Always the Rival (Never the Bride #7) - Emily E K Murdoch Page 0,42
good romping.
If he had known yesterday that the next time he awoke, it would have been after making love to Priscilla…
He had done it. He had chosen his heart rather than his head, leaving responsibilities by the wayside. Love and not duty had ruled him in the end, despite his better feelings, and Priscilla knew that. She knew he had chosen her over all others.
Over Miss Lloyd.
He sighed as he watched motes of dust dance in the growing daylight. Priscilla. She was everything he wanted and more. The way her eyelashes had fluttered when he had touched her.
He had never felt that power before – and never felt more helpless than when she was touching him.
“God in his heaven, but if you keep doing that, you’ll get no joy yourself.”
She had trusted him completely, given herself to him in a way he never knew ladies could. Abandoning all control, they discovered pleasure together, giving and receiving without restraint.
Charles closed his eyes, glorifying in his memories. He had waited, unlike most of his peers. He could not move for hearing about Braedon’s exploits, or the ladies Westray had seduced.
But he, Charles, had waited. He had known it would be worth it, eventually, and it was. Their lovemaking was a hundred times more special, knowing that he had shared that innocence with Priscilla.
His smile started to fade.
Priscilla. He had seduced Priscilla. No official proposal had been offered – how could it? He was still engaged to be married to Miss Lloyd.
He had never considered himself a paragon of virtue; there had been too much late-night drinking at Cambridge for that, too many adventures on the Continent.
Taking Priscilla’s innocence, while offering nothing in return…did that make him a cad? Worse, a scoundrel?
He swallowed, opening his eyes to stare at the fading blue wallpaper. Priscilla was in a category all of her own, something far more important than anything. Anyone.
Charles bit his lip. Was it possible…had he ruined everything between them? What if there was a child – God’s teeth, a child of the Orrinshire house born out of wedlock. Priscilla’s child. His child.
Would it be possible to look her in the face in public, knowing every inch of her body, the way her mouth quivered when she felt pleasure, knowing how she tasted?
His heart, moments ago so buoyant, started to sink. He had always prided himself in his morals.
His ascendance had come a little early, that was true, and he had been forced to grow up very quickly. But was he the hero of his own life story…or was he the villain?
Unable to sit still any longer, he rose, picking up his breeches and shirt from the floor, and sat on the side of the bed.
He had engaged himself to one lady and seduced another. He was planning a wedding with the first and whispering that he could cancel all those plans with the second. One woman hardly knew him but trusted him to keep to his word. The other knew him better than he knew himself and held that same trust.
Charles’s head fell into his hands.
No, it was worse than that. He had taken advantage of a friend, a friend who was in love with him. Taken advantage of her while she was a guest in his home.
He had betrayed the confidence of Miss Lloyd when she had heard naught but good reports of him.
And perhaps worst of all, and certainly what he would pay for the longest: he was about to make his mother very unhappy.
Charles allowed himself to fall back into the soft eiderdown of the mattress. How many gentlemen would laugh to be in his position! One beautiful and wealthy woman engaged to him, one beautiful and sparkling woman in his bed.
So why did it all taste bitter?
For all that being a duke was supposed to be so fine, with his power and prestige, he was rarely able to exert his own wishes.
Arranged marriage! That was where all of this had started to go so horrendously wrong. Why had he not been strong and firm in his belief that an arranged marriage was not for him?
He should have said no from the start. Damn his ancestors, damn their traditions, and damn arranged marriages. Then, at least, he would almost certainly not have found himself in this mess.
No matter how he felt about Priscilla, about Miss Lloyd, about the whole damned situation – he could not just lie here all morning. He had duties, even now.