Page 10 of Falling Into Bed with a Duke
An abundance of them based on the rumors and speculations. She’d never much cared for the gossip sheets. It wasn’t real journalism, and yet it did provide information that was serving her now.
“I am at a disadvantage,” he said, “for all I know about you is that you are adventurous.”
Her heart gave a little kick. Had he realized who she was? “How would you know that?”
“You’re here. This is not a place for the timid but rather the bold. Although the question remains, exactly how bold are you?” He skimmed his finger along the side of her neck. She’d never before noticed how sensitive the skin was there. Or perhaps it was simply his flesh carrying some magical properties that heightened awareness. She imagined his touch over her entire body, the gratification it would bring. “Bold enough to retire to the bedchamber that I’ve already reserved, to adhere to my wishes, to find pleasure in my arms?”
She had never shied away from anything: drinking spirits, smoking her father’s cigars, using profanity. She was quite certain it was her bold behavior, her unwillingness to be perceived as a simpering female, that was largely responsible for her never having had a suitor fall head over heels in love with her. Yet here was a man who seemed to admire boldness in a woman, at least in a woman he wanted to bed, not necessarily in one he wished to wed.
Squaring her shoulders, she met and held his gaze. For tonight, she could give but one answer and come away satisfied. “Yes.”
His eyes darkened with triumph, his smile one of pure maleness that set her heart to thundering. She wanted him to give her that smile when they were finished. She wanted to be far more than he’d ever known, to give him something better than he’d ever had. Her competitive streak—which more than one gentleman told her was unattractive—was rising to the fore. But wouldn’t every woman want to be unforgettable?
With a slight bow, he indicated the doorway through which she’d entered earlier. As she turned for it, his hand came to rest possessively against her lower back, the heat of his flesh seeping through the thin fabric to warm her from head to toe. He so easily ignited her passions. Her nerves thrummed, yearning for a heavier, more sure touch.
Confidently, he guided her into the hallway and up the stairs. With each step, her knees seemed to weaken. Grabbing onto the banister, she refused to swoon or give any indication that, as much as she wanted this, she was also quite unnerved by it and where their journey would lead. The landing branched out into three hallways. They took the one to the right. Their feet were eerily quiet on the thick carpeting. Apparently, no one wished to be disturbed. Moans, high-pitched squeals, grunts drifted from rooms they passed.
“Thicker doors would be nice.” She didn’t realize she’d spoken until he chuckled.
“Your cries of pleasure will eclipse all of theirs.”
She snapped her head around to look at him. No arrogance, simply knowledge and confidence. He knew what he was about. That was what she wanted: a man of experience and skill. It seemed silly to hesitate now that she had it. She’d come here to shed her virginity in a manner that left no regrets. Being with the Duke of Ashebury was certain to be memorable.
When they reached the very last door, from inside his jacket he withdrew a key and inserted it into a lock. With a turn of the brass, a twist of the knob, the door swung open only a fraction, only enough to reveal the bed laced with shadows that danced as candles flickered.
It was incredibly large, roomy enough for two, perhaps even three. A canopy of heavy velvet was tied back to reveal the thick counterpane, one corner neatly folded to expose red satin sheets. She would lie between them with him.
He didn’t push her forward, urge her to go in. He merely waited as though they had all the time in the world, as though minutes weren’t ticking by, as though no one would stumble upon them and know the sort of mischief into which they were getting.
“If you’ve changed your mind ...” he said quietly. Perhaps not all the time in the world although his tone reflected no impatience.
He would let her go was left unspoken, and yet she heard the words as though he’d shouted them. Nothing he could have said, nothing he could have done would have reassured her more that he would take care with her. That he was the one with whom she should spend this night.
She walked into the room. The few flickering candles placed at strategic points and a low fire burning in the hearth were all that held complete darkness at bay. A table to the side housed a bottle of champagne, decanters, tumblers, and crystal flutes. A sofa rested before the fireplace, a fainting couch waited near the window.
He stepped in. The door clicked closed. The locksnickedinto place.
She jerked her gaze back to the satin sheets, then turned her attention to a box perched on three legs that rested near the foot of the bed. With two steps she neared it, studied it, tried to make sense of why it would be here. “Is this your camera?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She swung around to face him. “Surely you don’t intend to take a photograph of us ... copulating.”
He chuckled low. “That would be quite the trick. No. I want to take a photograph of only you—lying on the bed.”
Chapter 3
ASHE didn’t know who was more shocked: her at his request or him for her use of the wordcopulating. Ladies tended to fancy the act up with genteel words like “make love” when he had never in his life made love to a woman. He bedded, he fornicated, he ... copulated. It was refreshing to be with a woman who was realistic about their purpose in being here.
Still, based on the sudden widening of her eyes, she might very well be prepared to copulate, but pose for him was another matter entirely. Not uncommon. His request generally caused hesitation. “Before you say no, allow me the opportunity to explain.”
“It’s perverted. No explanation is necessary.”
Perhaps her forthrightness was not to be welcomed after all. “I assure you that what I have in mind falls well outside the realm of perversion. Please, have a seat before the fire.” Giving her no chance to decline his invitation, he marched over to the table and lifted a decanter. “I’ve never known a lady not to prefer champagne.” He poured the scotch he’d reserved for himself into two tumblers, lifted them, and faced her.
She’d not moved.
The disadvantage to not knowing her identity was that he had no history of her with which to map out his strategy. It was also a challenge that he embraced. Most ladies wanted to be with him badly enough that they were willing to do anything he asked. But not her. He was taken off guard by the thrill of being in the presence of one who wasn’t so quick to fall into his arms.
