Page 59 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
He looked down on her, and she wondered when he had become blurred. Squinting, she was able to make out his puckered brow. “I believe I am me,” he said. “I haven’t morphed into someone else.”
She shook her head. The world spun. She flung out her hand. “No, this place. It’s not you.”
“You’re wrong there. It’s where I flourish.”
“No, it’s where you come when you want to be lost.” She rose up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his luscious lips. “Why do you want to be lost? What are you striving to escape?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But she did know.
“Here, finish this off,” he said.
Feeling a cool breeze, she welcomed the warmth that his scotch would bring. She downed it in one swallow. The glass slipped from her fingers, shattered. Avendale merely laughed and dragged her away.
Suddenly there was another glass in her hand. She didn’t remember how it came to be there.
“Drink up,” he ordered.
“I’m nearly foxed, I think.”
“I want you completely foxed.”
“Why?”
“Because this place calls for it.”
She drank deeply, thinking nothing had ever tasted so marvelous. Tossing the glass aside, she moved in front of Avendale and wound her arms around his neck. “I’m going to win the bet.”
“I don’t think—”
A crack of thunder prevented her from hearing the rest of his words. The skies opened, releasing a deluge. Stepping away from him, raising her arms in the air, she spun in a circle. “I win! I win! I told you it would rain!”
Snaking an arm around her waist, he drew her back to him. “I’ve never kissed a woman in the rain.”
“Then kiss me, so you’ll have the memory, so you’ll never forget me.” Quite suddenly, it seemed imperative that he never forget her, that something about her be different from the countless other women who warmed his bed.
“I shall never forget you.”
He took her mouth with a savagery that surprised her. Was it this place? The decadence of it, the madness of people seeking whatever pleasure they could find?
It didn’t matter. She was vaguely aware of shrieks, the patter of feet as people ran past them, seeking shelter, yet she and Avendale stayed as they were, not caring one fig that they were getting drenched. She thought how lovely it would be when they returned to his residence and he warmed her.
But for now, she wanted nothing more than this: his lips ravaging hers as though he could never have enough of her, as though nothing in the world were more important than holding her at this moment.
Rose snuggled beneath the blankets until she was flush against Avendale, absorbing his warmth. He began slowly stroking her back, which she should have found soothing, but her head felt as though it had exploded sometime during the night and was only now starting to come back together, each piece locking into place with a snap that caused a pain behind her eyes. She couldn’t recall ever indulging to such an extent. Why would Avendale do this to himself night after night? While she had to admit that the majority of the evening had seemed like jolly good fun, she wasn’t certain it was worth this agony. She could have had as much fun with fewer spirits. She might have even remembered the night. At that precise moment it was little more than snippets, flashes. Arriving here. Avendale disrobing her. A deliciously warm bath. Snuggling against him. The world spinning when she closed her eyes, pulling her down into a vortex where her past circled around her, a thousand ravens pricking her conscience until she was bleeding. Avendale cooing to her, promising all would be well.
She’d wanted to tell him everything, but an instinct for survival stronger than the allure of a clean conscience overrode the taunting of the spirits. Now she was suffering from the indulgence.
She couldn’t even enjoy the rain as she usually did because it was as though each droplet was pinging off her brain instead of the windowpane. A constant barrage of irritating noises. But at least she’d won her bet with Avendale. It had rained, was raining still.
Avendale cupped her backside, pressed her against him. He was hot and hard. Suddenly all the discomforts lessened.
“I thought you’d never awaken,” he said in a voice roughened from sleep.
“You don’t sound as though you’ve been up all that long,” she answered, nipping his collarbone.
He laughed, a rich, deep sound that chased away the lingering cobwebs in her mind. “Oh, I’ve been up long enough and aching for you.”
