Charles accepted the drink gratefully, lifting the glass to his lips as his valet made quick work of the cufflinks. His attention drifted back to the connecting door and paused amid taking a sip of the brandy. Someone was standing by the crack of the door. The shadow was close and unmoving which suggested deliberate observation.
The realization that Amelia was indeed watching him—studying him in this private moment—sent a jolt of awareness through his body. His hand jerked involuntarily, the brandy glass slipping from his fingers and shattering against the hardwood floor.
“My lord,” Barker observed with a long-suffering sigh, eyeing the amber liquid pooling among the crystal shards, “at this rate, we shall need to outfit your chambers entirely in unbreakable materials. Perhaps cork floors and pewter glasses, as one might provide a particularly clumsy child.”
Despite his distraction, Charles couldn’t help but laugh.
“Your concern for my dignity is touching as always, Barker,” he said absently as his valet cleaned the floor, his attention returning to the door and its hidden observer. “That will be all for tonight.”
Barker bowed slightly as he quit the room. “Good night, my lord.”
Once alone, Charles moved toward the connecting door, wondering if Amelia had wanted something from him. Perhaps she wished to discuss the evening, to debrief after his mother’s visit. The shadow had disappeared, but he allowed himself to open the door a fraction wider, just enough to peer through—and froze at the sight that greeted him.
Amelia lay on her bed, her nightgown hiked up to reveal the smooth expanse of her thighs. From his angle, he couldn’t see below her knees or above her chest, but what he could see was enough to send desire coursing through him like wildfire. One of her hands moved beneath the bunched fabric between her thighs while the other kneaded her breast and massaged her peak. The sounds of stifled moans and pants had his blood shooting straight to his cock.
He should close the door. He should withdraw, grant her the privacy she deserved. Yet he found himself transfixed, unable to look away as she arched her back, her hand moving in regular rhythm.
This was his Amelia—his wife. She was not the composed or prudish woman he thought she would be, but a woman of passion and liberal mind. A woman pleasuring herself, perhaps thinking of…
A soft gasp escaped her lips, and Charles felt answering heat pool in his groin. His own breath quickened as he watched her movements grow more urgent, her hips rising to meet her fingers. There was something unbearably arousing about witnessing her like this—unguarded against pleasure.
When she reached her climax, her body tensing and then shuddering in release, Charles could barely restrain a groan. He backed away from the door, pressing himself against the wall of his chamber, his arousal painful in its intensity.
Almost without conscious thought, his hand moved to his falls, freeing his straining member. With Amelia’s image still vivid in his mind—her hand between her thighs, her breast in her hand—he found his own release in quick, urgent strokes.
As the waves of pleasure subsided, Charles slid down the wall until he sat on the floor, his breathing ragged, his mind reeling with the implications of what had just transpired. Whatever arrangement they had agreed upon, whatever distance they had tried to maintain, was clearly crumbling. There was something building between them—something that transcended their practical agreement.
And God help him, he found himself unable to regret it.
With a sigh, Charles rose and moved to his bed, knowing sleep would prove elusive tonight. The image of Amelia in the throes of passion would haunt his dreams, a tantalizing glimpse of what might be possible if they both gave in to their base desires.
