Page 16 of Duke of Wickedness
“How do I know you can manage it?” she asked, feeling a rush at her own impulsiveness. “You don’t know everything I’m curious about. How can you be so confident that you can show me all of it?”
His smile rivaled the sun. His movements were slow and purposeful as he returned to her, giving her ample time to retreat—or perhaps ample time to let anticipation coil low and hungry in her stomach.
But she didn’t retreat. She didn’t think she moved so much as a muscle as he came so close that the front of his jacket brushed against her, so faint that the touch was scarcely there.
His hands were not as restrained. He reached up, caressing her face, his hands warm and slightly rough.
Well, they would be, she thought giddily, if he goes about without gloves.
He gave her a knowing smirk. She could see all of it, given that his face was a mere hairsbreadth from hers. She managed to suck in a single breath; even that felt like a feat.
And then he was kissing her.
It was madness, sheer madness. His mouth was warm and soft and wet, and she lost herself in it in an instant. She reached up until her hands were atop his, holding her so that he was touching her face with more force, more pressure.
In accord, the pressure of the duke’s mouth intensified, and she realized, with a thrill that sent her heart racing, that he was running his tongue gently against the curve of her lower lip.
Oh,yes. She wanted more of that. She wanted it very much.
She pushed herself up on her toes, eagerly chasing this feeling. He moved her carefully, showing her, guiding her lips open with his, then probing, confident and consuming, his tongue stroking against hers.
She whimpered, the sound pulling from somewhere deep inside her. She felt the duke’s fingers tighten the tiniest bit against her cheeks, and then he pulled back, first closing his mouth, then drawing his lips from hers, and finally dropping his hands so that they were only touching in that place where fabric rasped together. Their breaths mingled as they shared one last heaving gulp of air.
Then—only then—did he step back.
His smile was not as wicked as it had been before they kissed, but that didn’t mean it was any less tempting. She was briefly seized by the urge to pull him back to her, but kept her hands down at her sides through force of will.
She looked up at him instead. His hazel eyes bore into her, his pupils wide with desire.
“Trust me, little bird,” he said softly. “Anything you desire to know, it would be my great pleasure to show you. Never worry about that.”
CHAPTER 4
Ariadne had a lot of things on her mind, which was what led to her being the first person toeverbe surprised by Lord Hershire, a man who, no matter what flaws he might have, was as transparent as the finest glass.
She hadn’t minded that before. Funny how it bothered her now.
“Good day, Lady Ariadne,” the viscount said, giving her a proper bow when he came during the proper visiting hours, bearing a bouquet of hothouse flowers that, if abitworse for wear, were not entirely outside of the bounds of what was correct and right for this kind of situation.
“Good day, my lord,” she said, offering her equally correct curtsey. “Thank you so much for the flowers. How considerate of you.”
She took them and placed them off to the side. The prescribed actions felt strangely itchy, like there was a spot between her shoulder blades that she couldn’t quite reach.
But Ariadne was a fine young lady, and fine young ladies were trained for nothing as much as bearing discomfort without flinching.
“Of course,” the viscount returned. “I am afraid I did not know your especial favorites, so I selected something that I would like to have displayed in my own home.”
Inwardly, Ariadne paused on this. Was he saying that, if they were to wed, he would want her to have ugly, sad decorations around the house? It wasn’t as though she objected to a wood anemone on principle—and this was what he’d brought her, though she doubted he’d be able to name the bloom himself. It was a perfectly cheerful little wildflower in most cases.
But it was past the season for them, and these blooms showed it. She wouldn’t be surprised if they started dropping petals within the hour.
So what did hemeanby choosing them?
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she shook herself. He didn’tmeananything by it at all. He wasn’t the mysterious and beguiling Duke of Wilds—which was agood thing, she reminded herself sternly. He was just a man who spoke openly and clearly about his wants. He was uncomplicated. Easy to know.
Movement out of the corner of Ariadne’s eye caught her attention. Helen, again acting as chaperone, had looked up from where she was embroidering in the corner, which made Ariadne realize that she’d been standing and staring at the flowers for too long.
She turned back to the viscount and gave him a winsome smile.
