Page 12 of Falling Into Bed with a Duke
“A good many of them, I suspect.”
“Well, I’m certainly not going to climb into bed with a man who doesn’t desire me, who is simplymaking do.”
She spun on her heel. He grabbed her arm to stay her actions. The heated look she directed his way could have felled a lesser man. Damnation, it only made him want her all the more. There was fire in her, smoldering, never before banked. She was here for something that was as important to her as the photographs were for him. He’d bet his life on it.
“A poor choice of wording on my part. I’m disappointed that you won’t pose for me, but trust me, I am not disappointed that we are going to ... copulate.”
He cursed the blasted mask that prevented him from seeing if she was blushing, cursed the shadows that prevented him from seeing the flush of her skin.
“You don’t desire me,” she announced.
“Not desire you? Are you mad? I’ve never desired anyone as much. I have an artist’s eye, and while the silk may cover you, it still manages to reveal everything about you. That’s why I knew you would be perfect for the photograph.”
“Perfect?”
She spoke the word as though she wasn’t quite familiar with it, as though it had never been applied to her. “Yes, perfect. You are not tall, but you have a good deal of leg. Based on the way the silk folds around them when you walk, I believe I would find your calves to be quite fetching.”
“Fetching?”
Again doubt. He was beginning to wonder if a troll existed beneath the mask. But then, as much as he loved lines, angles, and curves, he’d never judged by appearance alone. She was more than a face or legs or body. Her presence here was testament to that. Shy misses didn’t wander these halls, step into bedchambers. She was a woman who knew her own mind, knew what she wanted, and went after it. In truth, he found that aspect to her more alluring than anything that he might discover beneath the silk, or even the mask.
“I don’t photograph just anyone,” he told her. “Only those I find pleasing.”
“And how many is that, Your Grace? Based on your reputation, I suspect at least a hundred.”
“Not even a dozen.”
She seemed surprised by that declaration. “Did you not think you were special?” he asked.
She didn’t answer, didn’t so much as nod, yet he saw the truth in her eyes. She thought herself lacking. Was that the reason behind her coming here tonight? Because she wished to feel appreciated? Again, he wondered if she was married, if some man failed to give her the attention she deserved.
“Is it possible you might change your mind about posing for me?” he asked.
“I couldn’t do anything so lewd.”
“It’s very tastefully done, I promise you. The most intimate aspects of you will remain covered. Shadows will hide a good deal as well. The focus will be your legs.”
“What do you do with the photographs?”
“I don’t use them for any sort of erotic stimulation, if that’s what you’re thinking. I simply appreciate beauty.”
“Beauty? In my legs?”
Going to one knee, he wrapped a hand around her ankle. “Allow me to show you.”
MINERVA thought she must be mad to still be here, to not have removed herself from this room, this man, as soon as she realized that he wanted more from her than a romp between the sheets. On the other hand, was he truly asking for something so awful when she was willing to give him her innocence, her naïveté? An incredible intimacy was going to pass between them, and she was going to balk at a photograph? And yet to think of herself captured for all eternity ... He might claim no one else would see it, but how could she be sure? How had the past six years managed to turn her into such a doubting Thomas, to not trust a man’s word?
His hand was so large, so warm, so incredibly gentle as though he feared crushing her bones. No one ever made her feel delicate. She’d been raised to stand up for herself, to know that she was beneath no one. Yet she wanted to be beneath him.
His passion for the human body was evident when he spoke of its beauty. She’d never in her life been made to feel beautiful. At least not by anyone outside the family. She was her father’s precious daughter, could do no wrong. But it wasn’t the same as being looked upon with appreciation by someone who was no relation at all.
She gave a nod, not much of one, but still he saw it, and his mouth formed a slow smile that seemed to target the very core of her womanhood. He patted his knee to alert her that he was going to place her foot there. Of its own accord to balance her, her hand went to his shoulder, to his strong, broad, sturdy shoulder. She shouldn’t have been surprised. He was an adventurer. He’d climbed mountains, explored pyramids, danced among natives. His skin was darkened by the sun.
That became apparent when his hand rested next to her pale foot. Earth beside snow, good soil beside white sands. Her toes wiggled and curled against his rock-solid thigh. Was there any aspect of this man that wasn’t firm? She imagined how it might feel to run her hands over him, to test every muscle, to find no part of him that wasn’t toned to perfection.
“Your foot is flawless,” he said in a reverent voice.
“Not certain that’s something to brag about.”
