Page 68 of To Steal a Duchess

His mouth watered.

His body became too warm, his mind in overdrive, and he could not let himself lose control over this.

He cleared his throat, sitting up, careful to angle himself so his erection was not visible. His back turned to her, he began to unbutton his pants, and Eloise made a high noise behind him.

“What are you doing?”

When he looked over his shoulder at her, she was blushing furiously as he began to pull down his pants.

“I am undressing in my own room,” Dorian said it point-blank, wanting to tease her as much as her body was teasing him.

She had to know how she looked, how utterly desirable she was.

“You must—you must stop, Dorian.” Her voice faltered, and she looked away, then back at him, and her eyes tracked over his back.

Dorian fought his smirk, wanting to keep composed, as if he held power over her in the moment. Really, it was her who was undoing him.

“Why?” He tugged his pants down even lower, not quite exposing himself, but enough that her eyes dropped, and her blush deepened. “This is my room, and it is perfectly natural for me to change here, no? Am I to delay my day simply because you found yourself in my bed?” His voice was rough, and he saw how it made her throat work around a swallow, her eyes fluttering.

He stopped teasing with his pants. Instead, his fingers deftly unbuttoned his shirt. He took it off, stripping it firmly off his shoulders. His shoulders rolled with the movement, and Eloise’s eyes went right to them, her gaze carving lines he swore he physically felt down his torso.

As her eyes roved over him, her jaw dropped open. Dorian was honed, and while he didn’t exercise every day, years of riding, walking, and sailing at times had hardened his body.

“You…” Eloise breathed. “You look…”

“I look…?” he prompted when she did not say anything else. “Use your words, Duchess. How do I look?” His smirk widened.

But Eloise only scooped up Pickle, her face red with embarrassment, and she hurried out in a swish of silk.

Once he was left alone in his room, Dorian tried to properly change; he couldn’t get the sight of Eloise’s body out of his head.

He paced around his room, both wanting to go to her and see just how much teasing she would take, but he also knew that would make his control snap.

Instead, he stormed out of his room, pent-up and restless, and he didn’t even bother saddling his horse before he mounted and tore down the backstreets of London, toward the start of the countryside.

He just needed open air.

Most of all, he needed his wife’s body, curved like a Greek goddess, out of his head.

Chapter Nineteen

“And, as always, a gift from the cook,” one of the footmen, who had become very fond of Pickle, said, as he bent down to place a silver bowl in front of him.

Pickle barked happily, already diving for the leftover food.

Eloise chuckled, petting him as he ate. “You are ever so spoiled, Pickle.”

“A good boy like that deserves to be, Your Grace. He’s a fine hound indeed.” The footman patted Pickle’s head before bowing.

The breakfast table was laden with leftover food Eloise could have easily given Pickle herself, but she enjoyed the staff’s involvement with her puppy. It was nice to see everyone at the townhouse and the mansion getting to know and coming to love him.

However, despite the breakfast feast and delicious scents filling the hall, Eloise scarcely touched anything. Her appetite was there enough, but her mind was back upstairs, in her husband’s bed, aware of how thin her nightgown was, and wondering what he’d seen when he had looked at her.

She could not stop seeing his teasing smirk as he undressed and, heavens, his body appeared to have been taken from a museum exhibit of a Greek god. Eloise had always been reserved and never really thought of men beyond their conversation or personalities.

Nothing beyond a dance or a morning visit.

She had certainly never thought of what was beneath their layers of clothing.