Page 42 of His Grace, the Duke
He nuzzled her neck, kissing her once, twice, his teeth nibbling her ear. She hated herself for her next words. “Renley... the rain has eased.”
His body went still, his face still buried in her neck. “A gentleman would stop, I suppose. A gentleman would see you safely home before they send out that search party.”
She brushed her fingers through his damp curls. “Undoubtedly. But... what would a sailor do?”
He lifted his head off her shoulder. “Do not tempt me to elaborate. It is not for a lady’s ears.”
His full meaning sent a shiver over her skin. But the low rumblings of thunder told her this was only a temporary hold on the storm. She sighed with resignation. “I think Renley the gentleman should take me home now.”
He nodded, pulling away.
She halted him with a finger under his chin, placing a last soft kiss on his lips. “But know this, sir. I tremble with anticipation, eager to meet the sailor caged within.”
21
Rosalie
They arrived back atCorbin House just as the heavens opened again. Dismounting in the stable yard, they found Mrs. Robbins clucking like a furious mother hen. She roundly reproached Renley for threatening a young lady’s health, dragging Rosalie under the safety of her large umbrella with a strong arm. Renley acted appropriately contrite, standing in the rain to receive his admonishment.
With a final cluck, Mrs. Robbins took Rosalie under her wing and dragged her straight up the stairs, plopping her into a bath. Rosalie didn’t complain. The steaming hot water felt divine. She soaked for almost an hour while Fanny helped her wash her hair again, using the same French hair oil that smelled thickly of roses.
In no time, she was wrapped in a dry chemise and her soft blue dressing robe. Her dark hair was braided, with the long plait draped over her shoulder. Mrs. Robbins perched her on the sofa in her bedroom before a roaring fire, a cup of hot chocolate clutched in her hands. She curled her legs under herself, letting the warmth of the fire heat her cheeks.
A tray sat on the table beside her with the remnants of an evening meal—thin-sliced beef on bread with a wedge of delicious cheese, leek soup with dill and a dollop of cream, and the crumbs of a ginger biscuit that she dipped into her cocoa.
She was nodding off when she heard low voices in the hall. The door to Burke’s room opened and closed. She watched their shared door, imagining him on the other side with his valet. The soft voices continued until there was the sound of a closing door. A few minutes passed before she heard a soft knock.
“Enter,” she called.
Burke stepped into the room wearing a patterned red silk robe over his bare chest. The swirl of his dark chest hair was visible in the plunging “V.” He padded silently across the floor on bare feet. “You’re still awake,” he murmured, sinking onto the sofa and dropping his head into her lap.
She shifted slightly, setting her cup of cocoa aside. “And you are very late, sir.”
He just grunted, reaching for her hand. He brought it to his lips, kissing her palm.
She dropped her other hand to his inky black hair, stroking it back with her fingers. “How did it go?”
“Awful,” he muttered. “Morrow and Barbridge are off the list. We convinced Royce to come to the dinner on Friday.”
She paused her hand. “Two off the list?”
He nodded, kissing her palm again. “Morrow is engaged to some French heiress. They’re rushing a wedding by the end of this month. I think she might be in a family way already,” he added, shifting to get comfortable.
It was a shame to lose such an eligible bachelor from the list, but Rosalie was glad to know. They had no time to waste. “And Barbridge?”
Burke wasn’t listening. He turned her hand over with both of his as he kissed down her arm, pausing on the soft flesh of her inner wrist. He breathed against her skin before licking the pulse point. The feel of his warm tongue sent a jolt of fire through her body.
“Burke...” She tried to pull her hand away.
He held tighter, nipping the soft skin with his teeth until she hissed. She gripped his hair with her free hand and gave a little tug. He gentled, peppering soft kisses up her arm as he pulled her down over him. “Kiss me,” he whispered. “End my agony.”
She pursed her lips in a smile. “Are you in agony? You don’t look it, I must say.”
“I just survived five hours in a stuffy gentlemen’s club,” he whined. “I was forced to play hazard until James’ pockets were empty. And I had to listen to not one, not two, butsevenlords recount in excruciating detail the bountiful success of their harvests. Shall I tell you all of Lord Farley’s new milling machine?”
“Please spare me,” she replied.
He wrapped his fist around her braid and pulled her down. “If I cannot be spared, neither can you. Now, kiss me like you mean it, or I shall recount every last syllable of his boring report.”
