He could say the same of her.
But what would be the use? This bold, unconventional woman was not meant to be his duchess. He required a quiet wife. The sort who would not ask him questions. Or tempt him. Or tickle him. Or invade his person like an enemy army at the portcullis. He preferred solitude. Quiet. Without question, the woman currently sniffing his neck would provide him none of the things he required in a wife.
Except for a massive amount of wealth.
But wealth could be found elsewhere, he reminded himself sternly.
“This is deuced improper, Miss Winter,” he forced himself to say. “If anyone were to walk into this chamber now, they would think we had been…”
He could not bring himself to form the words. For he feared that if he said them, he would be tempted to bring the words to life.
“Kissing?” she finished for him, because the vixen had no shame.
“No chance of that,” he scoffed tightly, far too aware of her face still all but buried in his neck. “I have never engaged in such recklessness before, and I would not begin now with you.”
Her head shot back, that bright, blue-green burning into his. “Did you just say you have never kissed a lady before?”
Bloody hell.
His ears were hot. And his cheeks. “I said nothing of the sort. You misunderstood me.”
“No.” She shook her head slowly, her gaze dipping to his mouth. “I did not. You said you had never kissed before. I fear it is too late to convince me otherwise, Your Grace. The words have already been spoken.”
Yes, they had, had they not? And for a man who spoke so little, he had certainly done the devil’s own work in revealing that which he had never before admitted aloud. Oh, his brother Ash assumed, and Gill had not made an effort to change that. But he had never before told another soul he had never even kissed a lady.
Nor a mistress.
Nor anyone.
He was a man fully grown, who had never kissed or made love to a woman. And while his brother’s rakish ways had more than made up for Gill’s lapses, that knowledge was cold comfort. A man was expected to have experience. Carnal knowledge.By God, a man was expected to speak to a lady. To woo her. None of which were feats he had ever been able to manage, thanks to his affliction.
The reminders of his failures had him releasing her wrists at last and taking a step back. He had allowed himself to linger far too long in her presence. Somehow, she had made her way past all his defenses. But now, she was once more his enemy. And he could not afford to allow her to storm his battlements.
“Believe what you will, Miss Winter,” he forced himself to say before sketching a perfunctory bow. “Good evening to you.”
He congratulated himself on striding past her, and leaving the chamber with his head held high, despite his foolish revelation.
But her mocking voice followed him out the door.
“It is only afternoon, Your Grace.”
Fuck.
So it was.
Chapter Two
Christabella could notstop thinking about the Duke of Coventry. During dinner the evening before, she had not been able to keep her eyes from him as he dined. Twice, his eyes had made their way to hers. Each time, the connection of their gazes had been shocking. Rather in the way a lightning bolt across the sky was. She felt as if their connection was visceral and real, a shared understanding passing between the two of them.
But he had only looked at her twice.
Twice.
And he had been rather rude in the salon the day before. True, she had been most forward and improper, but he could have handled her lapses with grace. Indeed, she had been quite the fool for him, sniffing him, telling him he smelled good, all but kissing his neck…his strong, deliciously corded, wonderfully masculine neck. The knot in his cravat had been elaborate and tied rather tightly. The prominence of his Adam’s apple just above the linen had seemed a temptation she could not resist.
Oh, how she had wanted to press her lips there. To kiss her way higher. All the way to his forbidding mouth. If she had to describe the Duke of Coventry’s lips in one word, it would begrim. But Christabella had never seen a challenge without wanting to conquer it. Or, in this instance, conquerhim. His lips, specifically.
She wanted to kiss him.
