Page 26 of Must Love Dukes
“It isn’t fashionable, but I do. The previous Duke of Buxton, in addition to his wildly inappropriate affection for his wife, also did not believe his children should be raised exclusively by a series of governesses. Nor did my mother. I spent a great deal of time with both of them. As did my sisters.”
“How lovely.” Buxton would likely follow his parents’ example, which warmed Muriel’s heart. “I understand.” Her brush ran over the outline of the radish she was using for hisnose. “My mother died when I was quite young. It was only me, Dora—my older sister—and Father for the longest time. Mama was always sickly. Never quite well. We went often to Weymouth so she could take advantage of the salt air.”
“Ah, seabathing.”
“It didn’t help.” Muriel gave a tiny shrug, remembering her poor mother, coughing and frail, dipping her toe into the waves while holding out her arms for her two daughters. “A few years after her death, Father met Nora, my stepmother. I was glad for Father, because he—loved my mother. So I do understand, Your Grace.”
“Seems we both had an example set for us, Miss Bell.” Buxton stood just as the first drops of rain hit the glass of the greenhouse. He came around Muriel, standing behind her so that he could study the painting over her shoulder. Heat, all cedar-scented and vastly male, seeped through the fabric of her dress and into her skin.
A fingertip trailed languidly up her spine, delicately tracing the edge of the buttons at the back. “I should like to collect my reward for chasing off Todson.” His breath teased along the edge of her ear.
Muriel inhaled slowly, trying to calm the fluttering of her pulse. She had missed Buxton. His presence made her comfortable, when few others did, something she hadn’t realized until he’d joined her once more in the greenhouse.
“I’ll have the portrait finished before the end of the house party. A day or two more.” She gripped the brush tighter, glancing outside to the advancing storm. The guests who’d been watching them without pretending to do so had scattered to run to the house.
Buxton’s hand slid back down her spine to rest lightly on her waist. Gently, he turned her until they were facing each other. Reaching up, his forefinger traced along her cheek.
Muriel’s heart might burst. She wanted nothing more than to press her forehead into Buxton’s chest. Have his arms wrap around her.
“You’ve a bit of paint at the end of your nose, Miss Bell.” He tilted her chin up.
Muriel’s heart beat wildly at the soft brush of his lips against her own. A sound left her, one of surrender. The brush fell from her hand, clattering to the floor, splashing her skirts with paint.
“Buxton,” she whispered.
The hand at her waist pulled Muriel closer, until barely an inch existed between them as his mouth claimed hers. He tasted slightly of the cheroot and…honey. A hint of tea. Lips warm, moving with sensual promise over her own. Thoughts fled as he stole the air from her lungs, pushing aside every thought in her head until all Muriel could do was feel.
My goodness, this is…intoxicating.
When Buxton’s tongue flicked against her mouth, Muriel’s lips parted of their own accord with a soft gasp. The light touch of his tongue against her own sent another shock along her skin, drawing Muriel more fully into him until there was nothing but the sound of the rain. The smell of her paints. And Buxton.
“I should go, Miss Bell,” he whispered against the corner of her mouth. He drew back and looked away. When he turned to her once more, his features were entirely composed, the only sign he’d been affected by their kiss the tiny bit of pink at the ends of his ears.
She blinked and took a step back, uncertain what to say. Or do. Surprised by the passion that had erupted inside her. Muriel had received a few careful pecks before, mostly from Habersham, but this was entirely different. Somewhat frightening.
“Your Grace.” She curtseyed, something she’d never managed to master to Nora’s satisfaction, and kept her gazefirmly fixed on the edge of her skirt where a blob of red paint had fallen.
“Don’t dally on the portrait. As you said, the house party is coming to an end.”
She watched Buxton’s boots as he sauntered out without another word, leaving Muriel panting softly in the quiet greenhouse, her entire body set aflame from merely a kiss.
Straightening, difficult given how wobbly her legs felt, she turned back to the canvas and deliberately mucked up the nose.
10
That bloody kiss had only confirmed his suspicions.
He’d been somewhat relieved to depart the house party with Savorton. Happy to lend the power of a duke to a friend whose daughter had run off with a fortune hunter and required retrieval. At first, he’d welcomed the reprieve from Miss Bell, hoping that the stirring in his chest every time he saw her would fade once he wasn’t near her.
But therightnessof Miss Bell did not abate.
It was one thing to hear the tale, oft repeated, of how Father had felt struck by a bolt of lightning at first seeing Mother, knowing in that instant she would become everything to him, but another to experience it himself.
“Over bloody terrible meat pies and Arcimboldo, of all things,” he said under his breath, heading for the drawing room. “I knew.”
That was why Hugh had come to the Savorton house party. Miss Bell. Her audacious, outrageous request to deter Todson had been a surprise, though completely understandable given her disdain for marriage and the earl. Also, it had saved Hughfrom coming up with another excuse to be in her company so that he could be…sure.
I’m damned sure now.
