Page 28 of A Duchess Untouched

Could I do that to her? Break her so selfishly for my own pleasure?

She deserved better. Bedding her now would only satisfy a physical hunger, but it would be cruelty.

Matthew squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would block all thoughts of his wife. His blood was slow to cool, and even in the darkness behind his eyelids, her image lingered.

With his eyes closed, her image had worsened—transforming from a flirt in the drawing room to a bedroom siren. Matthew could picture Selina in his room, locked inside with him, slowly removing her dress. He could almost see his hands helping her undress, one piece at a time.

Although he had never seen her naked, he could imagine supple skin and the curves her clothes hinted at. Selina might be petite, but she had curves in all the right places. He pictured her kneeling on the rug, her hungry eyes watching him, her small hands reaching for his thighs. Then he would guide her jaw as his thumb traced the curve of her lip, opening her mouth wider.

Matthew fumbled with his breeches, taking his cock out. He was rock hard, his heart pounding in his chest. Even during his years as a rake, he had not felt like this. Perhaps it was because each of those women was easily accessible at the time.

Not Selina.

Touching her would have a significant impact on both her life and his. It would change everything.

“Hell and damnation,” he swore as his fingers wrapped around his thick length. The contact made him arch his back, a groan escaping his throat. It was not how he wanted to quench the fire within him, but it would have to do. He stroked himself fast and hard, his breath jagged and shallow.

His mind clung to the memory of Selina. Every part of her called to him. Her beautiful face, her delicate neck, her perfectly round buttocks, the heaving swells of her breasts, and those lips…

He could imagine her yielding to him, opening that beautiful mouth wide and taking him deep into it.

Matthew could practically feel her hair in his fingers, and taste the desperation from her whimpers as he thrust in her throat. Over and over.

His breaths were getting ragged and raw. He did not usually pleasure himself this way, but there was a first time for everything. At the mere image of Selina’s moans and eager tongue, he came hard, spilling hot against his skin and breeches. In the end, his whole body remained trembling for some time, shaking from the remnants of her phantom touch.

For a moment, he had to catch his breath. His soft pants were the only sounds in his study, along with Maximus’s tail thumping against the floor.

Breathless and exhausted, Matthew slumped back into his leather chair. The physical release relieved the mounting tension.

However, it was quickly replaced by self-loathing. Disgust replaced all the feelings he might have had earlier. He was the Duke of Wentley, and he had reduced himself to self-pleasure like an adolescent boy who had not touched a woman before, all because his virginal wife had made some silly attempts to seduce him.

Selina might think she had failed miserably to sway him, but she did not need to know the effect of her feminine wiles on him. He pulled out his handkerchief and quickly wiped away the evidence of his misplaced desires.

“What I need is a bath,” he muttered, as Maximus whimpered. “A freezing cold bath.”

When he rose, his knees were still wobbling, a sight he did not want to show anyone else, especially not his wife. Maximus knew it was time to rise as he scrambled to his feet. The mastiff was the first to reach the door, eager to return to the level of activity he was accustomed to.

“So, now you want to run outdoors?” Matthew said, shaking his head in disbelief as he unlocked the door and stepped into the corridor with Maximus.

“I can do this. A few more days, and I will be gone once more.”

Matthew reminded himself that the estate accounts must all be put in order; among them was Selina’s allowance. He had to safeguard it because he needed to be back on the trail.

On his slow walk to his bedchambers, he turned a corner into a gallery of portraits. He was struck by how the moonlight seemed to stream from a nearby window. His mother certainly had the right eye for such things, placing important objects where the light glowed. Robert’s portrait was illuminated in such a way that it made Matthew’s breath catch.

His older brother looked down at him with an easy smile. The portrait was taken when he was only two-and-twenty, vibrant and full of life. Robert’s brown hair was much darker than Matthew’s. He was destined to be the Duke until…

Robert had always been easy to love. He was meant to become the Duke of Wentley and marry the woman he loved. He was supposed to live a long life. But destiny had served him something else. He was now six feet under, and Matthew, who held the title, still did not feel worthy of it.

Robert’s gaze sobered Matthew at once. No amount of lounging in a tub of chilly water would cool the hot blood coursing through his veins. But the sight of his deceased brother’s portrait was enough to break the spell of desire.

“Forgive me, Rob,” he whispered, bowing his head.

It had become harder to even look the portrait in the eyes. He remembered his oath. He had promised not to rest until he found Mary and her child, Robert’s legacy to the world. He had been distracted. He could not afford to neglect his duty for ephemeral pleasure.

No time for warmth.

No time for dalliances.