Page 46 of Never a Duchess
Still, one did not look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Would ye care to stroll through the maze, Miss Ware?” He offered his arm. Tried not to look at her like she was a sumptuous dish he longed to devour.
A smile tugged at her lips. “I would be delighted to walk with you, Your Grace.”
They met at the entrance, her dainty hand slipping through his arm as he led her into the darkness. The topiary walls were eight feet high, shielding them from anyone strolling about the garden, keen to snoop and tell tales.
They rounded the first bend, moving deeper into the labyrinth, the redolence of the boxwood filling his nostrils, a sensual undercurrent flowing between them.
Neither spoke.
Words weren’t needed.
Miss Ware’s fingers caressed his bicep, measuring the size and firmness, a gentle exploration that had every muscle clenching. Their rapid breathing said they longed to do something forbidden.
A few more turns led them to a dead end. They stopped abruptly, neither moving or attempting to retrace their steps.
Callan faced her, an uncontrollable lust coursing through his veins.
The pale moonlight touched her delicate face, bathing her in a silvery glow, drawing him closer. “Shall I tell ye what I learnt from Major Rowlands?” He stared at her mouth, at her heaving breasts, his cock already thick and pulsing in his trousers.
“Tell me later.”
Clasping her arms, he forced her back against the foliage. “Shall we use the time to conduct research for yer book?”
Miss Ware was panting. “Yes.”
“Which role shall I play?”
She gripped his coat lapel. “I don’t care. Just kiss me, Dounreay.”
Hellfire! In his current state, he’d not stop until he was balls deep inside her. “It willnae be tame like the last time,” he warned.
“Good. I want more than a chaste kiss.”
He pressed his finger to her lips, revelling in their softness. “Ye cannae make a sound. We cannae risk yer brother charging in here.”
“Talking is the farthest thing from my mind.” She looked up at him, her expectant eyes bright, her parted lips revealing the erotic nature of her thoughts.
Callan brushed imagined hair from her cheek, angled his head, and slowly closed his mouth over hers.
Lillian!
The spark was instantaneous, igniting a fire in his body that ravaged his restraint. She tasted of everything he loved. Earthy like a spring promise. Hot like the summer sun. Wet like the autumn air. Sweet like winter wine.
She was the woman he wanted for all seasons. The woman who’d turned a respectable duke into a randy rakehell.
Now she had to decide if she wanted him, too, because he would settle for nothing less than everything.
Aye, she wanted him.
Her fingers crept up his coat to toy with the hair at his nape, a sign he might press his advances and plunder her senseless.
Callan teased the seam of her plump lips, seeking entrance, coaxing them apart. Their tongues touched for the first time, one tentative taste before their passion exploded.
The kiss turned as wild as the Highland weather. So intense she shivered in his arms, whimpered into his mouth. She thrust her tongue over his with maddening urgency, their lips locked firmly as she probed deeper—drugging him.
Desire shot through him in fast, furious waves.
