Page 7 of Trapped with the Forbidden Duke
“I wish for my—my interlocutors to be creative. Are you not feeling creative, Your Grace?”
Creative.
Lucien tried to bite back a laugh. As he studied her, he guessed that she was rather if not completely inexperienced. She was too tense, as if she did not know how to be seductive yet tried anyway, and her hands kept twitching at her sides, as if not knowing what to do.
Moving closer, he smirked at her. “I am not usually tempted by virgins.”
Oh, the blush that spread across her cheeks was definitely the blush of a woman who had not been spoken to so bluntly before. It told him enough.
“I am afraid I do not know what you are talking about.”
Lucien raised a hand and twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. He was far enough that he didn’t invade her space, but close enough to see the shudder running through her.
Good.
“Oh, do not lie to me, sweetheart. I can easily detect lies and deception, and I see every time you hesitate. You are barely keeping up this act, are you not?”
“There is no act!” she insisted, her voice tight as she pulled back from him. “I am here to keep you company.”
“Really?” He chuckled darkly. “Because from where I stand, it looks as though you are a lady masquerading as something else. A lady with a more refined palette, unused to the burn of whisky. Perhaps wine?”
“I do not care for wine,” she answered—a foolish answer, for it was too dismissive, holding nothing of the truth. “I-I care for more exotic drinks.”
“I am sure you do,” Lucien drawled, shifting closer to her, enthralled by how she boldly took a step back, as if daring him to continue.
A woman of the night would not step back, but remain steadfast, letting her client approach.
“If you can tell me outright what those drinks are, I shall stop questioning you. What is it you crave out of this conversation?”
Eyeing her, he picked up his glass of whisky, but instead of lifting it to his lips, he lifted it to hers. He did not know what possessed him, but he liked watching how the glass pressed down on her full, lower lip. How her tongue darted out to lap at a droplet, as if she was still stubbornly acting and thought it was what he wished to see.
He pulled the glass away and set it back down. Then, he moved towards her, dancing a familiar backward-forward routine.
“Just one little confession,” he taunted. “What are your tastes?”
“I am sure you will find out,” she said quickly.
“I prefer a more direct approach. Do you not, as well? So as not to leave aclientguessing.”
Her eyes narrowed, and he saw a spark of fire that betrayed her pretense. He flashed her a grin, realizing that all he needed to dowas reach out his hand, and he’d have her pressed against the wall.
So he did.
When the woman realized that she was backed up against the wall, she gasped, looking around. “Your Grace?—”
“What is the matter?” he cooed. “I thought you wished to spend time together.”
“I-I did. Ido.”
“Good,” he murmured, his eyes flicking down to her mouth, and then back to those blue eyes that blinked at him in something akin to wonder.
He watched her eyes widen again as he leaned in. They closed, surprising him, and he let his mouth hover over hers, a mere inch away, before he smiled indulgently.
“I am done waiting,” he told her, drawing back.
Her eyes flew open in surprise, and perhaps a little bit of embarrassment.
Lucien was already crossing the room in several long strides, almost to the door.
