The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1) by Devlin, Barbara (the best electronic book reader .txt) 📗

her father announced the engagement. Then, it had been quite a shock, because she had never been kissed. But her husband had long ago schooled her in the art of ravishment, so she responded in a manner sure to ease his pain, as she unwittingly did in her father’s study.

In short, Arabella kissed him.

Wrapping her arms about his neck, she met him measure for measure, as he set his mouth to hers. Her thighs erupted in flames, searing a path to her belly, and desire rode hard in its wake. There was nothing reserved or refined in his approach, when he flicked his tongue to hers and squeezed her bottom. As usual, he charged with unfettered passion she could neither contain nor control, and his lone hand proved no real obstacle, because he caressed her everywhere with the gentlest strokes.

While outside, a violent deluge pounded the roof, inside a torrent of another sort intensified. Resolved to ride the wave of pleasure he provoked; Arabella denied him nothing. Unswerving in his advance, he whirled her about and backed her against the wall, but she feared him not, because he would never hurt her. Unshakeable trust in her instincts bolstered her confidence, so she let go the reins and rode hell bent for leather with her man into uncharted territory.

At some point, he drew her into the bedchamber, and the backs of her knees connected with the footboard of the large four-poster. Unbalanced, she waved her arms wildly in the air before toppling onto the mattress. Whereas she expected Anthony to help her upright, instead, he covered her.

The decadent slip and slide, an intoxicating and new sensation, overwhelmed her, and she knew not how to respond. No doubt, he expected her to assert herself, as an active participant. Her book knowledge offered no real strategy, but her hesitance mattered not, because it became clear her husband had a plan.

Again, he claimed her mouth, bruising her lips as he moved on her. The urgency. The raw hunger beckoned, and she answered the summons. Together, in a clumsy dance, they scooted toward the pillows. When he became tangled in his coat, she helped him shuffle free and then removed his waistcoat, cravat, and fine muslin shirt. To her shock, he made quick work of her robe and nightgown, exposing her, unimpeded, for his enjoyment.

She should have maintained her modesty. Should have shown self-restraint. Instead, she extended her hands and flicked her fingers in an unmistakable invitation. To her relief and benefit, he accepted.

As the storm escalated, so did their heated tryst. With her palms pressed to his bare chest, she lifted her chin, and he trailed feathery kisses along the curve of her neck and lower. Reclining amid the soft sheets and the plush counterpane, she stared, unseeing, at the rich velvet canopy, as her husband licked one breast and then the other, and fire scorched a path across her flesh. Charged her nerves. To her inexpressible delight, he lingered, suckling gently and grazing his teeth playfully to her nipples, and she struggled with a heretofore-unknown ache. Sensations foreign yet unutterably seductive.

He pressed on her caresses meant to entice. To arouse. And she followed his lead. Denied him nothing, even as a warning flashed in the dark recesses of her brain. Not that he did anything wrong or that he forced himself on her. Oh, no. She desired her husband. There was something about duty and producing an heir, but all of that flew out of her mind when he parted her legs and rested his hips to hers.

“Lift your heels, my dear.” With patience, he showed her how to hug him with her thighs.

“Like this?” She did as he bade, knowing full well what was about to happen.

“Yesss.”

After fumbling with the placket of his breeches, he gave her his weight, and pressure built at her core, as he pushed forward. Their bodies merged, such that she knew not where she ended and he began. The first thrust threatened to tear her in two, as Anthony gave her no time to adjust to his intimate invasion. And it was intimate. Profoundly personal. Unlike anything she had ever experienced and certainly nothing for which a book could have prepared her. Indeed, practical knowledge had much to recommend it.

Despite the initial discomfort, she found her rhythm and matched his, as he set a frenetic pace. Wave upon wave of pure, unadulterated bliss blanketed her, and her insides twisted and turned in anticipation, to accommodate him. Glorious warmth coiled in her loins, spreading throughout her limbs, pervading every part of her. On wings of ecstasy, she soared ever higher, to a place where she existed as something more than herself. Teetering on the brink of a precipice, she held her breath and tensed.

It was then her husband groaned and stretched taut, well-nigh scaring her to death. The elusive peak vanished, shattered by his vociferous expression, even as she reached for release, and how she grasped for the intangible yet enthralling summit. In that moment, he collapsed atop her, and everything came to an abrupt and frustrating halt, leaving her yearning for what she knew not.

For a while, she remained rooted beneath him, his flesh still buried deep within hers, fearing she might startle him and trigger another episode of nostalgia. She whispered encouragement and walked her fingers along his beautiful back. Flexing her thighs, she held him close, long after the torrent passed. At last, he turned his head. She expected him to say something. Anything about what just occurred between them, because she wanted to talk.

Instead, he wept.

Chapter Fourteen

Birds chirped a lilting singsong, and the sun filtered through a water-speckled window, casting a mosaic of light on the floor, signaling that little remained of the storm, as Anthony squirmed in the bedside chair and guarded his sleeping bride. Clothed in naught but his silk robe, he closed his eyes and revisited the events of the night, which saw him abandoning his