His hand covered hers where it rested on the wool of his jacket. The temperature had dropped, and the sky was darker in the west. Perhaps they’d experience snow after all.
“This path leads to the other structure. We can take a look inside, and then we’d best be getting back on the road.”
They’d walked together before, on a few occasions at Eden’s Court. This path was narrower, paved with flagstone and rough in spots. She was forced to lean into him to avoid brushing against the bushes and trees in places. She continued to do so when they stepped out of the heavy brush.
“Could be used for a steward, or guests, I suppose.” Mr. Findlay gestured toward a porched in single story abode. Not much more than a rough-hewn cottage, but it had been carefully maintained. “Do you mind if we inspect the interior?” He was a commanding person, she knew that. He’d amassed a virtual empire on his own, and yet his voice cajoled and comforted her.
“Not at all.” How did she manage to sound so amiable when her thoughts had her swinging back and forth inside?
What would it feel like with a man like Findlay? The question would not leave her.
Could she? Dare she?
He once again held the door wide for her, and she stepped inside to glance around.
A counter, two chairs set around a table. On the other side, a single chair and a bed barely large enough for two. When the door closed behind them, Loretta glanced over her shoulder and held his gaze.
“How long has it been, Duchess?” He repeated his question from earlier.
Dare she?
Loretta bit her lip, took a deep breath, and flung everything she’d ever been taught to the winds. “Too long,” she finally answered.
Not Afraid
She did not disappoint. How had he known? He mentally shook his head. He did not know. But when that energy built up between two people, it was foolish to ignore it.
But this duchess. This woman… She presented something of a quandary to him.
He’d heard about these nabobs, how the ladies were taught to lie upon their beds and think of their duty to England. And God help this one, from what he gathered now, the duke hadn’t even liked women.
And then the tip of her tongue peeked out to lick her lips, and most of his blood began flowing to his nether regions.
She might be a duchess, but she was a willing female, and damned if Thomas Findlay didn’t know what to do with a willing female.
Allowing nothing but pure instinct to take over, he took her into his arms again and held her close, absorbing the occasional tremor.
“Are you afraid, Duchess?”
“No. Yes.” She buried her face in his chest.
Best to take her mind off any fears right away. Tilting her head back, he tasted her lips again and removed her coat at the same time. “Loretta?” He knew that to be her given name. He thought he’d read it somewhere.
“I was named after my grandmother,” she murmured, tilting her head back farther so that he could trace his lips along her chin to her throat.
“Unusual name for a duchess, isn’t it?” He dragged his mouth along tender skin until he located pulse beating wildly.
“She was American,” she explained on a gasp.
Thomas sucked and then nipped, his hands now exploring her back beneath the thinner material of her gown.
He was glad she wasn’t wearing the blacks today. His hands didn’t stop when he smoothed past the indention of her waist, instead boldly settling themselves upon the plump flesh of her derriere. He squeezed, tugged her close, and then growled. He’d taste every inch of this woman.
“I don’t like the name Lettie, though. My brother called me Lettie.”
He hushed her again with his mouth.
“How ’bout I just call you Duchess?”
