Page 33 of The Wolf and the Wildflower
“Your cheeks are rather flushed and your eyes suspiciously bright.” He leaned slowly, deliberately, almost leisurely toward her, and her heart kicked a furious rhythm. The duke ran his nose across her cheeks. “It is quite fascinating how your scent changes. Earlier you smelled like the forest itself, now you smell like caramel and lavender.”
“You should really learn to keep your nose to yourself,” she said, painfully aware that shewasblushing.How bloody ghastly!“That will be a requirement for when you are about in society.”
His aristocratic nose flared, and the provoking gleam in his eyes deepened.
“You are free to smell me in return. I shall not object.”
A faint feeling of surprise stole over Jules at that terribly improper invitation. “What is a little nose between us partners in deception? Is that your reasoning?”
Appreciation lit in his eyes. “You are of a teasing disposition.”
Jules’s muscles were knotted with terrible tension and her heart trembled. “It must be something in the woods,” she drawled, giving him a slightly mocking stare.
“I am never teased.”
“I shall endeavor to tease you every so often, Your Grace. It should make for interesting encounters.”And perhaps make you more comfortable.
“James,” he said. “I shall anticipate these encounters, hmm?”
His unwavering gaze was filled with things that made her chest stir and ache with sensations she had little hopes of understanding. Reason and caution were slowly slipping away from her, and Jules frowned. “I shall try—”
Jules almost choked when he reached out and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Her breath audibly hitched, and her awareness contracted to that single improper touch. Then the dratted man smelled her again. Jules felt as though she couldn’t drag enough air into her lungs. “You mustneverdo this in public, Your Grace!”
“I assure you the inclination only seems to descend on me in your presence. Is it not interesting? I haveneversmelled anything like you, Wildflower.”
Jules narrowed her gaze thoughtfully, leaned closer to the duke, quite aware of how perilously close their lips were. Then she dragged his scent deep into her lungs, already sensing she was making a most dangerous mistake.
Chapter Six
“What do I smell like?”
You are unknown to my senses.
“Like roasted chicken,” Jules murmured, swallowing down the tightness rising in her throat and flicking her glance up to his.
Dark humor gleamed in the duke’s eyes. “Let me remove my drumstick.” He held his hand far away from his body and arched his neck. “Go ahead, try again.”
Jules bit inside her lip to prevent the urge to smile. Surely he was also teasing her. Perhaps he did not expect her to follow through. “I—”
“Afraid?”
That soft word was caustic, the indifferent look in his eyes at odds with the controlled way he held himself still. She scoffed, not liking that he might perceive her rattled nerves. “I fearnothing,Your Grace.”
His mouth twitched but he made no reply. Jules leaned forward, dipped her nose close enough to where it brushed against his skin. She expected his flesh to be chilled…but the duke’s skin was heated. He stilled even more, and an odd sort of awareness flowed over her skin and settled like a sharp kiss of warning along her nape.
“Your nose is cold,” he said with quiet intensity.
“Is it?”
A soft sound rumbled in his throat, but he did not move away. “Go ahead…smell me.”
The command crackled through her body in the most peculiar manner.
Why is it important, she silently asked him. She could not read any answer in his eyes or decipher any hint of his thoughts. Curious as to what the duke’s reaction would be, Jules sucked his scent deep into her lungs, shocked at the instant weakness that seemed to pool low inside her belly and to her knees. His scent was…unknown to her, warm yet cold…a hint of oak moss and something far too elusive. His inexplicable fragrance invaded her nostrils, tightening her stomach and warming her most feminine place. The strangest heat darted through her body, and her heart quickened. Jules let the scent wash over her like the cool glide of wind.
She shifted, lifting her nose from his throat, still aware of how close they were. His face came into view, and his expression was carefully composed. She ran her eyes over the sharp blade of his nose, the strong set of his chin, the hewn lines of his jaw.
“I am not afraid of you,” she whispered. “Do not ever think that I could be, Your Grace.”
