But he could not go.
Eliza North had kissed him, perhaps deliberately, perhaps on purpose, and Nicholas needed to know why.
No, he wanted more than one fleeting kiss, to be sure.
Nine days after the stolen gems were discovered in Esmeralda’s house, the key turned in the lock of her cell. It was late in the evening, the time when she was most wary. She stood, putting her back to the wall opposite the door, the hard-won comb in her fist and hidden behind her back. Her heart was leaping with fear. In a way, waiting for the worst might be more terrible than enduring it. She was exhausted from worry and fear.
“There you are there then,” announced her jailor, who coughed lustily after his words. He then stepped aside to allow another to pass.
Esmeralda could only stare at the familiar silhouette of a man leaning upon a cane. He carried a lantern in his other hand and his lips were drawn to a taut line. The Duke of Haynesdale’s eyes glittered coldly as he appraised first her prison cell and then her.
Esmeralda knew she looked far from her best. Her dress, which had once been a spritely green and black stripe, was smeared with dirt. The cuffs of her jacket were soiled and her linen was in desperate need of a change. She had abandoned all hope of tending her own hair and had simply combed it out, leaving it in a single braid that fell down her back. She did not doubt that the lack of sufficient food had hollowed her cheeks and put shadows beneath her eyes–her stays were looser than they had been in years. But she stood and held his gaze, prepared for his indictment.
Doubtless he came to gloat. It was easy to recall both his words about women in her trade and his disdain. Regrettably, it was also simple to feel the thrill of his presence again. He was tall and broad, fiendishly handsome, undoubtedly ruthless, clever and the most desirable man she had encountered in years. Esmeralda was aware of the heat that slipped over her flesh when their gazes met.
“Fifteen minutes, Your Grace,” the jailor said.
Haynesdale granted that man a withering glance. “I will summon you when you are needed,” he said, a welcome steel in his tone.
The jailor considered this, blinked and retreated, after locking the door behind himself.
“I suppose it is to much to hope that you might have him thrashed,” Esmeralda said when the silence had stretched too long between them.
The duke smiled ever so slightly. “I am glad to see your fire has not been doused,” he said softly, then placed the lantern on the small table. Its light filled the chamber with a gold glow, making it look markedly better than Esmeralda knew it was. His gaze locked upon her again as he braced his cane against the chair. “I am certain you know the reason for my presence.” He began to untie his cravat, his gaze unswerving, his expression one of resolve.
Esmeralda would have retreated a step if the wall had not been immediately behind her. “You are my benefactor?” she asked in shock.
“Your astonishment is hardly flattering, Miss Ballantyne.” He cast his cravat onto the table, shedding his jacket immediately afterward.
Esmeralda felt her mouth work. He meant to possess her? Here? She was disgusted and dismayed—and yet, she could not keep herself from watching as he disrobed. He pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his tanned and muscled shoulders as well as the expanse of his chest. A part of Esmeralda yearned to touch him, to feel the hard head of him beneath her hands, and another was appalled at his presumption.
“But you have made your opinion clear…” she protested.
He gave her a hot look. “Can a man not change his thinking?”
“You!” Esmeralda spat as he took a purposeful step toward her. “What manner of vermin are you to take advantage of me in such an ungentlemanly way?”
“I believe there is no reasonable reply to that query,” he said, so utterly untroubled that she raised her hand to slap him. He caught her wrist in his hand, then rubbed his thumb against the soft skin on the inside of her wrist, his eyes fairly glowing as he bent to press a kiss to her flesh.
No doubt he felt the wild flutter of her pulse against his lips, because he smiled, a predator content with the situation. Esmeralda tried to lunge past him but he caught her easily, lifting her off the ground and holding her captive against his chest. She beat on his shoulders with her hands, hating that her strength was so diminished.
“I shall fight you every moment,” she threatened in a whisper.
“I do not doubt it,” he replied. He kept one arm locked around her waist, as invincible as a band of steel, then raised his other hand to grip her nape. His fingers slid into her hair slowly, his touch sending an unwelcome shiver through her, and Esmeralda could not tear her gaze from his mouth.
“I will bite you,” she whispered and his smile flashed.
“Oh, I hope so,” he murmured, then captured her mouth with his.
She had expected a fierce kiss, a claiming that showed no regard for her feelings, so the tenderness of his touch caught her by surprise. She failed to bite him, much less to fight him, for his lips moved against hers with a reverence and a persuasiveness that she could not deny.
His kiss was an homage. A salute and a tribute.
It was utterly seductive.
Esmeralda’s hands landed on his bare shoulders as she surrendered to temptation. For years, she had admired him, wondered about him, even dreamed of him—and now he kissed her with a reverence and a passion that was her undoing.
He made a sound of satisfaction at her capitulation and deepened his kiss. The heat rose between them with dizzying speed, leaving Esmeralda clutching at him as he held her captive and feasted upon her mouth. She closed her eyes, reasoning that she owed him at least this kiss, then forgot all her objections in the haze of pleasure he conjured.
