Page 110 of His Grace, the Duke
“Any man who sleeps in my bed must always kiss me good night.”
A sleepy smile tipped his lips as he obliged, lifting his chin to press his mouth to hers. She returned his kiss. Their mouths both opened slightly as she flicked his lips with her tongue. He echoed with his own lick before breaking away, settling himself back at the curve of her breast.
It was the most chaste kiss they’d ever shared, and yet something about it felt earth-shaking. There was a promise in it. That same promise of more that scared her half to death.
Burke was not James. Nor was Tom. They bent to her whims eagerly—joyfully, even. She set the rules, and they simply adjusted course. The bastard and the sailor, carefree second sons willing to follow her every lead. But this was James bending. If she forced him to bend much further, he would break. She knew the truth deep in her heart. She’d known it almost from the moment she met him. If Rosalie meant to keep James close, or bring him even closer, the only way would be for her to learn to bend too.
51
Burke
The Greenwich HospitalCharity Bazar proved to be too delightful a distraction for the house party to ignore. All the young people chose to skip church with the duchess in favor of attending. It took three carriages and nearly two hours to ferry them all across London. By midmorning, Burke found himself on the packed grounds of All Saints Church, Blanche Oswald on one arm, Mariah Swindon on the other.
The young ladies twittered at every little thing they saw, and there was quite a feast for the eyes. Rows and rows of tables were set up in the shaded space between the church and the vicarage. Locals were selling everything from homemade breads and jams, cheeses, and honey meads, to painted fans, jewelry, and hair pins and baubles.
“Oh, look at that pretty blue,” Blanche cried, squeezing tight to his arm.
“Mr. Burke, can we go explore?” Mariah asked with a bat of her long, red lashes. “We promise not to go far.”
“By all means.” He had no interest in chaperoning them.
“We shall all meet back here at four o’clock,” Elizabeth directed. “Mariah, spend all your pocket money, and Mama is sure to be cross.”
But the younger Swindon wasn’t listening. She dropped Burke’s arm in favor of Blanche’s, and the girls darted away in a flurry of giggles.
“Mariah!” Elizabeth shrieked, following after them.
“They seem happy to be here.”
Burke turned to see Rosalie at his shoulder. She was a vision this morning in a pelisse of deepest sapphire blue. Black velvet framed her collar and wrists. Her bonnet was a fashionable thing of blue satin with yellow-gold ribbons.
“Burke! James!”
They all turned to see Tom striding towards them, weaving between the tables. He wore his white sailor’s breeches with double buttons up the front. A red sash was tied at his waist. While he was still shirted, it was unbuttoned.
“There you are,” he called. “I’ve been keeping a look out. The matches start at noon. I was worried you might be late.”
“Are you to exhibit, then?” Burke asked.
“Aye, well, they wanted the matches sorted, and the only one without a pairing was Hart,” he replied, his smile tipping into a frown. “Given your last interaction, I thought it better you not be put in a ring with free rein to pummel him.”
“Your last interaction?” James muttered. “What is he talking about?”
“Nothing,” the men replied together.
“Oh, Burke... what did you do?” Rosalie asked from his other side.
“Why am I the one suspected to have done something?” he said with a huff of indignation. “Why does no one questionthe conduct of the dashing sea captain? Perhaps he earned what he got.”
“And did he?” James asked.
Burke glanced at Tom, letting his own frown tip into a smile. “He did. And Tom’s right, if Hartington is my competition, there will be no competition. I’d flatten the lout in a single round. That would hardly provide the crowd with a good show.”
“Well, I’m third up,” Tom replied. “I was hoping you’d stand ringside,” he added with a hopeful look.
Burke’s smile widened. “A front-row seat to watch the captain eat your fists? I’d be delighted.”
***
