Page 41 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
“But my legs are longer, will get us there faster.”
She dropped her head to the curve of his shoulder. “Why do you lock yourself in your library when you’re in a foul mood?”
“I don’t like others to see my temper.” He started up the sweeping staircase. “I see it as a weakness.”
“I don’t think anything about you is weak.”
She was wrong there. Where she was concerned, he wasn’t nearly as strong as he needed to be. Twice now this evening she’d diffused his anger with little more than a smile. If he weren’t careful, she might change him irrevocably.
That he could not risk.
She thought she could become accustomed to his strong arms holding her, to his carrying her where he wanted her to be. The thought angered her. She’d not needed anyone since she had run away from her father when she was seventeen. She hadn’t exactly been on her own, but she was the one responsible for the others. They were with her because they believed in her, because she was the one willing to do anything to see them all safe.
Wasn’t that the reason that she was now in the duke’s bedchamber as he slowly lowered her feet to the carpeted floor?
It had to be the reason, the only reason. She wouldn’t allow it to be more, to think that perhaps a week with her wouldn’t be enough for him. That something grand could come from something steeped in retribution.
She would leave here with memories only. She knew that. He would not give her any part of himself that she could carry away. All he would give her was pleasure. Nothing deeper than that.
His large hands slowly worked free the buttons on her nightdress. A cheap thing that she could easily replace if he ripped it apart. But no, he had chosen to ruin something that had cost her a pretty penny. She smiled. No, it would costhimas it was included in the bills he would be paying. And then he would pay for it again when she had another ordered before the week was done.
She supposed she should have waited until all the creditors were paid before she came to be with him, but he was a blackguard with standards. A duke who would pay his debts, even if those debts were hers. Strange how she trusted him, trusted his word.
A little voice whispered for her to trust him with everything, but she couldn’t. The time spent with him was as much for herself as anything. As her nightdress slid to the floor, she thought of nothing except him, except Avendale.
The satisfaction in his eyes, the admiration, the heat.
“God, but you are beautiful,” he said, his voice rough with desire. “I could flog myself for going so quickly before and denying myself the sight of you completely unclothed.”
“Perhaps I’ll flog you for denying me the sight of you.” She didn’t know from where her boldness heralded. She only knew that it felt right, that with him there was no shame in the naked form, no mortification in what they would share.
He wasn’t done up nearly as much as he’d been before. She merely had to release a few buttons at the front of his shirt, not even the cuffs. Then he was reaching back and dragging the cloth over his shoulders, over his head, slowly revealing a sculpted stomach and chest. Bronzed. And she wondered what he did to expose himself to the sun.
His eyes glinted with satisfaction. He knew he was beautiful. She wished she could bring him down a notch by telling him that she’d seen better, but it would be a lie and there was enough deception between them. Her fingers trembled slightly as she gingerly touched them to the heated flesh.
Avendale groaned low and she felt powerful to be able to affect him so. She flattened her hands just below his ribs and slowly caressed upward. Such firmness, such silk. How could he be both? She carried her hands on a journey over his chest, along his shoulders, and down his powerful arms. His muscles were like granite.
“I would tell you that you’re magnificent,” she said, meeting his eyes, “but I suspect enough ladies have told you that to swell your head.”
“None of them mattered.” His jaw tensed, a muscle there jumped, and she wondered if he’d fought to stop himself from saying she mattered.
What silly, fanciful thoughts. He cared nothing for her beyond what they would have here. He could have asked for a fortnight, for two, and she’d have granted it. But he merely wanted a week, and then he’d be done with her. As much as she might wish otherwise, she was one ofthem. The ones who, in the end, didn’t matter.
But she wouldn’t think of that. Not tonight.
She skimmed her hands up his arms, reversing the previous journey, until her hands rested where skin met cloth. She could see the bulge there, the strain against his trousers. She knew what it felt like buried within her, but she’d barely seen it.
Lowering her gaze, she flicked a button free of its mooring. Then another. Another. Setting him free. Pressing quivering fingers against the heat, she found it difficult to draw in air. “Had I gotten a good glimpse of this before, I might have been terrified.”
“Had I known you were a virgin, I’d have assuaged your fears.”
Easing down, she lowered his trousers, inhaling the musky, heady scent of him. When he stepped out of the cloth and nudged it aside, she glided her hands up his muscular thighs.
Slipping his hands beneath her arms, he brought her up. “You can explore later. For now I’m going to share with you what I was too selfish and consumed with need to share earlier.”
Once more, he lifted her up and set her on the bed, only this time he placed her along its length, her head coming to rest on a pillow. Stretching out beside her, he took her mouth so gently that she almost wept. Always there had been so much hunger between them, clawing at them, and she knew that he was tamping it down, striving to make amends when there was nothing which required recompense. Yet neither could she deny that she liked the slowness of his tongue stroking hers. She wound her arms around his shoulders, relishing the closeness of him.
Taking hold of her wrists, he pulled her hands over her head and clamped one hand around the fragile bones. “No touching,” he ordered. “This is all for you.”
