Page 50 of The Untamed Duke
“I’ll show you the way, milady. His Grace is waiting there for you.”
They passed by several rooms and through myriad corridors until a salon decorated in shades of blue and gold was reached. A pair of floor-to-ceiling glass-paned doors were flung open and a warm breeze swirled into the room, carrying the scent of the night, the sounds of chirping crickets and rustling leaves.
Just beyond those doors, staring out over the moonlit grounds, stood Nicholas, his hands braced against the waist-high brick wall. At first glance he seemed unaware of her arrival, but as Grace softly thanked the housekeeper, his broad shoulders hunched forward, as though accepting the heaviest of burdens. Slowly approaching him, her recently borrowed slippers falling silent on the Turkish carpet, Grace tucked her bottom lip between her teeth as she debated what to say.
The salon doors closed with Martha’s exit. Nicholas straightened, then turned toward her, and any words Grace thought of uttering died a quick death.
His eyes burned her as they traced her form, displayed so temptingly in another of the dowager duchess’s gowns. The peachy rose silk complemented Grace’s complexion and blonde hair, the material clinging to her curves. And like that morning, the bodice on this gown was just as snug. There was a constant urge to tug it upward and Grace did so now with thinking.
“Don’t.”
Snapped in icy command, the single word was startling enough that her hands instantly fell to her sides. For a long moment they stared at one another, until Nicholas pushed off from the wall.
A tremble shook Grace. She was prey, and he a wolf, circling his victim.
His kill.
As he approached, bringing the dark scent of the night and the faint aroma of pine mingled with sandalwood and bay leaves, she stood frozen at the terrace entrance. He smelled so delicious, her mouth watered.
Reaching out, Nicholas took her hand. She went willingly, a small sigh escaping as she was pressed against his hard body. He was a solid mass of muscle, with nothing soft in his form or manner, and yet, she was not afraid. Not really.
“You have no idea how exquisite you are,” he murmured against her hair.
“Some might find me attractive, but beautiful? Such compliments are reserved for women like Lady Ravenswood...she’s so lovely.”
“You are infinitely more so, Grace. I cannot place my finger upon it, but your beauty is different. It comes from your very soul, and I am entranced by it. By you. I find myself pondering how I can get more. How I can take everything there is to take from you. I want it to be enough, but I think perhaps it will never be enough.”
Grace stood silent while digesting his assertion and puzzling words. No one had ever called her beautiful before. Or wanted all of her. She couldn’t help wondering how much of the compliment was driven by lust. Hearing her name on his lips was addictive. She basked in the glow of it, savoring the pleasure of how it eased past his lips and into the air. She wanted it whispered in the curve of her neck while he held her tight and slid deep into her body.
When he realized she had no answer, Nicholas leaned back, brushing her fringe of bangs with a forefinger before trailing down, tracing her mouth.
The slight smile on his face seemed genuine. Again, the matching dimples in his cheeks, barely hidden beneath the scruffy stubble roughening his features, were mesmerizing. Even with the rugged shadow cast on his jawline, he was almost too gorgeous to gaze at. It was a sinful, breathtaking beauty, and Grace was dazzled by it, as every woman in London surely was.
“It’s a pity I can’t do what I would like right now.” His gaze flitted over her features, and Grace flushed as liquid heat filled her.
“Why can’t you?’
“Now is not the time. Are you that impatient, pet?”
She subtly pulled away and glanced past him. The table was set but no servants were present. Only the two of them occupied the terrace. She licked her lips, thinking of the last time they were alone.
“What would you wish to do, Your Grace?”
His smile turned even more predatory. “I would first order you down on your knees.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I would like you to.”
Grace frowned. “I don’t think I like that...at least not when you say it so harshly.”
Nicholas stepped aside when she brushed past him. “Please get on your knees, honeybee, does not have the same effect.”
Looking at him over her shoulder, her chin tilted. “I don’t like that either.”
“Of course, you don’t. But I’m a cruel bastard, and you’ll do as I say when the time comes.”
“When will that be, Your Grace?” The question was breathless and nervously flippant. “During dinner? Or after?”
