Page 30 of The Duke's Impetuous Darling
"You know what I mean."
"I do," he acknowledged. "Sounds breathtakingly boring."
“It might be.” She reflected on the likes of Carlson and Hallerton. The two men had become as attentive to her as puppies. Hallerton had also developed a fascination with Marjorie. This morning at breakfast, he’d asked for her and Bee had told him she hadn’t yet seen her.
"That's my Bee. I'll join you."
"You needn't."
"But I do need." He swept her a courtly bow. "I'm to my room to get my latest novel and my sheet music."
Tonight was to be the musicale. Everyone with any talent was to perform. Delphine was an accomplished pianist and astounded many always with her talents. Alastair, much to his father's despair, had developed an extraordinary talent at the keyboard and even as a child, had played with an expertise that astounded many.
"You'll play for everyone?" She hadn't heard him do so in more than ten years.
"I shall. I hope you will turn the pages for me." He climbed the stairs beside her.
"Of course." The imp in her welcomed the idea of helping him, being close to him, savoring his mouth again.
"Marvelous." He took her elbow. "Will you sing?"
She wrinkled her brow, her grimace one of feigned horror. "Yes, indeed, I can, if I wish to ruin everyone's digestion!"
He laughed again. "I like when you sing."
She rolled her eyes. "You like braying donkeys?"
"I like you."
"Oh, you are the worst liar," she said as she considered what fun it would be to have him utter such silliness to her every day.
As they mounted the landing, he stepped near to her and brushed his warm supple mouth on hers. "I speak the truth when I tell you I love everything about you."
"My morning rides? My accuracy with a pistol?"
He lifted his face to examine the ceiling. "I reconsider."
She laughed sharply and pulled away.
He drew her back. "I do adore your bravery, your sense of honor—and your lips."
Then, because she'd become accustomed to his claims upon her and his proposal to her, and because she felt flattered and pampered and honored that he pursued her and was so damn stubborn, she grinned before he kissed her. And she kissed him back.
"Your novel?" he asked her when he broke away.
"Hmmm." She tried to focus on his question. "What of it?"
"You need it."
"I do."
He swept a hand toward the hall.
She hurried toward her room, him on her heels.
And when she opened the door to her suite, he followed her inside and pressed her to the wall. He lingered and tasted, his lips insistent, fierce and achingly sweet. He crushed her to him with his poor arm and with his good one, secured her to him like an iron clamp. His tongue was fast, piercingly deft and sensuous. His fingers were gentle, stroking her throat and cupping her breast. He thumbed her nipple and through the many layers of her clothes, her flesh budded and blossomed and burned.
"Your novel," he said with a gruff voice as he stood away from her. "I wager it's not as thrilling as this."
