Page 20 of My Demanding Duke

Despite the still-warm water, Anna decided she’d had enough of her bath. The luxuriously scented bath oils were clearly having a poor effect on her modesty if she was daydreaming of willingly handing her body over to Falconbridge.

Once clean and dried, Anna stood before the bed, contemplating her nightwear options. Her own modest night-rail, well-worn but comfortingly familiar, lay beside Lady Limehouse's scandalous creation.

Opting for familiarity, Anna slipped the old nightdress over her head. Her reflection, when she caught sight of it in the mirror, was reassuringly nun-like.

Let him get aroused by that, she sniffed, as she searched for her hairbrush.

She was brushing her hair when she heard it—a soft knock at the door connecting her chambers to the duke's. Anna's heart leapt into her throat, her fingers freezing mid-stroke.

"Come in," she called, proud that her voice did not betray her nerves.

The door opened to reveal Falconbridge, still fully dressed save for his coat and cravat. His white shirt was open at the throat and rolled at the sleeves, revealing a tantalising glimpse of tanned skin and muscular forearms. He leaned against the doorframe, his gaze sweeping over her. He did not speak immediately, but the way his eyes darkened as they took in her simple nightdress made Anna’s breath catch.

“You missed dinner,” he said at last, his voice even but edged with something sharper.

“I wasn’t hungry,” she replied, hoping that he had not asked the maid if she had finished the tray he’d sent up.

His jaw tightened, and he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with deliberate softness.

“I have few rules, Anna,” he began, his voice low, “But you will dine with me when we are home together. Is that clear?”

“I am not a child,” Anna snapped in response to his high-handed dictum.

“Then stop acting like one,” he countered, taking another step forward, his presence filling the room.

Anna could not look away from him; he radiated masculinity, power, and promise—another blow to her shaky resolve.

The duke’s gaze flickered from her face, taking in her nightdress properly for the first time.

“Get thee to a nunnery,” he quoted, with a quirk of his dark brow.

Anna stiffened. “If you’re disappointed that I’m not dressed as a harlot, then I’m afraid you picked the wrong bride.”

Falconbridge gave a wicked grin, stepping so close that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“Disappointed? No, my dear. I find your modesty enchanting.”

His fingers brushed the high collar of her nightdress, just the ghost of a touch, but it sent a shiver through her.

Anna knew that she should step away from him. That she should slap his hand aside and remind him that he had bought her hand, not her body. But she didn’t.

Instead, she held her ground, heart pounding as he traced the delicate line of lace at her throat.

“How sweet you look,” he murmured, “But there’s a fire beneath your angelic surface that says you desire this as much as I.”

Anna’s breath hitched, galled that her yearning for him was so obvious.

“You are insufferable.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

Anna stilled as the duke’s fingers ascended the sensitive slope of her neck, lingering at her pulse, which quickened beneath his touch. He cupped her chin in one big hand and brushed his thumb across her lips, his eyes watching for her reaction.

Driven by a strange fire, Anna's gaze locked with his and she parted her lips to take his thumb between them. She felt the warmth of his skin against her tongue, tasting him as her lips closed around the digit.

The duke froze, curious as to her next move, and she took great delight in nipping down sharply on his flesh.

Falconbridge drew a sharp breath, but instead of pulling away, a slow smile spread across his features, his eyes dark with evident pleasure at her boldness.

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