Page 65 of A Necessary Wife

She wet her lips, overcome by a sudden burst of yearning for him—a yearning that seemed to only grow stronger the more time they spent alone together.

“I never expected our marriage to feel like this,” she confessed.

Chatham’s lips lifted from her neck. “Would you have things different?”

“No,” she promised him. “This is better than I ever dreamed.”

“Indeed, it is for me too,” he agreed.

Suddenly, his teeth were nipping harder at her throat. She threw her head back, overcome as always, forgetting where she was, who she was, and that she was not supposed to crave her husband like this.

They had made a polite arrangement, but that no longer seemed to be what she wanted.

She wanted this.

Passion, and a husband who couldn’t keep his hands off her.

They moved.

She opened her eyes as Chatham pulled her along and pushed on a panel in a wall that revealed a hidden room.

Inside was a small chamber. Without a fire, but a chaise lounge was placed against one wall. A shuttered window set high provided light, but there was nothing much else to determine its purpose.

“What is this room?”

“Welcome to the Refuge,” he said. “At least that is what I dubbed it years ago. I come here at times to escape annoying guests. I highly recommend you use it, too.”

“I have no reason to hide anymore,” she warned him.

“No you don’t, not at the moment.” Chatham clicked the lock on the door. “But there will be times when privacy is desirable. It is not part of the manor house plan and holds many surprises. Come and see.”

He pulled a dark curtain across the wall, and when she drew closer, realized he had done so to reveal light coming from several small holes drilled into the surface. She set her eye to one and looked into the cigar room, where all the gentlemen seemed to slip away to at one time or another.

Currently, one of the male guests stood with his back to her, alone, hitching his trousers higher over his large belly. As she watched, Mr. Dunstan joined him. The man snatched up a cigar from the sideboard and pocketed it instead of smoking it immediately.

His Grace entered a moment later and offered cigars to both, and she drew back, uneasy about spying on the duke in his own home.

Chatham covered everything back up again and wordlessly drew her toward the chaise, where he pulled her down to sit on his lap, then kissed her soundly for several deliriously good minutes.

Amelia moaned when he gripped her thighs tightly and forced her to widen her legs so she could straddle him. Chatham’s fingers quickly pressed over her lips, silencing her.

“We mustn’t make a sound here.”

She nodded, understanding. But it gave her an odd thrill to know how close others might be, and yet unaware of what they were up to in the Refuge.

She felt very naughty, in fact, even though one could not really be scandalous when captured in a husband’s arms. She raised her own skirts, and he unbuttoned his trousers. She dropped abruptly onto him.

With a little adjustment of position, Chatham filled her. He tossed his head back, jaw clenched, and Amelia kept her gaze on his face as she started to move with more confidence than last time.

He cupped her rear, fingers digging in, grinding her down deeper onto his length. Amelia quickened her movements at his urging, utterly caught up in their passionate escape.

Suddenly, she was on her back, Chatham driving into her harder and faster. She widened her knees and then, dissatisfied with that, wrapped her legs high about his hips.

They were frantic and desperate for each other within moments. She could not get close enough and wanted to tell him so out loud. But she had to be quiet, and Amelia discovered it was a torment that excited her unbearably.

He reached for her hand and drew back a little, creating space for a brief return to sanity. He kissed her fingers, then pushed them down until she touched her own sex.

“I want you to come by your own hand,” he whispered.