And perhaps he didn’t.
But then she recalled the manner in which his gaze had feasted upon her lips, and she was certain he did. She had not consumed a drop of spirits this evening. She could not even blame the attraction she felt for Arden upon port consumption. And neither could she excuse it as a weakness somehow developed by her voyage across sea and land, respectively.
No, this was a weakness—an infirmity, as it were—of her own constitution. She alone was at fault. Well, she and the handsome, arrogant duke standing so near to her, his scent once more invading her senses. He was coming straight for her, and she was not certain she had the willpower, nor the desire, to stop him.
“Tomorrow is a new day, Miss Montgomery,” Arden was saying in his pristine aristocrat’s accent. Perfectly clipped, his baritone so lovely and deep, a tingle trilled through her. “Together, we will formulate a plan to anticipate the attacks you speak of. While we likely cannot stop these villains, we can make their evil tasks more difficult to carry out, if we put our minds to work upon it.”
If there was one word in the English lexicon that rendered the Duke of Arden more handsome and irresistible than he already was, she had just discovered it:together. And another, equally lovely word:we.
Those two words combined seemed to suggest Arden was on his way to accepting her as his partner. Those words also made her want to kiss him. In truth, it wasn’t just the words. It was also the way he was looking at her, respect gleaming in his eyes.
As a female Pinkerton agent, Hazel could count on one hand the number of times she had ever been considered an equal by the men she worked alongside. Even when she brought murderers and thieves to justice. Even when she disguised herself and conducted the sorts of complicated investigative missions her fellow male counterparts could never hope to evenimagineon their own. She was forever being judged and found lacking by her fellow male agents who expected higher pay and fancied themselves far more effective detectives solely because they were men.
“Miss Montgomery?” His head dipped lower. His hands had found her waist.
Wrong,she reminded herself.This is wrong. And foolish. And ruinous.Romantic complications of any sort did not blend well with working as a detective, and no one knew that better than Hazel. Still, she could not stifle her desire.
She met his gaze. “Arden?”
She wanted to kiss him. For the first time in years, a man had somehow slipped past her defenses. It had been so long, in fact, since she had last felt such a foolish weakness, that she had believed herself incapable of it.
“The hour grows late,” he said, offering up the voice of reason.
“Yes,” she agreed, “it does.”
She ought to excuse herself. Seek out her chamber. Get some much-needed rest. But instead, she remained where she was, temptation within reach. The longing inside her would not be satisfied. She was possessed by the fleeting suspicion that if she did not act now, she would forever regret not seizing the chance. There was no choice, not really.
Hazel closed the distance between them. She slammed her eyes shut and moved on instinct. One step, rising on her toes, the tilt of her head, her hands fluttering to his shoulders, was all it required. Simple gestures, taken separately.
But when her lips touched his, nothing was simple. Everything was alive and complex, sparking like electricity. His mouth was warm and supple, and her upper lip fit between his as if it had found its home. He groaned loud and low, the sound seemingly wrung from him against his will.
And then, his mouth moved. He did not just kiss her back; he consumed her. His lips took over, aggressive and bold, ravenous and insistent. He kissed her as she had never before been kissed, his mouth working hers open, his tongue slipping inside. Arden’s kiss was carnal and dominating, and nothing like the teasing, languorous meeting of mouths she had once known, seemingly a lifetime ago.
This kiss promised pleasure. It promised hands skimming beneath her skirts. It promised forbidden touches in forbidden places, places that had not been brought to life in years.
She gave in to the urge to run her tongue along his. He tasted sweet, like raspberry fool and port. A sound she barely recognized as her own emerged from her throat. Breathy and needy. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. He had long since shucked his jacket, and he wore only shirtsleeves and a waistcoat. Beneath her bare hands, he was warm and vital and so very strong.
Hazel forgot all the reasons why she should never have kissed the Duke of Arden. He deepened the kiss, his hands on her waist tightening as he stepped into her, bringing her body flush against his. She too had removed her jacket in the course of their work, and without the barrier of a corset beneath her bodice, her breasts crushed into his chest. Because she wore trousers, their limbs tangled.
She kissed him back with all the fervent need roaring to life within her. Urges that had lain dormant for far too long revived. An aching pulse between her thighs had her arching toward him, seeking contact, needing relief. But instead of relief, she only discovered more torture. He knew what she wanted, and he gave it to her, sliding his well-muscled thigh between hers.
The delicious friction made her remember how good it felt to be touched. How wondrous her body could feel. She thrust against him, wanting more. Wanting release. Her fingers had somehow found their way into his hair. Wavy and lustrous, it was softer than she had imagined. She held him to her, kissed him back with all the urgency swelling to a crescendo inside her.
One of his hands slid from her waist, cupping her breast, then kneading it. He found her nipple and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, tugging it through the stiff silk of her bodice. His touch was gentle yet commanding, and while their kisses became more frenzied, he caressed her slowly, taking his time and prolonging her torment.
They wrestled for control. Hazel wanted more, faster, harder. She felt as if she were starving and he was the feast laid before her. She wanted to gorge herself on him, because the rational part of her mind recognized this madness between them could not be indulged in ever again. It was once and done. Later, she could blame the lateness of the hour, the many years since she had been touched by a man, the dizziness of her mind after nine days at sea. She could blame Arden’s handsome face, and his expert kisses and knowing hands.
But Arden had his own pace. He nipped her lower lip, then licked away the sting, before fusing their mouths for a slower, deeper kiss. She sucked on his tongue, shamelessly rocking over his thigh as the pressure within her built. She was dimly aware of the buttons running down the front of her bodice coming undone.
She ought to stop him, but everything felt too good. Her eyes fluttered open at last, to find his startling green gaze burning into hers. She felt the shock and the connection of it deep inside. But still, she did nothing to stay his progress. She kissed him back, staring at him, her body moving rhythmically against his as, one by one, buttons slid from their moorings.
She kept kissing him as he opened her bodice completely. Kissed him as he peeled the sleeves down her arms, his hot hands gliding over her bare skin. Kissed him right back while he pulled her bodice from the waistband of her custom trousers and let it fall to the floor.
He tore his mouth from hers, his breathing harsh and ragged, his gaze never wavering, as he gripped her waist and lifted her, settling her bottom upon his desk. The crinkle of the map as she sat upon it reached her, and it ought to have been a reminder of what they were meant to be doing and why she was in his study alone with him.
But the Duke of Arden’s mouth was ripe and dark from kissing her, and his eyes were eating her up as he nudged her knees apart, settling himself firmly between her legs. And then the ridge of his manhood pressed against her core.
She gasped. He was large, even through the layers separating them. She knew what it meant now, as she had in the carriage. He wanted her. And she knew too what the pulsing, aching hunger inside her meant. She wanted him too.
