Page 41 of Two Blessings For His Duchess
Nathaniel’s gaze anchored directly to her, his breathing turning remarkably shallow. “I think... I think you smell like my favorite garden,” he responded in a rough whisper.
At his words, Euphemia realized she still hadn’t let go of him. Drawn by an inexplicable, magnetic pull, her hand traveled slowly from the warm nape of his neck, her fingers sliding directly into the thick, dark locks of his hair.
She began to stroke it gently, the strands silky against her fingertips. She had no logical explanation for why she was doing it, but in the intensity of the room, it felt like the most natural, normal thing in the world to do.
At her touch, a low, barely audible rumble escaped the depth of his throat, a sound so raw it sent a thrilling shiver straight to her core. As she gained a sudden, intoxicating burst of confidence, her fingers sank deeper into the strands at the back of his head, moving in a slow stroke back and forth, back and forth.
With each deliberate pass of her hand, she watched the sharp, burning intensity in his eyes begin to melt away. His eyelids fluttered, lowering little by little until they were nearly closed, completely surrendering to the sensation. She could see his chest rising and falling against hers in heavy, ragged breaths, his pulse hammering beneath her fingertips.
Driven entirely by the dizzying rush of the moment, Euphemia abandoned all hesitation, letting her head rule her actions as her second arm firmly grip the solid muscle of his bicep. She leaned her upper body forward, narrowing the final inch betweenthem, utterly consumed by the need to follow whatever wild, unscripted feeling was pulling her closer to him.
As her fingers continued through his hair, Nathaniel’s head tilted downward by agonizing fractions of an inch, his lips hovering so close to hers that she could feel the scorching warmth of his ragged breath against her mouth. Euphemia’s eyes fluttered closed, her entire world narrowing down to that moment. She tilted her chin upward, her heart leaping into her throat as she anticipated the final, definitive wreck of his mouth against hers, a sweeping, soul-altering collision that she was ready to welcome.
“Your Grace? Are you ready for me to prepare you for the night?”
The sudden sound of Mary’s voice from the other side of the door shattered the spell.
Nathaniel practically flew up from the bed, drawing a sharp, ragged breath as he stepped back into the shadows of the room, entirely out of her reach. His hair was slightly disheveled from her fingers, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his composure.
“I shall... I shall see you on the morrow, Euphemia. Sleep well,” he rasped out hastily. Without waiting for her response, he turned on his heel and moved toward the door, leaving the bedchamber with a frantic speed.
As he opened the door, the maid stepped back in surprise, her eyes wide as the Duke brushed past her. Euphemia was leftsitting on the edge of the mattress, an intense, breathless heat radiating through her entire body.
The maid entered the room cautiously, her face pale with panic. “Oh! Your Grace, I am so incredibly sorry. Did I... did I interrupt something? Please forgive me.”
“No, no,” Euphemia said quickly, her voice shaking as she offered a waving hand to soothe the girl. “Do not worry yourself. It is perfectly all right. I will just... I need a minute. Please give me just one minute to gather myself.”
The maid nodded quietly and stepped back toward the wardrobe. Euphemia pressed her trembling hands against her burning cheeks, staring at the empty space where Nathaniel had just been standing.
It had been a thoroughly bizarre, overwhelming night. As she sat alone in the dark, she thought to herself that the amount of new, terrifyingly beautiful feelings she had experienced today was enough to fill the pages of a whole book.
But the most frightening realization of all was the lingering ache in her chest. For some weird, dangerous reason, she didn’t want the feelings to fade. She wanted more of his touch, more of his focus, more of... him.
It felt like the first sip of something she had not known she was thirsty for, and she found, to her considerable alarm, that once was not enough.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Iam sorry, Lady Cordelia... Lady Georgianna,” Euphemia said, blinking down at the two little girls. “I do not think I quite understand.”
“It is a game, you see,” Cordelia explained, bouncing slightly on her heels. “We have decided that we want to play with you today, but you must complete three tasks first. One by one. We will only tell you the next task once you have finished the one before it.”
Euphemia raised her brows, a faint, amused smile tugging at her lips. “And you want my very first task to be... stealing sweets from the kitchen?”
Cordelia nodded vigorously, her curls dancing. “Yes! Exactly that. You must sneak past the cook and bring them back to us without getting caught.”
Euphemia turned her gaze toward the other twin, seeking a second opinion from the usually quiet sister. Georgianna wasstanding in the far corner of the chamber, her small hands clutching her favorite doll tightly to her chest as she watched the exchange with wide, unblinking eyes. Euphemia leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper as she looked back at Cordelia. “Is it truly both of you who wish to test me with these tasks?”
“Yes,” Cordelia whispered back, though she too glanced over her shoulder at her sister.
Then, leaning in even closer until her cheek nearly brushed Euphemia’s ear. “Actually, it was Georgianna’s idea to test you. She wants to see if you can pass all three, Your Grace. She promised that if you do, she will agree to come out and play with us all the time. This is a very grand thing. You recall that usually, you and I have to connive and find all sorts of ways to trick her or bribe her just to get her to come downstairs to the garden. But if you pass, we won’t have to convince her at all. She will just come!”
Euphemia swallowed the lump in her throat, her heart swelling at the rare glimpse of Georgianna’s willingness to open up.
It had been four days since the night of the ball. Her ankle was much better now, thanks to the family physician whom Nathaniel had thoughtfully summoned the very next morning to check on her... a gesture that had warmed her entirely.
Yet, in the days following that breathless, near-shattering encounter in her bedchamber, she had scarcely spoken to her husband. She had seen him from a distance, a fleeting silhouettein the corridors, but he had been utterly consumed by business since their return. They had not shared a single meal.
Part of her wanted to worry over it. The dynamic of their relationship had shifted into something entirely uncharted and terrifyingly intense, leaving her with a mountain of questions. She was hopelessly confused about whether she should seek him out to speak of that almost-kiss, or simply act as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
