Page 22 of Daisy and the Duke
Tristan took the little book from her, saying, “There are other books I could think of, far more dangerous to a young lady’s innocence than this one.”
“A book can’t be so corrupting.”
The corner of Tristan’s lips quirked. “Oh, some can. Not that you can know what I’m talking about,” he added hastily.
Daisy was a little indignant. “I know exactly what you mean!”
“Oh?” His eyebrow arched, and she blushed in embarrassment. “Just how might a proper young lady like you know what I mean?”
They’d just reached a turn along the path, and they were now concealed from the house by several tall yew trees, providing a green wall of privacy that made Daisy aware of just how alone they were.
And Tristan had stopped to look at her, awaiting her answer.
“Well, in fact,” Daisy said haltingly, “Mrs. Bloomfield had a particular bookcase…which was locked…but I found the key one day…”
“…and you found an interesting collection of bedtime stories, is that it?”
“I don’t think this is a topic of conversation that we should pursue.” How mortifying, to wander into such a topic.
“On the contrary, I’m fascinated,” he said, not allowing an easy escape. “What exactly did you learn from these books?”
“Nothing!” she said, far too quickly to be believable.
“How many did you read?”
“Um…all of them.” Some had been illustrated, and Daisy had been both shocked and utterly amazed at what they depicted.
“And you learned nothing? I’m not sure I believe you.”
“Please…I can’t talk about this sort of thing with you.”
“Then we won’t talk.”
He brushed his lips against the back of her hand, very lightly. Daisy’s eyes slid closed as she savored the feeling of the kiss, so unlike anything the forbidden books had mentioned. The glide of his lower lip along her knuckles made Daisy faint with desire.
“Did you read about that?” he asked softly, pulling away.
“I read about kissing,” she answered, dazed. “But none of the books said a kiss on the hand felt so…special.”
“A major oversight.” Once again, he treated her to that half kiss, that teasing sensation. Daisy was suddenly aware of a desire to touch him, to run her fingers along his skin and see if she could evoke the same sort of reaction. How did men feel when touched like that? Was it the feeling of growing warm and slightly dizzy, of wanting more of the same until some unknown threshold was reached?
“Speaking of special,” he murmured, his lips sliding to her wrist, and then the inner part of her forearm. Daisy inhaled, her nerves singing.
It was an experience entirely different than any she’d had before. Alone with a man in the darkness of the gardens, with the vast presence of the great house behind them. Daisy’s heart was beating rapidly, her breathing uneven in the wake of Tristan’s attention. She never wanted it to stop.
But he’s the duke.
The reality of the situation felt like cold rain on her consciousness. In her haste, Daisy almost shoved him away.
“I am so sorry,” she said in a rush. “I should not be alone with you! It’s most inappropriate, and what you must think of me…”
Tristan stepped back, his manner shifting from passionate to aloof in the space of a breath. “Then let’s get you back to your family.” He offered his arm, the gesture cold and proper.
Daisy slipped her own hand around it, feeling her cheeks hot with shame and embarrassment. She’d done something very wrong, and she was sure that she’d somehow hurt or disappointed Tristan.
Before their mutual absence could be remarked upon, the duke escorted Daisy back to the drawing room, where the guests had gathered. However, neither of the Merriot ladies were present.
“They left, your grace,” a footman informed them when the duke inquired.
