For his words? His insensitivity?
Or was he apologizing for the fact that she’d essentially had a white marriage? Of course, the duke had sired two heirs, he’d fulfilled his duty. But what of affection? What of sensual enjoyment?
“I’m sorry.” He spoke the words again, softly, near her ear.
She shook her head but no longer fought to free herself from him. Instead, her hands came up to clutch at his arms.
They stood alone together, neither moving or talking, for several moments. When she finally shook her head, he turned her around in his embrace so that she was facing him.
What he saw tore at his heart.
A lone glistening tear hovered at the corner of her eye. Warm, brown, soulful eyes. Thomas lifted his hand and collected it on his thumb.
“At the risk of angering you further,” he began. “How in God’s name did you manage?”
And surprisingly, she laughed at his question. And then she shifted her gaze away.
Whether she’d taken a lover or… His groin tightened. There were some sins, he supposed, a duchess would never admit to.
He moved his thumb to her lower lip. “How long has it been?” His question willed her gaze back to his.
But then lashes dropped, answering his question. If he were to hazard a guess, he’d bet she’d not been kissed in ages —— if ever.
He rubbed along the seam of her mouth, finding a hint of moisture, and then smooth, white teeth with the tip of his thumb. “You’re not dead, Duchess.”
“But he is. They are. And I fear some large part of me is gone.” She blinked unshed tears away. Her response wrenched at his heart.
“Butyou’renot dead.” He continued stroking her lip. She’d done nothing to stop him.
“Would you like me to kiss you?” Would she admit so much?
He didn’t think she was going to answer but then, “Do you want to?”
At which he couldn’t help groaning just a little. “I’m holding you, aren’t I, Duchess? I’m a man, aren’t I?” He didn’t care in that moment that he was so very far beneath her. She’d been denied the affection every woman needed.
“Yes.” He barely heard the word. God, but what a gift she was. A prickly, proud, gift.
He replaced his thumb with his mouth. Nipping at her before she could tighten those too often disapproving lips of hers.
He could practically hear her heart racing. “Breathe, Duchess.” He spoke the words against her mouth.
He dropped his hands to her shoulders, and then down her arms. She trembled beneath them.
Thomas deepened the kiss.
* * *
Roaring filled her ears,and heat swept through every inch of her body. Her hands fluttered in the air for just a moment, until she settled them upon his shoulders. Unyielding, hard. There would be no padding beneath his jacket as Prescott had sometimes worn.
Mr. Findlay’s arm tugged her closer, pressing all of her front into his solid length. His heat spread to her almost instantly.
So much sensation. She didn’t remember ever feeling this way. So much to experience in this one moment. His mouth, his hands moving along her sides, the unmistakable feel of his manhood pressing against her abdomen.
Too much.
He pulled away when she let out a small cry, but did nothing to release her. One hand cradled her cheek and the other wound around her waist.
His mouth remained only inches from hers, their breath mingling. His thumb massaged the tender skin beneath her chin. “Ah, Duchess.” He dropped another kiss at the corner of her mouth.
