Page 29 of His Grace, the Duke
He had the nerve to chuckle, and she felt a shiver of annoyance shoot down her spine. “Do not laugh at me. I—”
Whatever she was about to say was silenced by his lips on hers. His hand cupped the back of her neck, holding her still as he kissed her once, twice, three times. Each kiss a little deeper, a little more inviting. She tasted the coffee on the tip of his tongue as he flicked it against her lips.
She gasped, shrugging away. “What are you doing?” She glanced wildly around the room, thankful to see the footman had stepped out.
“Tom, come here,” Burke called over his shoulder. Her breath caught. “Burke, don’t—”
He cupped her face with his hand, silencing her with a stern look. “I will not hide from them,” he said. “Between the four of us, there are no secrets. You are mine, yes?”
Her heart fluttered. “Yes,” she whispered.
“And I am yours,” he replied, kissing her brow before turning back to his coffee.
Renley appeared behind them. He looked well-rested too, outfitted in fawn breeches and riding boots with a blue waistcoat and handsome, stone-grey coat. “You bellowed?” he said at Burke, giving Rosalie a warm smile. “Good morning, Rose.”
“She woke to find us gone,” Burke replied, testing the sweetness of his coffee. “She thinks we mean to pretend it never happened. That we now only exist in the dark of the night, like strange creatures of moonlight... or a pair of bats.”
Renley’s blue eyes narrowed as he directed all his attention at Rosalie. “Is that true?”
“No. I didn’t... it wasn’t like that,” she replied lamely. It was exactly like that.
“We left early this morning to set ourselves to work on the task you assigned us,” Renley explained.
“Blame no one but yourself that your morning did not involve four eager hands and two starving mouths,” Burke added. As he spoke, he trailed his hand up her arm and over her shoulder until his fingertips brushed the bare skin of her collarbone.
Rosalie batted his hand away. “That is quite enough.” Both men laughed.
“Tonight, if you’re very good, your moonlight men may appear bringing gifts to honor their goddess,” Burke murmured, brushing his lips along her temple.
“I said enough,” she replied, giving him a little shove.
Renley just laughed, leaning in to kiss her temple on the other side.
“If you’re all quite finished, I’d like to get this settled,” James called from across the room.
Rosalie gasped. How had she forgotten he was still in the room? These men made her lose her senses completely. The closer they got to her, the less control she had over herself. She felt hot and bothered, her cheeks burning. If they wanted her, they could have her. Anywhere. Everywhere. She ached for them.
It scared her. In her experience, men were not to be trusted. What made these men so different? She’d never felt such a desire to be protected and cherished. And she refused to feel ashamed about it in front of James. He knew what could be his if he but reached out his hand to her. She refused to beg. So he would watch her wear the clothes he bought for her and kiss his friends, and if he didn’t like it, that was too bad.
She followed the men over to the opposite side of the room with her cup of coffee in hand. “What were you all doing when I came in?” she said, taking the seat Renley offered her.
“Reconciling,” replied James, shuffling a few of the papers on the table.
Rosalie paused with her cup halfway to her lips, eyes darting from James to the other two.
“Not with each other,” Burke snorted. “We made out lists of eligible bachelors.” He reached around James for the piece of paper on the table. “We’ve agreed on twelve names,” he said, handing it over to her.
She set her coffee aside and accepted the list, letting her eye scan the page written in James’ narrow, slanted scrawl.
“Don’t get too excited,” said James, groaning as he stood and stretched. “I’d say the bottom three should be scratched, but Burke insists they stay.”
“Who are we to determine if they should make the cut?” Burke countered. “Just becauseyouwouldn’t marry them, James, doesn’t mean the gorgon won’t find them suitable. They’re more suitable than me,” he finished with a shrug.
“Everyone is more suitable than you,” sniped James, sinking down onto the closest sofa, one arm flung over his tired eyes. “And I wouldn’t marry any man on that list.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Burke mused. “You covet Lord Halliston’s barley holdings. Don’t tell me you couldn’t be lured down the aisle for a cut of those yields.”
“I doubt he’d accept my proposal,” James muttered. “Not many would accept you as a permanent house guest. Always under foot... you’re worse than a corgi.”
