Page 84 of The Duke
Cole crushed his mouth into the hair beside her ear, willing his arousal to die. Willing his beast to recede. Reminding himself that to take her now would be wrong. Would be…
“I missed you,” her sweet voice confessed against his temple. “I missed you so awfully. I didn’t feel that I had the right to, but I did. I thought of you all the time. I… worried for you.”
In that moment, his heart melted into a tender puddle. It had only been days since they’d seen each other.
And he’d missed her too.
Unable to summon the words, he gathered her against him in a warm bundle of silk and sex and just held her close. Her heart against his, beating in tandem. They rocked a little, she with languid affection, and he with mounting, rhythmic need.
Her legs hitched higher against him, her hips pressing closer. “Cole,” she whispered. “I want you to—”
A sharp knock at the door drove them apart enough for Cole to toss her skirts back over her legs.
“Come in,” she said breathlessly, as though repeating an automated response she didn’t really mean.
Cole fought the urge to clamp his hand over her mouth as someone tested the door latch.
“Lady Anstruther?” a feminine voice called. “Imogen, are you in there? Are you all right?”
“Oh, it’s Millie.” Sliding off the desk onto unsteady legs, Imogen gave a drunken lurch toward the door. “Coming!” she sang.
Cole caught her around the waist. “You absolutelycannotgo out there like this,” he gritted against her ear. “Your hair and clothes are a mess, and your reputation will be ruined. Get rid of them.”
She sagged against him a little before calling. “He says to get rid of you or I’ll be ruined!”
“That’s not what I—”
The rattling of the door became more urgent. “Who said that?” a separate feminine voice demanded. Cole thought he recognized the voice as Lady Northwalk’s. “Imogen, who’s in there with you? Are you hurt?”
“I can barely feel a thing,” Imogen answered as though the information astonished none more than herself. “It didn’t even hurt when he bit me.”
“Bloody Christ.”Cole growled the blasphemy as he really did clamp his hand over her mouth this time. “Not to worry, Lady Northwalk, she’s just had a bit too much—”
“Bit you! Who bit you? Is that Trenwyth in there?” The lock was sorely tested now as the two ladies frantically grappled with it. “Open the door this very instant!”
“Just… give us a bloody moment,” Cole growled. He needed to collect his thoughts, and to will his aching erection to subside. The squirming minx in his arms wasn’t doing the least bit to help. “Hold still, damn you,” he ordered against her ear.
A masculine warning sounded a breath before the door burst open beneath the weight of an auburn-haired giant.
Cole debated for a split second whether it would cause more damage to keep his hand over Imogen’s mouth, or remove it. Ultimately, he decided on the latter, though he didn’t relinquish his hold on her waist.
“Mr. Argent,” Imogen greeted brightly, as though admitting a welcome guest into her parlor. “Whatever are you doing here?”
Argent’s little ebony-haired wife rushed in behind him, glaring daggers the color of volcanic glass, followed by a concerned Lady Northwalk.
“Apparently, we’re protecting your virtue,” the actress snapped.
“My virtue is beyond your protection,” Imogen said with a wistful sigh. “He has it already.”
Argent turned on him, his arctic eyes flashing with lethal wrath.
“We didn’t get that far.” Trenwyth held his hand up, though guilty heat crept from beneath his high collar. “We only… kissed.” It sounded like a lie, even to him.
“We’ve certainly donemuchmore than that upon an evening,” Imogen confessed with a rueful giggle.
He should have kept his hand on her mouth, he thought with no little regret.
“Shame on you, Your Grace.” Lady Northwalk circumvented the two fuming Argents and approached. “You’re supposed to be protecting her.”
