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Sucking in a shocked gasp, she automatically dropped everything in her hands and reached for it, trying to stop it from tumbling right off the desk. In the same instant, she felt the duke rushing in to do the same.
In an instant her mind was changed, and she stepped backwards attempting to avoid him. At an awkward angle, she felt her leg scrape against the corner of the desk and squealed in pain and surprise as the candlestick tumbled right off the desk. Fear that the flame would light the rug was instantly replaced by further shock the moment the candle flame was snuffed out of existence.
Sunk into pitch blackness, Penelope was disoriented and reached for the edge of the desk hoping to steady herself. All too late, she realised she had entirely missed it and felt herself stumbling forward, reaching for whatever else she could to stop herself from falling.
Somehow twisting in midair as she went, she heard the duke’s startlement as she found herself sitting on something that was both hard and soft all at the same time.
“My Lady, if you wished to sit, I would have brought you a chair.”
The duke’s voice was mightily close to her ear and shock pulsed through her as she suddenly realised she had landed awkwardly upon the duke’s lap. How they had both come to be there, sitting like that, Penelope would never know. It was much too dark to understand what had just happened. What she did know was that she could feel something growing harder still beneath her.
Remembering all the lewd and awkward conversations she'd heard between the young maids back in France, Penelope suddenly realised exactly what she was feeling growing hard and throbbing beneath her rear.
She could feel the tension throughout Lord Chatham's entire body as he gripped her with his arms, cradling her as if frightened she might continue to fall if he did not. In the silence, they held each other, Penelope's heart racing so violently that it made her head spin. Heat pooled between her thighs at the sensation of his manhood right beneath her, so close and yet so far away.
Instinctively, she wriggled her buttocks slightly, not really meaning to and yet doing so all the same. It felt good to sit in his lap, to feel his arms wrapped around her. Her breath was caught in her throat, and her skin was screaming to be touched. Every inch of her body felt like it was on fire and his touch was the only thing that could douse the flames.
Although she felt desire-fuelled tension coming off him in waves, her husband did not attempt to make a move. Instead, he sat stock-still, cradling her against his body in the darkness, neither daring to move.
That's when Penelope remembered his promise from their wedding night. She remembered with some disappointment that he had assured her he would not touch her again without her expressed permission.
Although they were both well aware by now that she had fallen into his lap, she was sure he would not take that as a sign of her inviting him to touch her. Yet she wanted him to do so, so badly that it was painful, and before she knew it, she had reached up in the darkness to cup his face, somehow finding his lips without trouble so that she could kiss him as he had once kissed her.
Relief threatened to overwhelm her, and tears pricked in the corners of her eyes when she felt him returning the kiss. It felt so real, so natural, and she instinctively leaned in closer. She couldn’t quite get her body close enough, feeling as if she wanted to melt into him.
As if he sensed her need and urgency, his arms pulled her in tighter, and she felt his manhood throbbing harder than ever beneath her. A low and impassioned growl erupted deep in the duke's throat as he pulled his face away from hers.
For just a few seconds, she was startled and disappointed, fearful that he might reject her as she had rejected him. Then, in the next instant, she felt him twisting her torso slightly so he could press his lips to the ample curve of her bosom.
The sensation caused a thrill of energy to pulse throughout her body, and she gasped in shock. Her hands moved to the back of the duke's head, her fingers slipping into the roots of his dark hair and cradling his head against her breasts as he held her and kissed her. She felt her nipples hardening against the tightness of her stay, and they began to burn with the need to be released.
It wasn't until she felt the duke's hand come down from her waist to cup her buttock that a spark of realisation hit her.This can't be happening!she exclaimed silently, pursing her lips to stop herself from doing so aloud. It was for his sake that she couldn't do it, that she couldn't go through with it.
She would have willingly given herself over to him, and yet her guilt would not allow her to do so. Body tensing, almost to the point of pain, she pulled back from the duke. As if he sensed her sudden hesitation, he leaned back in his seat, his fingers loosening their grip on her.
"My love, what is wrong?" he whispered into the darkness as if he were frightened to speak too loudly, as if he believed he might spook her.
Penelope cringed at his words. She both loved and hated it when he called her that. It felt so natural, so right, and every inch of her was screaming at her to grip hold of his face once more and kiss him, to show him that she truly wanted him and wanted him to have her. But instead, she found herself leaping from his lap.
"I'm sorry," she whimpered into the darkness, "I can't do this."
And with that, she fled the room, moving as fast as she could in complete darkness, stumbling over the candlestick as she went and reaching out for the nearest bookcase to steady herself.
"Rose, wait, please!" the duke called after her, and Penelope's heart threatened to shatter. That was the first time he had called her by her name, and it wasn't even hers! It hurt too much to hear the longing in his voice, to feel how much he wanted her, and so she continued to flee, never glancing back for fear she might change her mind and be lost forever.
Chapter 24
Anthony lay awake that night feeling even more frustrated than ever. His wife was the biggest mystery he had ever faced in his life.
Never had he wished to be married, but upon meeting Lady St Clair, he had fallen head over heels; against his better judgement, he had allowed her to change his mind, and whenever he thought back to all the correspondence he had shared with her uncle, he couldn’t help feeling as though something didn’t add up.
The image he’d had of her in his mind long before meeting her did not fit with the woman who shared his home now.
He had been expecting her to be a fine young lady, of course. Though he had been expecting her to be much like all other young noble ladies, only interested in marriage because of what it brought with it, notoriety, status, and gossip.
When it came to young women, their only means of going up in the world was whom they married, and yet Lady Rose seemed entirely uninterested in any of that. She had a good head on her shoulders, and she had helped him in unimaginable ways, being far better and more conservative with money and problems and helping him to get out of his debts than he ever imagined.
Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling as he had spent many nights since becoming duke, Anthony couldn’t help feeling as though things might actually be looking up for him. There was just one problem. His wife appeared entirely unable to give herself to him.
