Chapter 16

Philip’s heart was thundering in his chest as he looked down at the perfect unbidden image of Grace. He reached for the skirt of her gown and pulled it down her legs again, hiding her wetness from him, for if he gazed at her any longer, he was in danger of taking her there on his desk.

I will not. As I promised, I will wait for the bed to do that.

She was trembling, biting her lip as she looked up at him, her cheeks the brightest shade of red he had seen.

He bent over her, capturing her lips with his own. This kiss was much slower than their last, more sensual somehow if not as passionate. He slipped his hand under her back, urging her to arch up into him as she had just done when she reached her climax, then he released her.

“Until tonight.” He stepped back from the desk, doing his best to adjust his hard-on in his trousers.

“W-what?” Grace stammered.

He reached for the door, glancing back to see Grace sat up on the desk, staring at him in amazement. Her hair was wild, half falling down from its updo. The gown too was slipping from her shoulders.

“You do that then stop?”

“I thought you were enjoying the sweet torture?” he asked with a laugh. “You can’t pretend you didn’t enjoy that part.”

“You arrogant and insufferable man.”

“Your husband now, Grace.” He winked at her. “I’m your husband now.” She looked as if she didn’t know whether to curse or smile. “I’ll have to hurry our guests out of this house. As soon as they are gone, worry not.” His gaze slipped down her. “That torture will be over.”

He stepped out of the door, leaving her to get herself sorted. As he stepped down the corridor, he had to adjust his trousers multiple times.

Never had he been so hard in his life for any woman before. Never had he expected the sight of Grace beneath him, calling out his name as she clawed at his papers and made a mess of his perfectly ordered life, to be his undoing so much.

When he reached the door of the ballroom, he had to think of dull and mundane things for some time, pushing all thoughts of Grace away before it was safe to return to his guests without any hint of the desire that rippled through him, straining against his trousers.

* * *

“I hate him,” Grace muttered to herself as she strode back into the ballroom. She’d fixed her hair and straightened her gown as much as she could, but nothing could calm the erratic racing of her heart nor the aftershocks of what he had done to her body. She didn’t know such a feeling could exist, least of all that Philip could be the cause of it. “I despise him,” she muttered again as she marched across the ballroom.

She snatched up a glass of champagne from a passing server, trying not to breathe too fast or heavily as she looked around in search of him. She was trying to persuade herself that she did hate Philip, that she couldn’t stand him, yet her eyes were hungry for him, trying desperately to seek out where he was.

At last, she found him. He was talking in a low tone to his friend and his mother on the far side of the room.

Once again, he was the perfect picture of propriety. His suit wasn’t even creased from what they had done, his cravat perfectly positioned, his sleeves taut. She doubted if she told anyone of what had happened between them, they would believe it. One glance at Philip, and he was perfectly regal and distant.

Look my way. Please.

Yet he did not. His focus was only for his friend and his mother.

“Well, it’s quite an event, is it not?” a familiar voice called, arriving at her side.

Grace looked around, praying once more her heart would stop beating so fast as Celia appeared beside her. Like her, Celia had a glass of champagne clutched in her hand from which she was drinking most liberally with a big smile.

“Grace, dear friend.” Celia reached out and took her free hand. “I am sorry indeed that my dare rushed you into a marriage, but from what I saw earlier today, the way he looked at you on the altar…” She looked away, straight at Philip across the room, bearing a most thoughtful expression. “Perhaps there is a brighter future yet to come.”

“What do you mean?” Grace asked. As far as she was concerned, Philip had been distant at that altar: wooden, stiff, cool. He’d been nothing like the heated passion she had just experienced in his study.

He is a man of two halves of ice and fire, and it feels like both could burn me up!

“He barely looked at me!” Grace scoffed, trying her best to keep the anger out of her voice. Clearly, she failed, for Celia eyed her cautiously. “His attention was fixedly on the priest. He felt fully the vows he was making to his deathbed, did he not?”

“That’s what you saw? A man going to a condemned life?” Celia laughed, shaking her head. “Strange, you and I saw different things.”

“Oh? What did you see?” Grace asked, finding herself quite desperate to know.

“Well, let me let you into a little secret.” Celia linked their arms and stepped closer to her, whispering in her ear. “When everyone else at a wedding turn to watch the bride enter, I’m afraid I break the mold. I look at the groom.” She smiled broadly. “I saw his face as you appeared in that gown. It was momentary, perhaps, a weakness before he could adopt his cool exterior again.”

“He is always cool and cold,” Grace muttered.

“Is he?” Celia asked with a knowing smile.

Grace felt the blush rage across her cheeks, burning her.

No, he’s not.

It was as if Celia knew what had just taken place between the pair of them without having to ask about it or hear any clue of it.

“Something in his gaze as he looked at you told me there is much more to the Duke of Berkley than we think. Would it be so awful, Grace, if the Duke didn’t just marry you to save your reputation?”

Grace snorted at Celia’s suggestion.

“That is mad,” Grace said, shaking her head. “Celia, Philip was backed into a corner to marry me. You know that as well as I do.”

“Well, it’s just —”

“That is the way it was,” Grace said sharply. Something in her chest was squirming, some sort of fear and anger building at the picture Celia had created, for Grace knew it could not be true. As tempting as it was to hope that Philip felt something more for her, it could not be possible. “He married me to save both our reputations because a reputation is what matters to him most.”

