The Duchess's Secret by Elizabeth Beacon

Author:Elizabeth Beacon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2019-05-30T18:34:04+00:00

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Ash stirred in his sleep and suppressed a groan as he came sharply back to his senses and felt far too wide awake, but it was the middle of the night. He tried to relax in the vast old bed. It had felt like being laid out in a museum when he returned from his travels, but now Ros was next door. The thought of her in the same house was enough to keep him awake, even in the most comfortable bed in London. Only one fragile door away, she was the most exquisite temptation he could imagine. He cursed his wretched body as the very thought of her on the other side of that door made his sex go hard, again. If only Ros was here with him, this would be the finest bed in London and never mind his ancestor’s questionable taste. Fantasising about her lying next to him, sated and limp with loving, was not going to calm his wretched body, so he tried to imagine he was marooned on a lonely Arctic ice floe yet again, before he woke her up to beg.

Contrarily he longed for the comfort and intimacy of her cottage, if only she would have let him share it with her, but that was firmly in the past now. When he had first stepped inside the place it felt small and cramped and he wondered how she endured it, but now his whole body cried out for the luxury of being Mrs Meadows’s long-lost husband and lying next to her exhausted and thoroughly pleasured warmth instead of lying in the lonely and frustrated Duke of Cherwell’s lofty state bed.

He heard movement next door and felt guiltily relieved Ros was restless as well. At least he would not wake her when he got up to feed the fire. Then he heard a muffled scream and was out of his stately bed before he had time to look around for a weapon or more than the silk wrap from a warmer life. On the alert for an intruder, he cracked open the door to hear a distressed little snuffle of protest before Rosalind gasped in the distance of this ridiculous room and had him almost running to her side. By the light of the candle left burning by the bed he saw that her eyes were closed, but her body was writhing under the bedclothes as if she was fighting them, or trying to run away in her sleep. She must be in the grip of a nightmare and did not look to be in mortal danger after all.

His panicked heartbeat slowed a little as he stood by the bed and wondered about the best way to wake a dreaming person without scaring them half to death. ‘Rosalind, Ros,’ he said softly to try to wake her gently. ‘It’s only a dream, you can wake up now. I am here.’ As if that would help, he thought on a sigh, but she did

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