“No! How wicked of you to say it, Your Grace.”
“Why are you afraid to watch?”
“Must you provoke my blushes?”
“Yes.”
“You are insufferable.”
James laughed, and even to his ears, it sounded mocking. “Why are you afraid, Miss Armstrong?”
“It makes me feel too …” she whispered so softly James barely heard.
“Too what?” he said, his tone as low as hers.
A slight tremor cascaded through her body. “Too achy.”
Fucking hell.
“How long will they take?” she asked, sounding irritable.
Holding back his chuckle, he said, “It can be a minute, or five, or even fifteen.”
Miss Armstrong’s soft groan of denial stroked wickedly against his senses as he imagined the hot little sounds she would make if he took her. His cock rose hard and thick and sure between them, pushing at her belly. James silently cursed virulently, shifting so she did not feel his reaction to her proximity. He gripped her shoulders, and as if she sensed he was about to push her away, the damn chit pressed even closer.
CHAPTER6
Three hundred and nineteen, three hundred and twenty, three hundred and twenty-one…
Between her legs pulsed and burned with shocking need. All elicited from the duke’s closeness and the sounds the lovers made. Elizabeth knew she should move away from the duke, for it was terribly improper to be pressed so against his body. An intuitive feeling nagged at Elizabeth, warning her that any encounter with the Duke of Basil could carry ruinous consequences, perhaps even posing a risk to her virtue.
Common sense urged her to retreat, to return to the safety and familiarity of the ballroom, yet her feet refused to comply. Inside, the ball was a tableau of shattered hopes and stifled expectations; outside, in the presence of the duke, she found a surprising sense of freedom. More importantly, standing here was her choice.
“Miss Armstrong.”
“Yes?”
When he did not reply, she glanced up. The clouds scuttled across the sky, and the smallest sliver of light from the crescent moon highlighted his face. The piercing silver of his eyes were like embers in the darkness and the duke regarded her with leisurely intensity, a faintly insolent smile on his lips. Yet she did not move, held by the pulsing ache between her thighs. Now entirely caused byhim. Unexpectedly, Elizabeth felt breathless and uncertain. She had not imagined encountering a tryst when she escaped the ballroom and her aunt’s machinations.
“Would you like a drink?”
“A drink?”
“Hmm, earlier, I pilfered a decanter from the library.”
“Yes,” she gasped almost desperately, hating that she felt so rattled. Especially as she wanted to turn around and watch the couple so badly.
More than five minutes had passed since the couple behind her started their coupling. Their groans and cries grew more muted, and that heat low in Elizabeth’s belly bloomed and spread.
Four hundred and sixteen, four hundred and seventeen, four hundred and eighteen.
The duke gripped her shoulders and gently eased her from his body. He stepped away, and her eyes strained to make him out in the darkness of the alcove as the small moonglow vanished behind clouds. The duke pressed a decanter into her hands. Elizabeth did not ask about the contents, tipping it to her mouth and taking a healthy swallow. Fire exploded in her mouth, and the burning warmth traveled to her belly, warming her entire body.
“What is it?” she asked, keeping her voice low. Though she very well doubted even a sudden deluge of rain would part the tupping couple.
“Whisky.”
“Quite odd, it tastes … woodsy.” Elizabeth tipped it to her mouth and took a few more swallows.
