Page 45 of Disciplined by the Duke
As she drifted off, her mind lingered on Mr. Pike. Where had he been if he wasn’t in the stable?
And did he hate her enough to try to kill her?
Chapter Fourteen
Liz hurried through the kitchen, ignoring the other maids eating their nuncheon, and pushed out the back door, into the sunlight. Her stomach growled a protest, but she’d seen Montague heading for the west gardens and he was more of an inducement than food. She’d been feeling restless for days. Brittle. As though she might shatter if she didn’t get to touch the duke one more time. Her noonday break was one of her few moments of leisure time during the day, and she wasn’t going to waste it in eating.
She’d searched every likely room for that damned letter. She had to face facts. She might never find it. Either way, she would be leaving Hartsworth soon, never to see the duke again. Ever since the night in his study, she’d been unable to keep her mind off the man. And after yesterday’s events, the feel of his body covering hers, pressing her into the soft grass, she’d been twitching with need.
There was something about almost losing one’s head to make a woman yearn for fulfillment.
She thought again of his hands.
Those devilish hands that had touched her so intimately. She’d seen enough in her time living alone in London to know the basics of human mating. Had even overheard some women who proclaimed to enjoy their husbands’ attentions.
But knowing that a man could bring pleasure to a woman and actually feeling pleasure from a man were two feathers from altogether different birds. Her body hadn’t stopped humming since her encounter with the duke. And she wanted more.
Needed more.
While she could never term what she and Montague had done innocent, there could be no consequences from merely laying hands on each other. No child could come of it. No ruination.
And as far as society was concerned, that ship had already sailed. No amount of purity on her part would ever redeem her family’s disgrace.
So why not take pleasure where she could?
Her boots crunched on the gravel path, and she turned around a hedge, and stopped dead. Montague wasn’t alone. Lord Spencer and Lady Arabelle had joined him for a stroll around the garden. She stood rooted to the spot, knowing she should turn around before his guests saw her but longing to keep him in view.
She edged closer. Her heart fluttered so rapidly she was surprised it didn’t fly out her throat.
He stood inches taller than the other man. The set of his shoulders was stiff, as though even having a conversation with friends in the garden required determination. Turning his head to speak to Lady Arabelle, Montague showed Liz his profile. The plane of his nose was straight, and the ends of his golden hair brushed his collar.
Liz rested a palm over her stomach, and bit back a sigh. He was one fine specimen of man.
He cocked his head, his jaw jutting towards her slightly, and Liz knew he’d seen her. She took a slow step back. She couldn’t outright confront him; she wasn’t that bold. But she hoped her appearance would tell him what she couldn’t say.
That she wanted a repeat of that night.
Turning on her heel, she strolled away. If her hips swayed a bit more than was proper for a chambermaid the duke only had himself to blame.
He followed.
She felt him before she heard him. Age-old instincts brought an awareness to her skin. Raised the hair on the back of her neck. Her movements were being tracked. Smiling, she turned down a path that wound away from the house. It led to a heavily wooded glen, a rare secluded spot on the duke’s open expanse of land.
The dogwood trees were in bloom, and thick pink blossoms littered the trail, a carpet that muffled footsteps. Stopping, she brought a low-hanging bough to her face, inhaled the sweet scent of the flower.
His hot breath slid across the back of her neck. Tingles of anticipation feathered up and down her spine.
“Does something amuse you, Miss Smith?” His deep baritone hit her low in the belly.
She wiped the smile from her face. “No, Your Grace.”
Reaching over her shoulder, he plucked the flower from the branch. “Perhaps you find it diverting that one look from you can send me to heel? Like a pup to its master?”
At that image, she lost the battle with her lips. “If you were a pup I imagine you’d be more of the Reggie variety. You don’t seem to be one to follow orders.”
His breath hitched. “Yet here I am.”
She turned at the confusion in his voice, but his face showed nothing. It was only her wishful thinking that he would be as affected by her as she was by him.