Ten
THE RIDE HOME was sheer torture.
After spending the rest of the afternoon choosing bloody curtains and vases and wishing he could kiss Amelia again, Christopher was sitting in front of her. As the carriage jolted, he did his best to not touch her accidentally, or he might give in to the outrageous urge to rip her clothes off. Her flowery scent still lingered on his hand and his clothes, and his lips tingled as if they were still pressed against hers. The little noises she’d made while he’d caressed her wrist had sent a shock right to his groin.
He shifted on the seat, trying to give more room to the growing concern in his trousers. Thank goodness the jacket was long enough to cover him.
Every time she gazed up, pink blossomed in her cheeks and her golden lashes fluttered down. Lord, what had he done? He’d groped her like a lad at his first experience. But what he’d told her was true. She was confusing, flirting with Cowasj one moment, and kissing him the next. He didn’t know if he could trust her. But she’d genuinely enjoyed his attentions if the flushes and moans were any indication.
When the carriage stopped in front of his mansion, he bolted out of the confined space and breathed in fresh air. He let the footman and the driver be the gentlemen and take care of the ladies while he walked towards the house as fast as his leg allowed.
The temptation to touch her was too strong, and it took all his self-control to not kiss her again, properly this time, slipping his tongue between her plump lips and tasting her. Then he would rip her dress open and see if her nipples were the same colour of her lips.
No, he shouldn’t have thought about her naked. Now his shaft was twitching painfully in his trousers.
“My Lord, the oil!” Florence shouted from behind him, but he ignored her.
He even ignored the butler, who blathered something about the orchestra being here. He needed the gymnasium. And to spar until he collapsed on the floor from exhaustion and pain.
Two hours later, Christopher lay wheezing on the polished floor of the gymnasium. His knuckles were split in places, and blood trickled down his fingers. Every muscle ached and burned, but he had his bloody emotions under control again.
“What happened?” Dorian sat next to him and winced as he stretched his legs. He’d given everything that he had, punching and parrying Christopher’s blows restlessly.
“What do you mean?”
“We sparred this morning, then you came here all brooding and bothered and wanted to spar again.” Dorian rubbed his shoulder. “And I’m not sure I needed an extra session. Something must’ve happened to you.”
Christopher shrugged. “I was simply in the mood for the extra exercise.”
“Poppycock.”
He arched a brow. “Since when do you say poppycock?”
“Is it a woman?” Dorian leaned closer. “The blonde lady, Amelia?”
Damn. Was it so obvious? Christopher crossed his arms under his head and stared at the ceiling.
Sitting back, Dorian nodded. “I knew it. What’s the problem?”
“There isn’t any problem.”
“If I’m not mistaken, she’s here because her parents wish her to marry you.”
Christopher huffed. He could bet Benedict had gossiped around.
“If you like her, why don’t you take her? She’s here to marry you,” Dorian said.
“She isn’t here to marry me.” Christopher propped on his elbows. “She’s supposed to spend some time with me to understand if I am a suitor she’d like to have.”
“And you? Do you like her?”
Yes, he did, and that was the problem. “I don’t know if I can trust her.”
“Hell.” Dorian threw a hand up. “You don’t trust anyone.”
“Well, see how my trust went on Benedict. He stabbed me in the back, organising a bloody ball and hiring people without telling me.”
Standing up, Dorian clunked his tongue. “You might change your mind after the ball.” He headed towards the door. “I need to wash, and so do you.”
