“I disagree,” the Duke said. “You might believe that you are subtle, my lady, but you are not. I know that you have some plan that you are working on.”
Bridget’s face warmed. He still kept his hand wrapped around her arm, and as if he knew where her thoughts had gone, His Grace moved closer to her. Bridget’s back struck the wall, and the Duke brought his body against hers. All her thoughts went hazy, as her pulse jumped.
“I assume your plan is to persuade me not to marry you,” His Grace said.
“I am planning nothing.”
He tipped his head to her, so his breath fell in warm puffs of air against her neck. “I do not believe you, and you must know that lying befits neither my duchess nor my wife.”
“I am not lying. You are imagining enemies where there are none.”
“I would hardly call you my enemy,” His Grace said. “My opponent at best. But I do wonder what you plan to do if I change my mind. Hm?”
Bridget searched for some answer to his question, but none was forthcoming.
“I suggest that you become accustomed to the reality of your situation, which is that you will marry me and learn how to be a proper wife.”
“No,” she whispered, indignation burning inside her. “No, you cannot simply enter my life and demand that I change who I am to suit your desires.”
“I think I can.”
Even if His Grace was right about the marriage, Bridget would not simply submit to him without a fight.
“You cannot,” she said coolly. “And I suggest that you tread softly, Your Grace. You might find that I change you instead to suit my desires.”
“Impossible.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. And if you would stop fighting me so much, you would realize just how pleasant marriage to me can be.”
He shifted a little, and Bridget bit back a groan. A proper lady would tell the Duke to move away, to unhand her and never corner her alone again, but Bridget found that she could do none of those things. Despite the indignation burning inside her, she still noticed how warm and solid his body was against her own.
“Pleasant?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“There is nothingpleasantabout our current predicament,” she said. “Only uncomfortable.”
“I disagree. If you were truly so devastated by thispredicament, you would have already done something to make me leave you be.”
“Maybe I am teaching you,” Bridget countered. “I am waiting to see if you can become a gentleman.”
He chuckled. “You do not want a gentleman, my lady.”
“No?”
“No.”
He brushed his nose against her own. A lump rose in her throat, and he tilted his head. His lips were a hairsbreadth from her own, and her entire body trembled in anticipation of his touch.
“Oh,” she breathed.
“You are welcome to protest,” he murmured.
She could. He had not kissed her yet, but she desperately wanted him to. The heat stirred in her core, and all her muscles went taut. “Please,” she whispered.
Their lips met, colliding with sudden force. His mouth was hot and warm and strange against her own. She kissed him as hard as she could, so hard that her own lips ached with the force of it. His hands curled in her hair, pulling so hard that her scalpached. A groan tore from Bridget’s throat, muffled by his lips against hers.
