Page 23 of My Deceitful Duchess
Jenny cleared her throat, surprised at the surge of delight that coursed through her. “Yes, well—textbooks may feed the mind, but fiction feeds the soul.”
“So I am learning.” He had matched his steps to hers once again. “I would like another.”
A strange little laugh eked out of her. “You’re a man—there are several bookstores in which you could find any volume you liked.”
“I could,” he acknowledged. “I imagine I could lay hands on any number of naughty books, had I the inclination. However, I would prefer for you to choose one for me.”
“Why should it matter, if you can obtain them yourself?”
“Because there is always something to be learned,” he said. “From your selections, I will gain a better understanding of whatyouenjoy.”
When had she become the sort of woman who blushed at the drop of a hat? “Suppose I simply picked something at random,” she suggested.
He gave a careless shrug. “I suppose you could. But then, you would inevitably bear the consequences, so I would recommend choosing with care,” he said.
“Inevitably?” The word bubbled up from her lungs on a skirl of flustered indignation. “Inevitably?”
“Yes, inevitably.” The smug certainty of his voice flayed her nerves. “I am not often wrong, Jenny. Would you like to know which part of the book I most enjoyed?”
“Absolutely not.” Mortification washed over her in waves. “Besides,” she grumbled, “I think I can hazard a guess.” There had been a particularly salacious scene toward the end in which the woman had gone on her knees before her paramour and performed an act that she was certain could only be had in brothels, since it seemed monumentally unlikely that any lady would even know of it.
“I think you might be surprised,” he said.
“I thinkyouhave been less than honest about your lack of experience,” she said, somewhat waspishly, finishing off the last of her profiterole and brushing the crumbs from her fingers.
“Should I be flattered?” he asked, a lazy smile touching the corner of his mouth. “I have never lied to you, Jenny, though I would be well within my rights to do so, since you so rarely offer me the truth of you. You are a woman of many mysteries. I should like to unravel them…amongst other things.”
“The strings of my stays, perhaps?” she suggested wryly. “And I don’t think I believe you, besides. You don’t kiss like a man who has never done it.”
“Because I had a capable tutor,” he said, and when she gave a little laugh of disbelief, he caught her wrist in his fingers, much as he had done only a few nights past. “Youtaught me,” he said, pitching his voice low—only a fierce rumble, which shivered down her spine like a stroke of his hand. “You taught me with your sighs, and the tilt of your head, and your tongue.”
Her breath collected in her lungs, growing stagnant as it sat heavily there. “I don’t—Ididn’t—”
“You did. You might not have meant to do so, but you did.” His fingers tightened, as if he suspected that she might run if he released her. “I am not inept; I have done my fair share of reading. I had only to apply what I had learned, and then determine whatyouliked.”
And she had made it quite easy for him, it seemed.
“You told me what you wanted,” he said. “I haven’t the talent for flirtation, for the subtleties of such things. But you, Jenny—you are not subtle. When you stand on your toes, when you pull my head to yours, I know what you want. I will know what you want when you are in my bed, as well. You’ll tell me. Whether or not you intend to.”
Held hostage by the rough tenor of his voice, the surety of the words, Jenny could only stare wordlessly; fascinated, horrified—aroused.
“Bring me a new book tomorrow morning,” he said. “Tonight, I will give my attention to methods of preventing conception.”
A strangely hoarse laugh released the air from her lungs at last. “That’s not—” And she clamped her lips shut.
“Not what? Tell me.” He fixed her with thatpatientlook, as if to tell her that he would discover it anyway.
And he would. Probably. “Necessary,” she said, glancing away. “I can’t conceive. I was never able to.”
“It’s not a moral failing,” he said, his brows drawing down.
“My husband certainly thought it was. I failed to give him what every man wants—a son.”
“Noteveryman,” he said slowly, his voice inflected with a queer note of interest. “But certainly a man with…something to pass down to one. A man in need of an heir.”
Too late, she realized she had revealed far more to him than that which she had intended. Striving to keep her voice light, she twisted her wrist in his grasp and said, “I can’t linger outside all day. It’s time I was to bed.”
His dark eyes traveled over her face as though he might divine something from it. But at last he must have understood that he could not keep her—not here, not in the bright light of day—indefinitely. “I’ll have all of your secrets eventually,” he said, as he released her wrist. “For now, you may have one of mine instead. The part I most enjoyed begins on page ninety-seven.”
