Free Terri Brisbin by The Duchesss Next Husband

loosened the buttons and flap and reached inside. She wore those feminine undergarments that covered each leg and tied at the waist. Sliding his hand deeper into the trousers, he found the opening and touched her thighs and then the place between them.
    It did not take long for her trousers to be thrown aside and his opened. Then, against a tree by the lake, the duke let fly his amorous attentions and he took the duchess again…and again. When he could collect his thoughts, he knew he owed her several more apologies.
     
    He was pacing at a furious rate in front of the fireplace in the blue drawing room when she arrived. Her body still hummed and a few places still throbbed from the waves of satisfaction that he’d produced with his attentions by the lake, so she found it difficult to rush backthrough the stables. He’d agreed not to follow her, giving his word as a peer of the realm, so she went back her usual way, reclaiming her clothes and dressing in the small tack room.
    When she’d escaped the house this morning, Miranda believed that an hour or two fishing would calm her nerves from the evening before. She had no idea that the sight of her dressed in servant’s clothes would have such an effect on the duke. Surely his reaction was proof of the scandalous nature of a woman in men’s garb, which she’d been warned of so many times.
    Now, with the pale blue morning dress back in place and her hair gathered behind her head, she entered the room.
    “Windmere? You called for me?”
    He came to an abrupt stop at the sound of her voice and turned to face her. Still dressed in the clothes he’d worn when they had…they had met, he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it from his eyes. When their gazes locked, she could see many things revealed there, but it was the guilt that confused her.
    “Please, be seated, Miranda.” Adrian nodded at the footman, who brought in a tray of tea and then left, closing the door firmly behind himself. When they were alone, her husband spoke again. “I find that I owe you an apology for my recent behavior.”
    Puzzled by his words, she poured the tea and waited for it to cool. He took a sip from his cup—coffee, she thought, and very strong from the smell of it. “An apology, Windmere? I cannot think of what you’ve done to owe me such a thing.”
    Actually, with the dowager’s words ringing furiously inside her at this very moment, she could think of many transgressions of the bounds of acceptable behavior committed by both of them, but more by her than him.
    Following her husband to the country against his express orders to the contrary.
    Traveling in the company of a single man, even with an ever-present maid.
    Behaving in an informal manner simply because of their location far from town.
    Treating the gentry as though they were equal to peers of the realm.
    Allowing men to discard their clothing in her presence.
    Not maintaining the prestige and elevated position of the Duchess of Windmere and the Warfield family name.
    Conducting marital congress outside the bedchamber, in the light of day, in sight of anyone who chose to walk by—while dressed in a manservant’s clothing.
    Shaking her head, she discounted the latter, for she was sure that her state of dress or undress would matter not to the dowager. The former was the much more grievous lapse in behavior, she was sure, for persons of impeccable breeding would never have considered the first and gotten to the second…or third parts of the sin.
    “In spite of any permission you may have granted, my attentions to you were abominable, Miranda. A husband does not attack his wife simply because his passions get away from him.”
    Abominable? No, she thought not.
    Overwhelming. Breathtaking. Scandalous. Habit-forming. But not abominable. She sipped her tea before replying, because all sorts of additional inappropriate thoughts were flying through her mind.
    At the heart of it, she remembered her vow to herself that she would