Heaven help her.How could he not see he was all she thought about? How could he not know his hands and his mouth and every wickedness he could visit upon her were all she craved?
Already, he had banished her irritation, replacing it with a breathless anticipation. With a tightness in her belly, a quiver between her thighs where her body recalled how he had pleasured her in the carriage. How he had circled her entrance, the aching center where she hungered for him most, and yet he had not breached her.
“What if I say yes?” she dared to ask, testing him. “What if he is my lover?”
Never mind the notion of Eli in such a role was laughable. Arden did not know otherwise, and his response meant everything to her.
A muscle in Arden’s jaw tensed. “Answer me, Hazel.”
Ah, but she was too busy enjoying watching this strong, powerful, arrogant man squirm. He was an English aristocrat. She was an American orphan. He wore neckties and gold signet rings. She wore divided skirts and took on a role many considered a man’s work. There could not exist two more disparate characters in all the civilized world.
He was near enough to touch, but she had been in closer proximity to him on many occasions before. Somehow, the small distance heightened her awareness of him. Her nipples were painfully hard, and the ache in her core deepened. She wanted his touch there, stroking her as he had done before. More shocking, even, she wanted his mouth. His tongue. She had experienced some of the pleasures of the flesh with Adam, and she was not entirely innocent. Though she had fancied herself exempt from such weaknesses, the man before her had proven her wrong.
“Why does my answer matter so much to you?” she countered now, wondering if he would give her the truth she longed to hear.
“You know why,” he said in that low, decadent baritone of his that never failed to send a trill of anticipation straight through her.
She hoped she knew why. But that did not mean she did not wish to hear it from his lips directly. The last few days had been a whirlwind of research, investigation, and recovery from her attack. He had resurrected the walls between them, and she burned to bring them down.
“Tell me,” she whispered. She closed her journal with a snap.
“Because I want you for myself,” he admitted, the concession sounding as if it had been torn from him. “I should not, but I do.”
She met his gaze unflinchingly. She had lived her life without adherence to conventions. From the time she could first recall any memories, she had known she was different. She had not cared for dolls or dresses. She had longed for freedom and adventure. She had wanted to exceed the bounds she had been given as a female.
And so, she had.
Boundaries were meant to be defied. In this life, she was a trespasser. She always had been and always would be. She had worked day and night, honing herself, educating herself, fighting for herself, to be the best Pinkerton she could be. She was an agent, a detective, a respected mind in her field despite every obstacle which had been placed in her path.
For all those reasons, she met the Duke of Arden’s gaze without a hint of hesitation. “Then take me,” she said.
Chapter Eleven
It had beena long time since Lucien had last had an assignation with a woman, and he had never previously had one in his own home. He was uncertain of the protocol. In the wake of Hazel’s bold invitation in his study, he had been hit with the twin weights of duty and desire. He ought to have turned her down, but from the moment the words had left her lips, he had only been capable of forming one response.
Come to me tonight.
A simple statement, a request of his own, and yet it had changed everything. The tension between them, always simmering beneath the surface of their every interaction, had burst into an uncontrollable flame. Need had seized him, and thank God she had taken mercy on him and excused herself from the study, deciding to abandon their work early and retire to her chamber.
Because from the moment she had offered herself to him, the desire to possess her consumed him, along with an absolute disregard for anything other than Hazel Montgomery lying naked beneath him. Not even drawing life-giving breaths seemed as necessary.
After she had gone, he had remained in place, standing precisely where she had left him, staring at the closed door, inhaling the lingering scent of her and willing his erection to abate. He had known, of course, he could not run after Hazel, haul her into his arms, and carry her to his bedchamber like a pillaging Viking of old.
Instead, he had bided his time, walked calmly to his desk, and neatly stacked and arranged his correspondence, locking away sensitive documents as always. He paced, stopping to check his pocket watch every few minutes until finally a half hour had passed between Hazel’s retreat and what would become his own.
And then, at last, he had ascended the stairs and found his way to his chamber, where he dismissed his valet and stripped to a dressing gown. He paced the confines of his chamber now, feeling a bit like a callow youth. Anticipation skittered through him, along with an endless barrage of questions.
What if Hazel changed her mind?
Why was he about to do something as foolish as bedding her?
What would it be like to have her beneath him, all feminine skin and smooth curves?
A subtle knock sounded. He wasted no time in hastening to the door and opening it. Hazel stood, wide-eyed and beautiful, on the threshold. She was still wearing her trousers and bodice, but her stockinged feet were without their customary black boots. He knew not if it was a sign she had indeed thought better of her rash decision in his study, but he wanted nothing more than to undress her himself. To peel those trousers down her legs. To undo the fastening on her drawers. To put his tongue on her.
Shaking himself from the licentious reverie, he stepped back, gesturing wordlessly for her to enter. Her gaze intent upon his, she moved swiftly forward, into his domain. He closed the door and turned to drink in the sight of her in his bedchamber. How oddly erotic it was to see her surrounded by his dark, masculine furniture. To see his bed in the background, just over her left shoulder, beckoning.
But he could not just pounce on her, and he knew it. Suddenly, everything he had ever learned about wooing a woman seemed to have disappeared from his mind. He forced his whirling thoughts to slow.
