“It is a rare thing for a Duke to take care of a lowly governess.”
“Stop that, Imogen,” he said softly. “In this moment, we are peers.”
She ate slowly then. The warmth of the tea and the richness of the food revitalized her.
As she relaxed, the air in the room shifted. She polished off every bite. The heavy, grief-stricken atmosphere was erased by her full belly. She could feel his gaze on her throat moved when she swallowed.
Suddenly, he set the plate aside, his eyes locking onto hers as she finished the last bite.
“Do you know,” he whispered, his voice thick with a sudden, dark intensity, “that when I saw him touch you, I felt as though the world was ending?”
Imogen set her tea down, her breath catching. “Ambrose…”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Look at me,” he said. “Tell me, are you all right now?”
Imogen kept her gaze fixed on her hands, her fingers tracing the rough seam of her wool skirt.
“This is all so much, so fast,” she sighed. “But yes, I am all right.”
“What would make you feel better?”
“I do not know what to think, what to do, how to act?—”
“Let me do the acting for us, angel,” he said as he got up from the chair and knelt in front of her.
“Oh, Ambrose,” she said as she let out a sob of relief, leaning into him and putting her arms around his neck.
The tension that had been building between them for weeks, the yearning, the fear, the stolen glances, suddenly surged into something uncontrollable.
“You smell so good,” he said softly, nuzzling her neck. “Like lavender, and old paper.”
“And you smell like pine, peat and mountains,” she said in return. “With a hint of brandy.”
“I do like to indulge,” he said. “But I think today, I would like something sweeter. Can I taste you, Angel?”
He tilted her chin lower, and her lips met his in a gentle kiss. He started slowly, kissing her with slow pecks, sweet licks. Then, he moved his tongue inside, and they quickly began kissing in a feverish, torrid pace. She threw her arms around his neck, leaning down as he knelt before her reverently.
“You taste exquisite,” he moaned into her mouth as he slid his tongue back in. “I cannot imagine how the rest of you tastes…”
The air in the room grew heavy and hot as she tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth onto hers. He wanted to erase every cruel word Lady Presholm had ever spoken and to replace the memory of Lord Presholm’s unwanted touch with his, and only his.
He moved with admiration that made her breath hitch. Ambrose used his hands to trace the curves of her body through hergown, moving them up and down before finally settling on her generous hips.
“I bow to no one, but this is quite a lovely exception,” he growled as he inched his fingers down her legs, then slowly lifted her skirts to her knees.
“Oh, Ambrose,” she cried as her hips bucked upward. “Don’t tease me.”
“I never tease. And oh, you are eager, Angel,” he said with a tsk-tsk, easing her legs wide apart.
“What are we doing? I am terribly inexperienced, and I do not know how… or what…”
“Do not worry about a single thing except sitting there and enjoying this. Let me savor you like the exquisite creature you are.”
“I cannot possibly let you!” She screamed, evidently realizing his intent.
“You. Are. A. Goddess. You will not deny me, will you?”
