Enchanting the Duke - Lana Williams Page 0,10

damp apex of her thighs.

Douglas’s quickening breath aroused her further. His warm chest pressed along her back and the hardness of his manhood against her bare bottom had her shifting her hips. Her entire body yearned for him, and she reached a hand back to touch him, wanting to be closer, wanting more. Then his manhood teased her slick folds before at last he entered her with one thrust. She arched back at the glorious sensation, and he groaned in response.

“Yes,” he muttered in the darkness.

Her heart sang at his obvious need. She arched closer to him as she moved her body. Anything to please him as much as he pleased her.

His hands on her hips assisted her into a steady rhythm and fanned the flames already burning brightly inside her. She shuddered when at last her passion shattered, sending her flying with Douglas directly behind her.

For one long moment, she and Douglas were bound together. She held the thought tight as she slowly drifted back to earth, loving the feel of him cradling her. Afraid to break the fragile spell, she remained where she was, saying nothing, but keeping her hand over his where it rested on her hip, thrilled when he didn’t pull away.

She pressed her eyes shut tight and said a little prayer, wishing he cared for her the same way she did for him. Why was it that each time she decided there was no hope her dream of what their marriage could be would come true, Douglas managed to convince her otherwise?

~*~

The following morning, Douglas rode alongside Burbridge to have a closer look at his estate. Douglas welcomed the opportunity, hoping the crisp air would clear his mind. The horse’s breath created puffs of air, a testament to the cold.

“I hope you slept well.” Burbridge glanced at him as they rode toward the far end of the property.

An odd rush of warmth flooded Douglas as the memory of the night filled his mind. He had slept poorly until giving in to the overwhelming need for his wife. He only hoped he hadn’t started on a slippery slope of self-indulgence. After all, it had only been the one time that he’d broken his routine. Then again, he was at a house party instead of working. Perhaps he had more to be concerned about than he realized.

“Quite well, thank you.” The sooner he focused on something else, the better. “I appreciate the opportunity to view your lands.”

“Certainly. Few of my friends have the same level of interest in crop rotation or tenant improvements as I do. And it’s refreshing to speak with someone determined to embrace progress in agriculture.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Learning about advances in farming and land management was his life. He had business acquaintances that he occasionally shared such information with but wouldn’t go so far as to call any of them friends. Much of his life had been solitary.

The only constant in his childhood had been his nanny, Mrs. Dawson. Her gentle encouragement was something he still remembered fondly. She’d been a great comfort when his mother had passed away. However, Mrs. Dawson had been sent away when he’d left to attend Eton at age six. Four years later, his father died, so Douglas had continued his studies at home with his grandfather, who discouraged social activities.

“I don’t remember you from my school days, though you must be similar in age to me.” Burbridge frowned as if searching his memory.

“I didn’t attend university.” Oxford had been out of the question. How could he leave when he was needed at home?

His grandfather had spent many hours every day with Douglas, rarely satisfied with his progress. Douglas had helped with the planting and the harvest. He’d settled tenant disputes and made repairs on their homes. His grandfather insisted he know how to do everything on the estate, no matter how menial the task.

Then there had been the reading and reciting of sermons and philosophy and farming passages. Grandfather repeatedly said a busy mind and a strict routine were the keys to success. It was as if he knew he’d failed with his son and had no intention of doing so with his grandson.

But at some point during those years, Douglas realized his life wasn’t normal. Even for the heir to a dukedom. The solitary existence spent with weighty subjects had left no time for merriment. It was no wonder that his nickname of the Dour Duke had stuck when he’d inherited the title.

“Oh?” Burbridge’s inquiry