Page 32 of A Lady's Lesson in Scandal
Three: he was seriously questioning his self-control around Millicent.
Fucking hell! I already said that. But it bears repeating. She is my every fantasy and nightmare combined.
He was half jesting when he spoke of glutting himself on her, but the idea might hold merit. Maybe he only needed to indulge in his fantasies to realise the reality wasn’t nearly as enticing as the idea. But to do that, he would need to keep his raging cock under control. And as he listed… twice… his legendary control was questionable at best when Millicent entered a room.
His single-minded focus on the infuriating woman was becoming a serious problem.
After Nora left him, he lost interest in sexual conquests. For years, he worried that she had broken something in him. Then he saw Millicent playing cards at Lord Bradford’s dinner party while on an investigation with Lieutenant General Killian all those months ago, and his body came back to life. He thought it was a fluke and even tried to engage a professional courtesan to slake his suddenly ravenous thirst.
She was a delicate thing: blonde, reminiscent of Nora. But he couldn’t drum up a hint of interest from his damnable cock. He tried again with a different woman. This one was tall with hair almost as vibrant as Millicent’s, though likely achieved through henna or some other means. Still, she had a sweet smile. Apparently, his penis didn’t care about the woman’s smile. Zero reaction. It was maddening. And more than a little embarrassing. There was only one possible conclusion. Millicent was using some kind of witchcraft on him.
Or maybe I like her.
Absolutely not. Drake didn’t like people. Especially not women. Dark magic was the only reasonable explanation.
When he ran into Penny in the hall and she dropped the salve, a red haze of rage had descended. There was only one reason she would be taking such medicine to her mistress.
He should have left the maid to her business. But something in him demanded he care for Millicent himself. Probably some primordial instinct that should have died with his Viking ancestors long ago. Yet it pervaded, making it impossible for Drake to focus on anything but tending to her.
The idea of caring for Millicent’s wounds filled his chest with something warm. Not the heat of lust, but something else. Somethingmore. He refused to let emotion terrify him. He had faced down hordes of Afghan soldiers without a hint of fear. Certainly, he could manage a fewfeelings.
Millicent would be his wife in a matter of days. Why shouldn’t he offer her comfort? It was a simple task any idiot could complete, and it didn’t alter his overall objective to maintain distance.
Drake almost laughed. He could always determine a lie from the truth. Even the lies he told himself. He was playing a dangerous game.
And yet, here I am.
Standing in Millicent’s room with salve in his hands and sin thrumming through his blood. Well, there was no point second-guessing his motivations now. Best to crack on with the task at hand. Namely, undressing a beautiful, angry, powerful woman and forcing her to submit to his ministrations.
Unlikely.
He very much doubted he could force Millicent to do anything she didn’t want to do. And while the idea of her submission stroked along his senses, sparking awareness in areas best left untouched, he would never expect her to yield to him. He knew the injustice of his personal power being stripped away. Of stronger men forcing his will to their own. He would never do that to another. His body recoiled at the very notion.
But even he could wipe salve on someone’s back without ravaging them.
Again, unlikely. Especially when that person is Millicent.
Drake tightened his grip on the pot. He needed to complete this task. He needed to prove to himself that Millicent held no power over him. He could remain indifferent to her supple curves and haunting eyes. He could maintain control. Hewouldhold his distance.
Millicent turned, giving him her back. Drake exhaled a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding. He put the pot of salve on a nearby table and reached for the first button. His fingers shook as he deftly released the piece of bone from its hole.
Jesus. Get it together! You aren’t some green lad.
He squeezed both hands into fists, shaking them out before moving on to the next button.
Slowly, in painfully small increments, Millicent’s dress opened for him. When he released the last button, he gently pushed both edges of her gown down. She pulled her arms free of the sleeves, then held the dress to her front.
‘For a woman so determined to ruin herself, you’re awfully modest.’ He rumbled, his breath stirring a loose curl at the back of her neck. She tilted her head, swaying into him for a heartbeat before catching herself and straightening.
‘I wasn’t trying to ruin myself. I was trying to gain my freedom. Men fight wars for freedom. They bleed and sacrifice and rage to attain autonomy, and they are honoured for their efforts. Women aren’t afforded such noble means to attain independence, but we yearn for it just as fiercely, Major General Drake. I assure you.’
‘Beaufort.’
‘Fine,’ she hissed. Such an angry warrior.
‘May I share a story with you?’
She shrugged an elegant shoulder. The closest he’d get to an assent, he wagered.
