forehead. “Will this house party end in a marriage?”
“You wound me, Miss Trowbridge—Elizabeth—if you think I would take an innocent woman to bed and not marry her.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “You want to marry me?”
“Of course,” Freddie said, as if such a thing were obvious. Because really, it should have been. “Unless you don’t wish to marry me?”
Her cheeks flushed red, and she stumbled over her words. “I—I suppose I haven’t thought about it.”
He laughed. “Don’t you think you should have, before this happened?” He gestured to their two naked bodies entwined beneath the bedcovers.
Her eyes flashed with emotion. “There’s no need to be cruel.
I didn’t plan this, didn’t expect—didn’t even know…
” She bit her bottom lip. “This was not my intention. I’m not trying to trap you into a marriage—and I certainly did not expect to leave the house party betrothed. So if you want to walk away—”
Freddie reached out and took her hand. “I didn’t mean to be cruel,” he said, feeling guilty that he’d upset her in what should have been a joyous moment.
“And I don’t think you are trying to trap me.
But I do think we should get married—and not just because you could be carrying my child already.
” She blinked rapidly at that, but did not reply.
“I think we’d do well together. Unless you object to being my duchess? ”
“I don’t object,” she said softly, even though there was no mention of love, which she had always thought there should be in a marriage proposal.
But she was attracted to him, and he to her, and the desire between them could not be denied.
And she could speak to him, which was an improvement on most of the gentlemen she had met so far in her life.
She had never expected to leave this house party with a husband-to-be, nor had she ever anticipated being a duchess. But as the duke—or Frederick, she supposed she ought to think of him now—pulled her into his arms, she closed her eyes and allowed the joy of the moment to envelop her.