yes, I’ll stay.”
She’d heard or read someplace that the nerves in a person’s
feet connected directly with every erogenous zone in the body. She hadn’t
believed it, even when her pedicurist had done a deep massage on Diane’s feet
and calves.
She believed it now.
Maybe because Adrian seemed so intent on pleasing her. Every
moan of pleasure from her brought a concerned look from him. Soon, however, he
seemed to realize her groans were ones of bliss, that he wasn’t hurting her at
all. Far from it. Every stroke of his calloused hands swept away more of her
tension. Every press of his fingers sent awareness of her needy body parts
soaring through her mind.
He watched her, those Caribbean-blue eyes taking in her
every expression. In moments he learned which strokes eased her and what
pressures aroused her almost to the point of orgasm.
Almost.
Looking into her eyes, mesmerizing her, he kept her on the
sharp edge of bliss. Then finally, he let her slide, boneless, into oblivion.
She awoke when her outer door crashed against the stone
wall. Groggy, yet with adrenaline racing to all her extremities, she sprang
from the bed. Realizing she was naked, she groped for the chainse she’d worn
yesterday but couldn’t find it. Forced to settle for what lay within arm’s
reach, she grabbed at the sheet on her bed.
Walker Mornay, Duke de Beaumont, leaned against the
doorjamb, a frown on his face, an unholy gleam in his devil-dark eyes.
Ignoring him, she gave a frantic jerk on the sheet and
wrapped it around her. A muffled groan came from the man in her bed, his head
buried under a pillow. A very naked man who now rolled to his back, his morning
erection waving at her and the duke as if inviting them to lie down with its
owner. A blush, sudden and unexpected, heated her face. Feeling like a teenager
who’d never seen a penis, she gazed at her feet.
Or was the heat fury at finding Adrian in her bed? Had he
massaged her feet with the idea of lulling her to sleep? Had his consideration
been nothing more than a ploy so someone would discover them together? Why she
had imagined besting Adrian at his own game, when the game was someone else’s?
Someone?
Hell no, the devil duke himself had no doubt plotted the
entire scene.
“I thought I might find you here, Adrian.”
“Well, I didn’t!” Diane snapped, gritting her teeth
to hold back shouts of protest. “And if you think to force me to marry your
friend,” she directed her vitriol at Walker, “think again.”
“I have no intention of forcing you to do anything,” Walker
said, his voice slick.
She imagined oil on water, the oil so thick nothing could
escape it. Snorting her disbelief, she saw her chainse on the floor, scooped it
up then strode to the connecting door to the garderobe. Walker’s voice made her
trip. Stumbling to a halt, she willed her ears to block his words. She failed.
“You shall repeat your vows gladly. Renew them with joy for
your husband’s people. After all, having lost their lord, they deserve a reason
to celebrate. Adrian is beloved here, so you shall pledge yourself to him. Of
your own free will. Won’t you, my lady…witch?”
Her knees shaking, her breathing like desperate gasps, she
refused to acknowledge his threat. She didn’t have to. The devil duke knew he
had her, capturing her with a single word. A word given to him by his minion
and her future husband, Adrian de Vesay.
* * * * *
She ate even less than she had at her first wedding feast.
At least her new husband’s people seemed gladder…umm, more glad? Happier than her people had—even though she’d left them and whatever resentment of her
they held. They might have cheered her departure as they hadn’t cheered Walker
Mornay’s toast to the bride. Tonight, however, she did drink more wine. And
enjoyed it too, silently applauding its oak aroma, its subtle fruity flavor.
Emptying a jeweled cup, she held it up for a footman to refill.
To her right, in a place
She’d heard or read someplace that the nerves in a person’s
feet connected directly with every erogenous zone in the body. She hadn’t
believed it, even when her pedicurist had done a deep massage on Diane’s feet
and calves.
She believed it now.
Maybe because Adrian seemed so intent on pleasing her. Every
moan of pleasure from her brought a concerned look from him. Soon, however, he
seemed to realize her groans were ones of bliss, that he wasn’t hurting her at
all. Far from it. Every stroke of his calloused hands swept away more of her
tension. Every press of his fingers sent awareness of her needy body parts
soaring through her mind.
He watched her, those Caribbean-blue eyes taking in her
every expression. In moments he learned which strokes eased her and what
pressures aroused her almost to the point of orgasm.
Almost.
Looking into her eyes, mesmerizing her, he kept her on the
sharp edge of bliss. Then finally, he let her slide, boneless, into oblivion.
She awoke when her outer door crashed against the stone
wall. Groggy, yet with adrenaline racing to all her extremities, she sprang
from the bed. Realizing she was naked, she groped for the chainse she’d worn
yesterday but couldn’t find it. Forced to settle for what lay within arm’s
reach, she grabbed at the sheet on her bed.
Walker Mornay, Duke de Beaumont, leaned against the
doorjamb, a frown on his face, an unholy gleam in his devil-dark eyes.
Ignoring him, she gave a frantic jerk on the sheet and
wrapped it around her. A muffled groan came from the man in her bed, his head
buried under a pillow. A very naked man who now rolled to his back, his morning
erection waving at her and the duke as if inviting them to lie down with its
owner. A blush, sudden and unexpected, heated her face. Feeling like a teenager
who’d never seen a penis, she gazed at her feet.
Or was the heat fury at finding Adrian in her bed? Had he
massaged her feet with the idea of lulling her to sleep? Had his consideration
been nothing more than a ploy so someone would discover them together? Why she
had imagined besting Adrian at his own game, when the game was someone else’s?
Someone?
Hell no, the devil duke himself had no doubt plotted the
entire scene.
“I thought I might find you here, Adrian.”
“Well, I didn’t!” Diane snapped, gritting her teeth
to hold back shouts of protest. “And if you think to force me to marry your
friend,” she directed her vitriol at Walker, “think again.”
“I have no intention of forcing you to do anything,” Walker
said, his voice slick.
She imagined oil on water, the oil so thick nothing could
escape it. Snorting her disbelief, she saw her chainse on the floor, scooped it
up then strode to the connecting door to the garderobe. Walker’s voice made her
trip. Stumbling to a halt, she willed her ears to block his words. She failed.
“You shall repeat your vows gladly. Renew them with joy for
your husband’s people. After all, having lost their lord, they deserve a reason
to celebrate. Adrian is beloved here, so you shall pledge yourself to him. Of
your own free will. Won’t you, my lady…witch?”
Her knees shaking, her breathing like desperate gasps, she
refused to acknowledge his threat. She didn’t have to. The devil duke knew he
had her, capturing her with a single word. A word given to him by his minion
and her future husband, Adrian de Vesay.
* * * * *
She ate even less than she had at her first wedding feast.
At least her new husband’s people seemed gladder…umm, more glad? Happier than her people had—even though she’d left them and whatever resentment of her
they held. They might have cheered her departure as they hadn’t cheered Walker
Mornay’s toast to the bride. Tonight, however, she did drink more wine. And
enjoyed it too, silently applauding its oak aroma, its subtle fruity flavor.
Emptying a jeweled cup, she held it up for a footman to refill.
To her right, in a place
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