Page 21 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
Stroll? Did he truly believe that her legs could support her after the way he looked at her, the words he uttered? She didn’t want to be so affected by him. It muddled her thinking. On the other hand, perhaps being nearer to him would muddle his.
“Yes, that would be delightful.” At least her breath had recovered, and she sounded more like herself.
As he drew his horse to a halt, she did the same with hers, then watched in fascination as he swung his leg back and dismounted. Why did every movement of his, no matter how common or small, have to intrigue her? He could hold her attention for hours by doing nothing more than taking in breaths. It was utterly ridiculous that he should have a claim over her senses.
He came to stand before her and wrapped his hands around her waist. Such large hands, such capable ones. Hands that could effectively close around her throat and stop all breath from entering her body should he discover her plans, should they fill him with rage. She should have chosen a smaller man, but the truth was that she’d had little choice once he’d approached her, once she’d lured him in.
He wanted her now, and she knew he was not one to turn his back until he’d gained what he wanted.
Which was the reason she momentarily considered facing his wrath, because what he wanted, she would not give. She’d done a good many things in her life, a good many that brought her no pride, but she had managed to do what she needed without spreading her legs to obtain what shewanted. She was every bit as determined to gain what she coveted as he was.
Although the advantage was all hers. She knew the true game being played, the rules. While he was engaged in another sort of sport. The trick was to ensure that he didn’t realize they weren’t on the same playing field until she’d already won.
Dropping her gaze to his luscious lips, she thought of their previous kisses, knew visions of them were enough to flush her skin, cause her eyes to become molten blue. She knew a moment of satisfaction as she saw him swallow, felt his hands tighten on her. She placed her gloved hands on his shoulders, relished the strength there, even as it caused trepidation to slice through her.
Slowly, so slowly, he lifted her up, lifted her off, lowered her feet to the ground, bringing her in close so her breasts skimmed along his chest. Her nipples puckered painfully, her heart pounded, her stomach clenched. She locked her knees, ensuring she remained upright.
Because of his blasted hat, the upper portion of his face was in shadow as he looked down at her. She wanted to knock it off with one quick swipe, see his eyes clearly, know his thoughts, his feelings, his desires. With his thumbs, he stroked her ribs, once, twice, thrice before finally releasing his hold, stepping back, and gathering up the reins for both horses, holding them loosely in one hand before offering her his free arm.
It would be wiser to ignore it, but she couldn’t deny her fingers the luxury of the firmness in his muscles. Against her better judgment, she nestled her hand in the crook of his elbow.
While she was not particularly diminutive in height, she was well aware that he shortened his steps to accommodate her as they walked leisurely along, leaving Rotten Row behind. At first he acknowledged a few people with a nod, a touch to his hat brim, but then he seemed to grow bored with it. No one approached to speak with him. He somehow managed to give off the aura of a man not wanting to be disturbed.
Any hope she might have held for an untarnished reputation fluttered away like the butterflies that frolicked around them. She was well aware that he was claiming her here. In the afternoon sunlight, in the crowded park where those with leisurely lives strolled about, making note of who was spending time with whom. With his demonstration of possessiveness, her options became fewer.
But then if she were honest with herself, they had diminished to one the moment she turned to find him extending a flute of champagne toward her. She might as well enjoy his company for as long as she would have it, as far as they would take it. Although not as far as he insinuated.
She had spoken true last night. She did hold the cards. While she had nothing on which to base her judgment other than her assessment of him, she knew he was not a man who forced a woman into doing something to which she objected. They might kiss, they might touch, but ultimately he would be left wanting. She wondered at the regret that filled her with the thought.
“How many estates do you have?” she asked.
He glanced down at her, and she shrugged. “I’m curious about you and you seem hesitant to discuss anything too personal. I can ask around to find out about your estates. I daresay the solicitor seeing to my husband’s estate could tell me. He seems to know the well-heeled and the aristocracy quite well.”
“Who’s your solicitor?” he asked.
“Beckwith.”
“Which one?”
“Daniel.”
“The youngest.”
“You’re familiar with Beckwith and Sons?”
He gave one curt nod. “Their father handled much of my business until he passed it on to his eldest. The other two sons have solid reputations. I don’t know that you could have gone to anyone better.”
“I fear he’s finding it a bit frustrating to settle everything. My husband did not leave his affairs in good order. Beckwith is having a time of it straightening things out. Meanwhile I rely on the kindness of strangers. Although I do worry that those to whom I am in debt will soon lose patience.”
“If anyone can hold them at bay, Beckwith can.”
“I shall depend on it. So your estates?” she prodded, wanting to get them away from discussing Beckwith. She wasn’t too concerned about Avendale approaching the man about her business, as it was obvious that he was more interested in his own.
“Two plus my residence in London. Ghastly large, but it came to me through my father. I suspect I shall always have it.”
“You mentioned that he died when you were four. Have you many memories of him?”
“Very few, none of them worth your time.”
