Page 22 of Her Wicked Duke
Anne kissed him back, gasping when he nipped her lower lip and slid his tongue into her mouth. She whimpered against his lips, pressing closer to him.
Arousal coursed through her, and she wished to be touched the way she had touched herself the night before.
She pictured herself guiding his hands to where her own had ventured. To see how he would react. To be as angry with her arousal as he seemed to be with his own desire.
Heat and pleasure coursed through her, and she thought about how delicious this might be, should she let him take it further. His hands cupped her face softly yet firmly as if he might stop her from leaving, and she delighted in how close and safe his hold made her feel as he devoured her mouth.
But she wanted his protection, not pleasure.
Anne tore herself away from his mouth, pressing a hand to her lips. “Stop,” she gasped.
She stepped a little to the side so she was no longer caged between him and the tree. He certainly was not going to step back to give her some space.
Her chest heaved, and his eyes fell to where her breasts strained against her bodice before they went back to her face. Were her lips as swollen and red as his?
Desire burned in his gaze before he composed himself, running a hand through his dark hair to smooth it back.
“You will consider that my reward for agreeing to help you,” Alexander said, sounding so very composed for a man who had just kissed her like she was his only source of breath. “There will be more to follow, Anne, should you keep requiring my help. Do not push me away for a third time.”
His gaze was dark, and she felt it pierce her to the core. She ached between her legs. She knew that she did not mirror his composure. She imagined her face was flushed and her hair messy. He had knocked off her bonnet while kissing her. She leaned down to pick it up and then snatched the crumpled letter off the ground.
She pressed it to her chest, smiling at him. Something about the way he commanded her sent a thrill through her, and she nodded.
“Goodbye, Alexander,” she said.
She did not know how else to respond, so she turned on her heel and went back the way they had come, trying to pretend like he didn’t phase her.
But as she passed him, he pulled her in for another hard, closed-mouthed kiss, as if he could not bear to let her leave without doing it again. “That is for calling me heartless.”
“Perhaps you should prove to me that you are not,” she countered.
“Be careful what you ask me for, Anne,” Alexander warned, but something glimmered in his eyes—something that indeed spoke of that danger that others gossiped about. Except, shewantedto know that danger.
What did the Duke of Winsor do when he snapped? What might he do to her?
The thought should have scared her, but it only delighted her as she left Haverdshire Castle, her lips burning with the weight of his kisses. Yet, one question remained.
How much more would he demand of her in return for his protection?
Anne rode home in her carriage, both elated and apprehensive. The Duke was dangerous, and she knew she should not goseeking that danger. He was her brother’s best friend and would need to behave honorably. There were also her prospects to consider if anybody saw them.
What would the gossip be like if she was known to be openly courting the Duke? But wasn’t that her plan in order to ward off her stalker?
As soon as Anne walked out of the apple orchard, Alexander turned his back to her retreating figure. He stormed back into the castle, once again left with a painful erection.
What was he thinking, giving her his protection? He should write to Christian at once to say he could not do it, that he never should have given him false hope. Anne was a temptation he knew he would not stop himself from indulging in, especially if he was now required to attend social events with her, no matter what they were.
He needed to protect her, but how could he resist his desire for her? Especially after he had finally kissed her—and she had kissed him back, had parted her lips for him, had pressed herself against him. The way she had gripped his clothes, her palms pressed flat against his chest as if she had been searching for his heartbeat as she called him “heartless.”
He stalked down the corridor, ignoring the calls of his grandmother. He did not care if she grilled him about Anne’s presence, or if she had even spotted her. As long as the DowagerDuchess did not try to gossip about Anne and only blamed him, that would be all right.
“I shall be with you soon, Grandmother,” he said sharply.
“But, Alexander?—”
“Soon, Grandmother!” he snapped. Then, he slammed the door to his study shut.
He sighed and pressed a fist to his forehead, willing images of Anne away so he could gather his thoughts to write to Christian.
