“Your Grace,” she protested, her voice as weak as her defenses.
For even as she tried to summon the faces of her mother and her younger siblings, all she could see was the way the Duke of Sedgewick was looking at her now, as if he wanted to take her in his arms and carry her away.
“Tell me you’ve not been doing the same,” he challenged, his thumb trailing along the edge of her bottom lip.
A whimper escaped her. He was too much. How was she to resist him when he was setting her aflame? When he was handsome and vulnerable, when his eyes were slumberous with desire and the promise of so much more? She wasn’t strong enough. She couldn’t do it.
“Tell me to kiss you, Joceline.”
Her eyes fluttered closed, trying to shut him out. Perhaps she could summon her defenses if she couldn’t see his face, stark with an intoxicating blend of hunger and tenderness.
“I can’t,” she said, even as every part of her longed to say the words.
“I won’t kiss you until you tell me you want it too,” he murmured, moving his thumb along the bow of her upper lip now.
His touch swept over the seam of her lips, and a cry tore from her, because she couldn’t bear another moment of denying him. Her eyes flew open, their stares melding. His head was bent toward hers, his dark-gold hair falling around the sharp angles of his face.
“I want it,” she admitted quietly. “I want it too.”
His hand moved to cup her cheek, and then his mouth was on hers, triumphant, demanding. His tongue slid deep, and low in her belly, a warmth unfurled. They kissed as if they were starved for each other. As if each press of their lips would be the last, tongues writhing, mouths open and voracious.
Their hands remained entwined, and he drew hers between them, flattening her palm over his heart so that she could feel his heat seeping into her, the frantic pace beating. His coat was smooth and fine, his chest a wall of muscle, and oh, the freedom to touch him—a wondrous gift. Her other hand settled on his shoulder as their lips moved as one. But that wasn’t enough. She wanted to feel more of him. Wanted to know if his hair was as soft and smooth as it looked. So she slid her fingers along the rigid blade of his shoulder, then higher to his neck, and higher still, grasping a handful of his sleek hair.
He groaned and broke the kiss, his teeth nipping at her lower lip. The action was so carnal and animalistic, a far cry from the elegant, icy duke she had come to know. It was as if he sought to consume her. But she understood the feeling, because it wasechoed deep within her. She wanted to tear off his clothes and see his scars. To run her lips over him, to lick him, to sink her teeth into him and leave a mark. She wanted him to be hers.
That can never be, said a voice inside her.
“I need to return before I’m missed,” she forced herself to protest, even if the words felt sacrilegious after everything that had passed between them.
But she needed to remind herself of who she was, what she was. Needed to remind him, too. And the longer she tarried here in this salon, trading stolen kisses with him, the greater the peril for the both of them.
“Come to me tonight after everyone is abed,” he murmured. “Come to my chamber. I’ll be waiting for you.”
His invitation shocked and intrigued her. The very notion of going to his bedroom was forbidden and yet so potently tempting that a rush of liquid need settled between her thighs, making her knees tremble.
“You know I cannot do that,” she denied, even as she wanted to more than she wanted anything. “If I were to be seen, it would be disastrous for the both of us.”
Something flickered in his gaze, but then he kissed her again. Kissed her and kissed her until she forgot her objections. Until she forgot the past, the present, the future. Forgot anything that wasn’t his mouth on hers, his body pressing into hers, insistent and masculine and so very big and strong.
When he ended the kiss, she was mindless and breathless, uncertain if she could even remain standing on her own two feet without clinging shamelessly to him for support.
He cupped her cheek, holding her captive in his unique stare, their lips a scant inch apart. “I need you longer, Joceline. I want you without worrying that we’ll be interrupted.”
The temptation was there, so very strong. She wanted to tell himyes. To throw caution to the wind and follow her heartinstead of her head as she had these last nine years. And yet, she had far too many responsibilities, her younger siblings not old enough to earn their way, and her mother having no means of supporting them without abandoning them. She couldn’t allow her brother and sisters to be torn apart. They depended upon her.
“I don’t dare,” she told him softly, sadly, wishing their circumstances were different. “The risk is far too great. I’m sorry, Your Grace.”
Reluctantly, she forced herself to step away from him, the mantel clock chiming to tell her that she needed to go at once. They hadn’t any time left.
“I’m sorry,” she added, eyes welling with tears she blinked furiously away.
“Joceline,” he implored again, looking as stricken as she felt. “Please.”
Shaking her head, she moved swiftly from the room, dabbing at her eyes with the back of her hand to remove all evidence of the emotions she couldn’t allow herself to feel.
The Duke of Sedgewick was not for her, and there was no better confirmation of that than when she passed by Mr. Dunreave in the servants’ hall, his gaze calculating and shimmering with new suspicion.
Lady Diana Collinghamwas a flaxen-haired beauty. A true English rose with a porcelain complexion, sky-blue eyes, and a rosebud mouth that seemed to be perpetually turned upward in a smug smile. And why shouldn’t she be smug, Joceline thought crossly as she made her way to her small bedroom, feet aching to rival her back. She was young and unfailingly lovely, she wasa fine lady, and she was dressed in the comeliest silk gowns Joceline had ever seen, confections that would have put her cousins to shame.
