Page 34 of Falling Into Bed with a Duke
Ashe took no offense. One purpose of the place was to allow for a variety of partners. He didn’t want to contemplate that Lady V, had she a taste of carnal knowledge, might take on an assortment of lovers. Why couldn’t he get the vixen off his mind? He should have gone to the Dragons—
His attention was snagged by an angelic vision in white gliding into the parlor as though her feet didn’t touch the floor. Perfect height, perfect figure, perfect everything. He’d set his glass aside and was striding toward her before he realized what he was about. Somewhere in the back of his mind, while he’d longed for her to come, he’d hoped that she wouldn’t, that she was smart enough to avoid this debauchery disguised as something acceptable. A place for those of like minds, a secretive circle that rebelled against Society’s mores and rules of morality. Nothing here was sacred except for the privilege of doing as one pleased.
He’d always embraced the notion, considered it forward thinking, but he didn’t want her to be part of it. Yet, he couldn’t seem to squelch his gladness at her arrival. Unable to take his gaze from her, he fought not to wrap an arm around her and haul her up against him when he was close enough to inhale her verbena fragrance. Lips, the palest of pinks, curved up ever so slightly as he arrived at her side. “Lady V.”
“Your Grace.”
Her voice was still the smoky rasp that curled around and through him, settling somewhere deep in his soul, filling an emptiness he’d held for too long. That was the only aspect of her that gave him pause that he might have misidentified her, but she could fabricate the timbre. Smart woman that she was, she would have done so, hoping for a further means to keeping her visit here secret. When most men wouldn’t have gone to the trouble to unravel their partner’s identity. Mystery was a good part of the allure.
“I must confess to being surprised you returned,” he said.
“It’s not the first time since our encounter.”
His gut clenched so tightly that he nearly doubled over. “Pardon?”
The smile again, only a little wider. “I was here last night.”
“Were you now?”
“Yes, but only until around midnight.”
Impossible. She’d been with him, dancing in his arms. Unless hewasmistaken regarding her identity. He could ask around, but he didn’t want to draw attention to her. It was also possible that she was being a clever girl, fabricating a story in an attempt to throw him off the scent. But if she was speaking true, if he were wrong—
She’d ignored his advice; she’d had a man between her thighs...
He had the sudden, irrational urge to flatten some random gent’s nose, bust a jaw, blacken an eye. But he wanted her more than he wanted anything else in his life.
“I have a room,” he said.
Not waiting for her to respond, he grabbed her hand and headed for the stairs.
MINERVA thought she should have objected to his forcefulness, his determination. Instead, she found herself rather flattered that he appeared so anxious to be alone with her.
She’d lied, of course. She hadn’t come here last night, but she needed to squelch any suspicions he harbored that Lady V was Miss Dodger. His questioning at Greyling’s had left her a bit more unsettled than she liked, especially after he danced with her at the Dragons. She knew she was playing a dangerous game here, that she would have been better served to stay away, but she wanted to give him his photograph and perhaps a little bit more.
As they traversed the stairs, her calm surprised her. The images he’d captured in Africa haunted her. The exquisite beauty behind them, the story they told. They were preserved for all eternity. While she had never considered herself vain—as she had nothing about which to harbor vanity—she rather liked the notion of being a mysterious woman viewed through the ages.
At the top of the stairs, they walked down the same hallway, his large hand clasped tightly around her smaller one. Before the night was done, he might touch her elsewhere, someplace more intimate. She hadn’t determined yet if they would go that far. She’d come here intending merely to pose for him. Beyond that, she’d not yet decided.
She couldn’t deny her attraction to him. Did he think less of the women who posed for him? Or did he admire them? How would he feel about her when all was said and done?
He led her to the same corner room, inserted the key, and opened the door. After stepping through the opening, she paused just beyond the threshold, giving him enough space to join her. The door clicked closed.
Without warning, she found her back pressed to it, the duke’s mouth latched hungrily onto hers. She should have shoved him away. Instead, she wound her arms around his neck, and when he used his tongue to insist she part her lips, she did so without hesitation, welcoming the deepening of a kiss so hot and consuming that she could do little more than become lost in it. This was what she had always yearned for: the unbridled passion, the madness, the smoldering desire.
She was aware of him bracketing his hands firmly on either side of her waist, then gliding them quickly upward. Not stopping when he reached her arms, he continued sliding his hands along them, moving them from about him until they were raised over her head. With one strong hand, he shackled her wrists together, before plunging the other in her hair, cradling the back of her head, taking further possession of her mouth as though he were its master and commander, leaving no part of it unexplored.
She had an idle thought that she would love to travel the world with him, experience all the various facets of it as they boldly surveyed everything before them. Then her focus narrowed to the present, to him. She tasted the richness of scotch on his tongue. His sandalwood scent invaded her senses. She wanted the freedom to touch him, yet couldn’t deny the pleasure in being pinned as she was, his large body flattening her breasts against his chest. He growled low and feral, a wild animal that had captured its prey and was now at liberty to toy with it, to taunt it, to make it grateful to have been caught.
He dragged his mouth over her chin, over her throat to the dip in the silk where her breasts lay in wait. “Who?” he demanded, his voice rough and raw with some emotion she couldn’t quite identify.
Breathing harshly, she could barely speak. “Who what?”
“Last night. Who bedded you?”
If she didn’t know better, she’d think she heard pure agony threaded through his words, as though he’d forced them out through gritted teeth. Why would he have such a visceral response? And yet she couldn’t deny taking some delight in his possessiveness. “No one. I wasn’t here for that purpose.” The problem with a lie was that it constantly had to be rebuilt, lest the foundation of it crumble. Why was she even playing this game? Why couldn’t she be completely honest with him? He had danced with her. Yet so had other men, and in the end, there had been naught but disappointment and hurt.
She fought so hard to ignore the pain of rejection, but she had been schooled enough times to know that it refused to be ignored—at some point it would rush in like a huge tidal wave and overwhelm.
