Page 21 of A Duchess Untouched

Selina bowed her head, hoping to hide the color in her cheeks. She had only wanted to keep her father off the streets, and this was how he repaid her. Four years she had spent at Wentley House trying to be seen as a duchess who understood proper decorum, and one glass of wine too many had undone it in a single dinner.

Then, she turned to see the Duke staring at her. His eyes lowered slightly to her neck, and then to the rise and fall of her chest. It was at that moment that she felt her blush spread from her cheeks downward.

“Please help Mr. Quinten retire to his rooms for the night,” Matthew commanded softly. “He had an exhausting day and requires some rest.”

“What?” Harleigh protested. “I am not yet finished with dinner. Selina! Tell His Grace I still have a request to present to him.”

“I believe he was here when you talked about what it was that you wished,” Selina muttered. “Perhaps we should discuss this in the morning. Goodnight, Papa.”

Harleigh, already intoxicated by drink and unsupported by his daughter, could not do anything but be escorted out of the grand dining hall.

The Dowager Duchess let out a theatrical sigh of disgust while she dabbed at her lips with a napkin.

“Dear Selina, your father is a remarkably… colorful person,” she murmured.

“Mother.”

That one word and a glare from the Duke stopped whatever else the Dowager Duchess was about to say.

“You would do well to learn some tolerance and hospitality, especially since I will be gone again in less than a week,” Matthew said, then returned to his dinner.

Selina turned rigid. Less than a week? She did not have much time. Her husband’s words reminded her of the urgency of her situation. He was telling the truth when he said he would be leaving her again. Without an heir to show for it, the Dowager Duchess would not be tolerant and hospitable to her, let alone her father. Not at all. She would quickly find a way to send both of them out into the streets.

Her grandmother was right. This was no time for shame. She also lacked the luxury of pride. She decided that since Antoinette would notice whatever she tried above the table, she would have to use her footwork.

Selina glanced at her husband across the table. He gave no sign that he suspected anything at all. Carefully, she shifted her weight and slipped her right foot free of its slipper, letting it fall soundlessly to the floor. Then she stretched her leg beneath the table until her stockinged toes met the fabric of what she believed to be her husband’s breeches.

Her grandmother’s instructions drifted back to her. Glide, do not press. Sensually, she had said, as if sensuality were something Selina could simply summon because she wished it so. She had always been graceful, at least. The ton had said as much often enough when she moved across a ballroom floor. Surely this could not be so very different.

But this… This was different.

She had to do it to seduce a cold, cold man, but there was no reaction, no movement from her husband. He seemed at ease with his dinner, slicing his meat and taking large bites. He did not even glare at her.

Why is he so unaffected? Is he so indifferent to my touch?

Selina was deeply confused. Her husband seemed to act as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Was he that cold? She tried harder, pressing a little further and more firmly, and gliding her foot a little farther up.

Suddenly, a loud gasp burst from across her. Then, a cough. But Matthew was still expressionless. Instead, Oliver had turned a frightening shade of purple. He clutched his chest as he was further seized by a fit of violent coughing.

“Oliver!” the Dowager shrieked, turning pale with horror. “Oh, mercy, what are we to do? It looks like your brother’s cough has gotten worse!”

“Breathe, Oliver,” Matthew soothed, looking a little pale himself. “Have some water. It looks like the physician needs to have a better look at you.”

“I… I am all right.”

Oliver tried to steady himself, but accidentally dropped his fork, which clattered to the floor near Maximus. The dog was unhappy about this and barked loudly as if to reprimand Oliver.

“Quiet, Maximus,” Matthew shushed as he bent low to reach for Oliver’s fork from under the table.

At that moment, Selina could tell something was wrong. She noticed how smoothly Matthew had moved, almost as if he were not the person she was caressing with her foot. Mortification hit her as everyone turned to look at her, and she hurried to pull her foot back, but it was already too late.

Matthew froze in his crouching position, his eyes widening at what he saw. The fork forgotten, he rose and watched Selina with fury on his face.

“Selina,” he said in a dangerously low voice. “What, precisely, were you doing to Oliver’s leg?”

The Dowager Duchess gasped, her eyes full of horror. Oliver groaned miserably, the fit of coughs finally gone. Meanwhile, Selina realized her staggering mistake. She had not been sensually caressing Matthew’s leg, after all. Her foot was on her innocent, and now traumatized, brother-in-law.

Humiliation flooded through her, hot enough that she could not breathe. Her father’s request for funds had felt like the worst of the evening, but she had been wrong. This was far worse, and she alone had caused it.