“Partially,” he admitted, his expression inscrutable.
What did it mean? Surely it could not mean what she thought, what her foolish, quickening heart and traitorous body yearned to believe, that he was attracted to her. That he desired her, even.
That this man, this duke, so unfairly handsome and longed after by so many women, would want her…
Impossible to believe.
“Why?” she asked anyway. “Why did you do it?”
She had to know. Somehow, a part of her which had long been dormant had been awakened. She, who had spent the entirety of her stay in London attempting to keep men at bay so she could remain unmarried and return to the haven of her home, suddenly wanted a gentleman to take note of her.
But not just any gentleman. It was the least suitable, the most forbidden, a man she did not trust, who infuriated her at every turn. One who held her very future in the palm of the hand that had caressed her so knowingly, turning her own body against her.
“Perhaps I wanted to shock you,” he said mildly, as if they were not still holding each other in a disastrously scandalous embrace in his bedroom. “To punish you for invading my territory without my consent. To teach you a lesson.”
It was hardly a punishment, his beautiful male body partially on display for her delectation. Indeed, quite the opposite. He had to know that. And the only lesson he had taught her was that her own body was unforgivably weak where his was concerned. That all it had required was the pass of his hand over her backside for her to turn as mindless for him as his legion of female admirers undoubtedly were.
She made none of those revelations.
Because also, she had seen the intensity in his expression when she had emerged from beneath the bed. And she did not think she mistook the masculine interest in the hands which had so tenderly passed over her form. He had not merely been searching for the place where her gown was snagged. She would wager every stitch of clothing she currently wore upon it. He had touched her and looked at her with wickedly erotic sensual intent.
But how to force him to admit it? And moreover, for what purpose? Surely, such confessions could bring nothing but ruin upon them both.
“You cannot shock me,” she said, finding her flagging bravado and clinging to it the way she was currently clinging to his beautiful chest. “I could look upon you all day thusly, and it would not affect me in the slightest.”
A terrible, towering lie, that. But it was hardly his concern, the way he made her feel, feverish and flushed and confused and wanting something sinful and mysterious.
His lips—far too lush for a man’s—curved again, into a smile laden with wicked intent. It was the smile of a man who was well aware of the effect he had, not just upon her, but most every other woman of his acquaintance.
“How amusing. Perhaps we should put it to the test.”
She laughed at the notion, so utterly nonsensical. “You wouldn’t dare.”
His eyes glittered in the late-afternoon light. “I’ve certainly done far worse than taking off my shirt, cravat, and waistcoat in the presence of an innocent lamb.”
“I’ve no doubt you have.”
The curtains were open. Did he always divest himself of his clothing with them thrust wide, so that anyone passing in the street below might glimpse him nude? Knowing Ridgely, it was likely. But then, she supposed Hunt House was set too far from the street for any curious onlookers to spy him or—worse—the both of them as they stood now, entwined with such indecent intimacy.
She must extricate herself from his embrace. From this conversation. From his chamber.
And yet, she remained reluctant. His arms were warm and strong and reassuring. She’d never been held this way, caressed as if she were someone worthy of worship, worthy of notice. Their bodies were perfectly aligned, melting into each other. She couldn’t shake the feeling that when she did finally go, this moment would never happen again.
What a pity and a blessing that would be, all in one.
The hand on her lower back suddenly moved again. Slowly. As if he had all day to conduct his task, sweeping up her spine. Melting her, one tantalizing touch at a time.
“Are you certain you’re unaffected by me?” he asked softly, his tone self-assured and redolent with disbelief.
She forced a smile, attempting to mimic the smug arrogance he so easily emitted. “Have I bruised your vanity? You must forgive me.”
“I’ve never yet held a woman in my arms whowasn’taffected.” His hand glided with delicious torpor between her shoulder blades, the one on her waist remaining planted like an anchor, holding her there.
Not that she would have fled, despite reason telling her to do so. There was nowhere else she would rather be, to her everlasting shame.
“There is a first for every occasion,” she mocked.
“Truly, my dear?” Now his touch had reached the back of her neck, and it was the startling familiarity of his bare fingers grazing her nape that caused her to inhale sharply.
