Chapter 247: Chapter Two Hundred And Forty Six
She acted with panicked speed.
She opened her fingers instantly, releasing him as if the cotton fabric had suddenly turned into boiling oil.
She pushed her hands violently against his hard chest. She shoved herself out of his warm embrace with brutal force.
Camilla scrambled backward across the large mattress like a frightened crab. She did not care about looking graceful. She tangled her legs in the thick wool blankets and kicked them away frantically.
She threw herself off the edge of the bed.
She hit the coldfloorboards on her feet, stumbled slightly, and quickly caught her balance.
She stood in the middle of the bedroom, breathing fast. Her chest heaved up and down wildly inside her nightgown. Her red curly hair was a messy disaster around her face.
She stared at the floor. She could not lift her head. She could not look him in the face. The embarrassment was so heavy and thick it felt like it was crushing her lungs.
"I... I..." Camilla stammered out loud. Her usually confident, sharp voice was broken. It came out as a tiny, shaking squeak.
She swallowed hard, trying to find her words. She felt her own face turning bright red, burning with intense shame.
"I am sorry, my lord," Camilla apologized rapidly, her voice shaking violently. She kept her eyes glued to his leather boots resting near the wardrobe. "I didn’t mean to do that. I was sleeping. I thought you were a pillow. I am so sorry."
On the bed, Damon slowly sat up.
He was still breathing very heavily. His face was still flushed dark red. He looked at her standing in the middle of the room, looking ashamed.
Damon actually felt a little wave of disappointment. When she had grabbed him, for a tiny, crazy second, he had hoped she was awake. He had hoped she actually wanted to touch him.
But seeing her panic, he knew it was just a sleepy accident.
He looked at her shaking shoulders. He didn’t want her to feel embarrassed. He wanted to tell her that she was his wife, and she was allowed to touch him anywhere she wanted.
Damon opened his mouth. He wanted to assure her that it was perfectly fine. He wanted to tell her that he actually liked it, and he secretly wanted more.
"Camilla, it’s alr—" Damon started to speak, his deep voice still slightly raspy from his intense physical reaction.
But Camilla did not let him finish his sentence.
She was far too panicked. Her eyes darted wildly around the room. In her frantic state, her gaze accidentally flicked upward for one single, dangerous second.
She looked at the bed. She clearly saw the undeniable, prominent bulge pushing tenting the dark grey fabric of his trousers.
Her eyes widened even further. The embarrassment doubled instantly.
"Nope. I have to go," Camilla thought to herself, her internal voice screaming in total retreat. "I cannot stay in this room for another second."
She quickly raised her hands, waving them in the air to stop him from speaking. She babbled rapidly, speaking as fast as she possibly could to fill the awkward silence.
"I am going to have my bath now!" Camilla announced loudly, her voice high-pitched and breathless.
She took a quick step backward toward the door.
"And I have to prepare to go for my business in the lower city today!" she continued rambling, making up excuses to escape. "I have so many fabrics to sort out with Allen! It is very urgent!"
She reached the door and grabbed the brass handle tightly. She looked anywhere but at him.
"And I am absolutely sure you have very important things to do in the military camp today!" Camilla added loudly, practically throwing him out of his own house with her words. "You are the General! You must go to the camp! Don’t be lazy! Have a great day, My Lord!"
She did not wait for him to reply.
Camilla quickly dropped into a very fast, awkward, uncoordinated curtsy.
She yanked the door open, slipped out into the cold stone hallway, and slammed the door shut behind her with a loud BANG.
She ran away as fast as her bare feet could carry her, heading straight for the servant’s quarters to find a maid to draw her hot bath, desperately needing to wash away the burning embarrassment.
Inside the master bedroom, Damon was left alone.
He sat in the middle of the large bed. His chest was still bare. His hair was messy. The intense physical heat in his body was slowly, painfully beginning to fade away, leaving him feeling frustrated and unsatisfied.
Damon stared at the closed door. He blinked his eyes slowly.
He listened to the sound of her rapid footsteps fading away down the stone hallway. He heard her frantic, panicked excuses ringing in the quiet room.
Damon frowned deeply. His thick eyebrows pulled together in confusion.
He thought to herself, his internal voice filled with a very strange mixture of disappointment and genuine bewilderment.
"Why does it sound like she is chasing me out of my own house?" Damon asked himself in his mind.
He looked down at his own lap. He let out a long defeated sigh. He had just experienced the most intense, arousing moment of his entire life, and his wife had reacted by practically ordering him to go back to work and running away like the room was on fire.
He fell backward onto his pillows, rubbing his face with both hands, wondering if he would ever understand the complex, terrifying, chaotic mind of his wife.
Out in the cold stone hallway, Camilla was speed-walking as fast as she could.
She hugged her arms tightly around her chest, trying to stop herself from shivering. Her face was still burning incredibly hot.
She did not want to look at any of the servants she passed. She kept her head bowed low, staring at the marble floors.
As she walked toward the stairs leading to the servant’s quarters, her mind was a whirlwind of angry, self-critical thoughts. She was a professional. She was supposed to have absolute control over her body at all times, even in her sleep.
She raised her right hand. She stared at the palm and her delicate fingers. She could still feel the phantom heat and the hard, throbbing texture burning against her skin.
She quickly slapped her own hand against her leg, trying to shake the feeling away.
She reprimanded herself severely in her own mind. Her internal voice was furious and deeply embarrassed.
"What is wrong with you, Camilla?" she scolded herself silently, gritting her teeth. "Are you losing your mind? How could you grab a man like that? You thought he was a pillow? What kind of pillow pulses and breathes?! You are an idiot!"
She groaned out loud, a soft, pathetic sound in the empty hallway.
"I can never, ever look him in the eye again," Camilla promised herself miserably, picking up her pace to a light jog. "I must hide in the fabric store until the sun goes down. If I see his face today, I will literally die of shame."
She ran down the back stairs, desperate to find a maid or Uncle Murry.
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