Page 17 of Her Duke at Midnight
“I blame my friend Bennett. You’re acquainted, are you not?”
It came to her then that the handsome man who’d walked into the drawing room with Everton was Roger Bennett, a baronet’s son. He’d always been friendly and amusing, but her parents hadn’t allowed him to dance with her. They’d set their sights higher.
“I remember him now. From a few of the balls during my coming-out.” Cecily turned, releasing her hold on the door latch. “And what shall I call you?”
He sipped his liquor and watched her almost warily. “Call me Adam, if you like, but I need to know why you’re here. The truth. Nothing polite. Nothing you should say.”
“Curiosity.”
“Ah,” he said as if she’d explained a great deal. “So you heard the confrontation with Lady Arbuthnot.”
“I did, but that’s not what I’m curious about.” Cecily’s heart began to thud in her chest, no doubt warning her away from the finality of what she was about to say. “I take it you know a great deal about pleasure, Adam.”
At that, the duke nearly dropped his glass. The snifter tilted in his hands, and he gripped it tight, though not before a bit sloshed over the rim.
“Bloody hell, that’s not what I expected you to say.”
Cecily frowned. “What did you expect? It’s why Lady Arbuthnot came to you, is it not?”
He took another gulp of liquor and winced. “Yes, but you looked—I don’t know—sad when I opened the door.”
“I woke from a night terror, and it shook me a bit. I thought I was past them now.” Somehow, standing in the warm, steamy air of Everton’s room, scented lightly with his woodsy cologne, Cecily could barely remember the details of the dream anymore.
“I’m sorry.” The words were softly spoken, full of sincerity. “I have them too at times.”
Cecily approached.
Everton retreated a step, but his gaze stayed locked on hers. Perhaps it was a trick of the fire glow, but the intensity, the urgency she saw in his eyes felt a great deal like yearning.
“Do you want me to go?” Cecily knew he didn’t, and that knowing felt powerful somehow.
A husky murmur of “Cecily” was his only reply.
He reached for her, his fingers tracing gently along her cheek. A tentative touch, as if she were porcelain. As if she might break.
But that wasn’t what she wanted at all. She was done with timidity.
“I’m not an innocent.”
“No,” he said softly. “I can see that you’re not.”
Cecily reached up to touch the loose edge of his shirt, stroking her finger over the fabric. Did she dare touch his bare skin? He’d touched hers. It only seemed fair.
She’d only meant to tease by dancing a few fingertips over his skin, but his chest was warm, and she found herself laying her palm against him. He reacted instantly with a tangible jolt as if she’d shocked him. She felt a tremor run through his body.
“What else do you see when you look at me?”
He smiled, and the appeal of it shocked her. It was a sweet smile, a bit crooked, not a practiced reaction. Glancing at the spot where her hand rested against his chest, he whispered, “Beauty, obviously.” Tipping his head up, he added, “A lady full of passion, but something holds it back. There’s an urgency in you, and yet you won’t let yourself go.”
Everything he said resonated in her. She felt herself on a precipice, desperate to take the next step. But was she brave enough?
“You see a great deal.” More than was comfortable, and yet it felt right and true. “Is that why you let me in?”
Rather than answer, he slid his fingers along her neck, caressing the edge of her ear with his thumb. The single stroke shot down her chest, her belly, and deep into her core. Good heavens, Cecily had no idea her ear could spark such a wave of pleasure.
“I let you in…” He held her nape now, and that hold, the pressure and warmth of his touch, sent ribbons of heat down her body.
The man was a maestro at touching, it seemed.
