Page 10 of The Duke
“What are you doing?” she demanded, swatting at him ineffectually.
“This,” he said by way of patient explanation, yanking her chemise off.
“Don’t… what… you… Oh!”
Somehow completely bare, her arms clutched over her breasts, he dragged her up to the pillows like some loutish, ham-fisted beast, and settled her on her back.
She lifted a knee and crossed it over herself in an absurd attempt at modesty.
He looked at her then, just knelt above her, all naked sinew and strength, and watched her with those hot, languorous eyes. A possessive sound of satiation rumbled from his throat. Something undeniably masculine, and at once oddly bestial, both a purr and a growl, she thought.
Ceaselessly inquisitive hands roamed her languidly, found little intimate places she’d never before paid much notice. The divots beside her knee, the quivering skin beneath her belly button, the sensitive hollows of her visible ribs. Places she’d not considered sensual before this moment.
“You should eat more,” he admonished, his attractive features arranging themselves with displeasure.
Imogen gave him a tight smile and nodded her complacency, biting her lip to keep from informing him that an empty larder and three empty bellies do not a voluptuous lover make. She’d love to eat more than scraps not fit for an alley cat. But that wasn’t his concern, nor was it something she wanted to consider now. Hunger didn’t present a problem at the moment. In fact, a sense of supreme satisfaction lingered in every organ and limb.
Trenwyth’s hand curved over the slight swell of her hip exposed by her barely modest posture. He traced a little shape found on the swell of her buttock, a mark she’d had since birth.
“Has anyone ever told you this looks precisely like our island?” he asked, bending down to press delighted lips to the mark.
“No,” she admitted shyly. No one but her mother had ever seen the shape, let alone remarked upon it, but it wouldn’t do to tell him that.
“I do believe I just kissed you somewhere near Cornwall.” His lips moved slightly to the right and north. “And here’s Edinburgh.” He pressed his warm mouth to her again, eliciting delicious shivers of sensation along her skin, raising little needles of gooseflesh.
He crawled up her body, nuzzling at her nose with his before sealing his lips to hers in a rather pleasant, if casual kiss. “How very patriotic of you to carry such a representation upon your person,” he teased with a breathtaking half-grin. “And on such a lovely spot. I commend you on behalf of your queen and country.”
Despite herself—despite everything—shy mirth tugged Imogen’s lips into an answering smile.
That is until he moved her arms from where they shielded her modesty before burrowing his rather tousled head against her breasts and settling his body around her.
Dear Lord.He meant to…sleepwith her.
His great body heaved with such a sigh, she didn’t ever think he’d cease exhaling until finally it ended on a sound of—dare she think?—contentment.
“Thank you.” He yawned. His hand settled over her breast, and Imogen tried not to be embarrassed by the way it barely filled his palm, let alone his long fingers. Though he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, his hold there had a rather possessive quality to it.
Or perhaps she only imagined it did.
“You can’t know what you’ve done…” His slur became more pronounced now, as exhaustion settled over his big body. “You’ve turned this nightmare of a day into… something else.”
Moved by his words, she covered his hand on her chest with her own, wondering if he could feel the heart beating right above her breast. “I know we’re not speaking of it,” she ventured. “But I’m very sorry for your loss, all the same.”
He became dreadfully still, and her heart gave an extra thud.
“You know… everyone keepscongratulatingme,” he finally said as though he couldn’t believe it. “I’ve lost… nearly every person who ever meant a fucking thing to me, and all anyone can talk about is my good fortune at being the youngest of three and still inheriting the ducal title and all of Trenwyth.”
Imogen couldn’t think of a thing to say to that, mostly because she agreed that the sentiment was deplorable.
“Ilovedmy brother,” he said darkly. “He and Hamish Mackenzie were—are—the closest people in the world to me. And my father… he was so dear, so upright and stalwart and strangely sentimental for a man. I’ll miss him.”
The hollow note creeping into his voice broke her heart. “And your mother?”
“Of course. Of course my mother. We weren’t particularly close, but I loved her. And she loved me, in her own way, I suspect. Though she loved Robert the most, as I caused her no end of trouble as a boy. He was the heir, and I was the spare, as they say.” The caustic sound he made tickled her bare skin. “If she’d—lived, she’d justdetestthat I’m the duke now.” His laugh contained a suspicious hitch.
“I’m certain she’d be proud of you.” Imogen knew nothing of the sort, but she desperately wanted to lend him some comfort.
He nuzzled in closer, and something warm melted her heart.
