Page 45 of The Untamed Duke
Nicholas groaned, eyes closing as if in pain. “How do you do that?”
“What, Your Grace?”
“Something so innocent and yet so extremely wicked, I wonder if you had lessons from the most practiced of courtesans.” Head tilting, he studied her as if she were a fascinating curio stolen from a museum.
“I do that?” Her eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. It’s driving me mad if you must know.”
Grace practically preened with satisfaction. “How wonderful! I thought perhaps you were immune to me.”
“Impossible. And obviously, you enjoy this effect you have on men.” Nicholas’s tone turned a little harder, even while a smile tugged at his mouth.
“Not men, as in plural,” she admitted shyly. “Only Tristan has complained thus far. And now you, Your Grace.”
“Won’t you call me by my given name?”
“Shall I call you ‘Nicholas’ when we are not in bed?”
“I suspect you will call me a great many things before this is over.”
Grace’s gaze landed on his mouth, her cheeks blooming an even brighter pink than the centerpiece lilies.
“Hmm,” Nicholas mused when Grace said nothing. “I’d give my entire dukedom to know the thoughts going around your pretty head.”
Grace laughed and refilled her teacup. “Your riches would remain intact, for I am thinking of nothing in particular.” She could not tell him she was remembering how she nearly moaned his name aloud when he placed his beautiful mouth between her thighs the night before.
“I think you are up to mischief.” The dimples in Nicholas’s cheeks made a quick appearance, then were gone, like fireflies confronted with the first rays of sunrise.
Grace dreamily thought the little divots were extremely appealing on the duke and in a moment of weakness, she said, “I confess I’m surprised you do not eat small children and innocents for breakfast. Your reputation has labeled you an ogre.”
“I despise children. As for innocents, I’d say I’m just getting started this morning.”
The flush in her cheeks spread to her chest. “You do not care for children?”
“No.” Taking a sip of rich, dark coffee, he eyed her over the rim of the cup and said, “It won’t work.”
“It won’t?” Her head tilted. “And what is that, pray tell, Your Grace?”
“This attempt at distracting me. You should know every time you use my title, I’m reminded of our contract.”
Nicholas leaned back in his chair, and Grace couldn’t help admiring the regalness of his pose. He truly was a magnificent duke. All dark gold and leanly muscled man. He played idly with a knife beside his plate, fingertips testing the blade’s sharpness. It drew attention to the bite marks she’d given him. How she kissed them as if she could heal them. Her face flushed with thoughts of all they’d done.
How fine he tasted on my lips. So warm and strong. Like brandy and mint and woodsmoke.
“All right,” Grace conceded, hoping she might shock him a little. “I was remembering how you kissed me last night. How much I liked it - once I became used to it, that is. How very different it was compared to Longleigh’s kisses. And how glad I am the bridge at Riverbend Road is under water.”
Nicholas’s exasperated sigh was barely audible. “Do not speak of Longleigh’s kisses and mine in the same breath. Why aren’t you using my name as I requested?”
“Because you insisted I use your title, Your Grace.”
“You are intentionally vexing me,” he drawled.
Now Grace was the one who was shocked, seeing Nicholas’s pupils dilate, the beautiful green color of his irises almost swallowed in black. “I swear I’m not,” she stuttered.
He merely raised a brow in response. Silence stretched, growing taut between them. Grace fancied she heard everything in that silence. The tall clock tick-tocking away in measured beats, the soft, muffled voices of Richeforte’s army of staff waiting outside the dining room doors. She even heard the birds outside the windows, chirping in a language no one else understood. And her own blood, thumping slow in her veins, keeping precise time with her heart.
Will he kiss me again? Will he do those wicked things that make me feel I’ve grown wings and can fly?