Celia was no longer smiling. Her lips were pressed firmly together in a line, and there was a glint of sadness in her eyes.

“Philip would care no more for me than he would any other woman in his life. Of that, I am quite certain.”

“Maybe in time, things will change,” Celia whispered.

Grace lifted her glass to her lips and downed the contents, praying that somehow the pleasant fizzing feeling would dull the anger swarming in her stomach.

She was no longer sure which infuriated her more. Was it the fact that Philip had left her so fast after he had introduced her to those pleasurable feelings on that desk? Or was it Celia’s suggestion that there could be something more in this marriage?

It’s impossible. He has made it clear with his rules that it can never be anything more.

She glanced at Philip across the room.

At last, he looked her way. It was brief as anything, and there was no heat in that gaze. It was ice cold then his eyes moved away, as if he had not looked at his wife at all but a stranger on the street.

* * *

“I think it’s time to go, Mother, don’t you?” Philip suggested as kindly as he could. He managed to catch his butler’s arm nearby, whispering in his ear. “Would you have everyone’s frock coats and pelisses fetched, please? That might persuade them to start to leave.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” His butler nodded and hurried off to do his duty at once.

“Already? Is it time to go?” His mother, Allesandra, was sipping from her glass of champagne, looking around the ballroom with wide eyes.

Dusk had now started to fall. What had started as a wedding breakfast had become a complete ball with the celebrations continuing long into the evening. Philip didn’t mind that his guests were enjoying themselves, but what did upset him was the fact he was being kept away from his new wife.

The memory of her touch in the study, the way she had moaned his name, was too distant now — he was determined to relive that memory as swiftly as possible.

“Mother,” Philip said, taking her arm, “I hope you have enjoyed yourself?”

“Of course, I have,” she murmured sweetly, laying her hand over his on her arm as he led her toward the exit of the ballroom. He was relieved to see that others were now taking their cue as the musicians were finished.

Some drunken men were plaiting their legs as they walked toward the door as other ladies tried to walk as smoothly as possible, pretending they were not in the slightest in their cups.

“It is a pleasure to see you married at last, Philip,” Allessandra said with a soft tone. “I have worried for so long that you might not take a wife.” Distracted, she fiddled with her pearl necklace, staring into the distance, looking quite lost.

I know that look.

Philip’s protective streak toward his mother rose within him.

I will not let Grace suffer as she suffered being married to my father.

“Well, now I am married,” Philip said softly. “No need for further worry. Will you stay in London for long?”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “I will stay with Eleanor tonight, and then tomorrow, I’ll return to the country seat. I prefer it there. You know that.”

Philip smiled rather sadly at her.

“I know,” he said soothingly. “Write to me if you need anything, won’t you?”

“Of course.” She nodded. “Yet do not think too much of me now, Philip. You have your own wife to think of.” She laughed and stepped away, moving toward Eleanor, who was leaning somewhat heavily on Dorian’s arm by the front door of the house.

Philip stepped toward his sister with concern, but she waved him off with an easy smile, pushing her spectacles up her nose.

“I am fine; do not worry yourself,” she assured him. “I am merely tired after being on my feet all day.” She laid a hand over her swollen stomach. “Dorian, take us home.”

To Philip’s relief, Dorian caringly steered Eleanor out of the door. For all the objections Philip had had about Dorian in the past, he did have to accept in that moment that Dorian did protect Eleanor. He would be a better husband to Eleanor than their father was to their mother.

Philip stood calmly by the front door as his guests moved past him. He wished goodbye to Xander and Violet as they left too and to Aaron, who said very little as he shook Philip’s hand. Soon enough, all of his guests were on the gravel driveway, climbing into carriages to leave at last.

When they were finally gone, Philip kicked the door shut. He leaned against it, sighing loudly as he looked around the entrance hall. Back through the ballroom door, he could see his staff were busy already, tidying up. Yet beside the door, Grace stood very still.

Her hands were bundled in her gown, her head turned toward him as she bit her lip.

“You have avoided me all day,” she said sharply. “Are you tired of me already?”

You have no idea what you’re talking about.

He walked toward her, unable to say a word. Infuriated, he had wanted all his guests to leave hours ago though no one took the hint each time he suggested it. He supposed he should have been glad all their friends and family wished to stay for so long with them to celebrate, but he wasn’t.

All I want is for us to be alone.

“Philip?” she whispered sharply, her gaze equally tart as she glared at him. Her chest rose and fell with each deep breath she took, making the cleavage straining against her wedding gown all the more noticeable. He practically growled at the sight of her, watching as those honeyed eyes widened. “Have you lost the power of speech?”

He reached for her hand and tried to tow her away. She firmly stayed put, refusing to go anywhere with him. He stiffened, looking back at her.

Her cheeks were pink, her eyes narrowed.

“You have not said a word to me all day, and now, you expect me to follow you like a lost little lamb? I am not that weak, Philip.”

When she said his name, he lost all patience. It reminded him of the way she had arched her back on his desk, crying out his name in pleasure as he had helped her to reach her climax.

“It has nothing to do with weakness,” he hissed. “Everything to do with impatience.”

She raised her eyebrows, but he had no intention of talking anymore. He glanced back, ensuring that all of his staff were completely absorbed with cleaning up and would not look out the door at him. Seeing they were all indeed distracted, he bent down.

“What are you doing — Philip!” she hissed in a manic whisper as he threw her over his shoulder.