I love you, Ben. I love you. I’ll always love you.
Even if she lost it all later, she wanted this with him–whatever it was–now.
She ran her fingers through his raven hair and traced her fingertips down his jaw, exploring him, knowing him. Was he real? Oh, please, God, please, let him be real.
He slid his hand down her back and ran his palm over the curve of her backside. “Did I tell you how pleasing you look in this uniform?”
Having never been held and kissed so passionately before, she wasn’t really sure what else to do…so she followed his lead, noting that his ass was almost as hard as the rest of him.
“You look pleasing too.”
He tilted back his head and laughed, then zeroed in his gaze on hers. “You’re bold and scandalous,” he accused with a curious arch of his brow. “Will you do whatever I do?”
When she laughed merrily, still in his arms, he leaned down and kissed her again.
When he withdrew, his gaze as hooded as hers, she leaned up on the tips of her toes, curled her arms around his neck, tilted her head, and kissed him.
Finally, with a deep little growl, he released her. “Go, change into your gown,” he ground out. “I’ll wait here and change when you’re done.”
What happened? Was something wrong? “Ben–”
“Fable, my…protective cup is beginning to pain me.”
She threw her hands to her mouth, stared at him for a second, and then burst into laughter. A second after that, they were laughing together.
Fable didn’t think anything of the duke’s odd behavior. To her, there was nothing odd about him. He was a stern captain at times, but he was also compassionate and lighthearted at other times. Like everyone else, he wasn't the same all the time. Nothing odd about that. His Grace the Duke of Colchester was perfect.
But the two guardsmen entering the fencing room to practice–soldiers who had fought under the captain of the King’s Royal Army and knew him well, were quite stunned to see their captain laughing.
#
“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”
Though he kept his tone low from where he was sitting opposite of her on the floor of his study, the duke’s strong voice reverberated through Fable’s blood.
“You try.” He held the book of poems by William Shakespeare and pointed to the words. “Shhhhh-ahh-lll.”
She nodded, remembering the next, one-lettered word. “Shall I…”
“Very good,” he whispered through a smile and pointed to the next word. “Cc-omm-ppp–”
She couldn’t help but smile at the way his lips pursed to pronounce the p sound. She wanted to kiss again.
– “aa-rrrre. Compare.”
She repeated the word then fixed her gaze on his face in the soft light of the hearthfire and the dozen or so candles lit inside his study. There was furniture; a desk and chair, two larger, mahogany chairs with carved legs and arms, and upholstered in velvet, and an uncomfortable looking sofa. She liked sitting on the floor with him. He was slouchy and flexible, and incredibly sensual. Twice, she had to stop herself from climbing into his lap and kissing him.
“Good,” he encouraged. “So, shall I compare thee–” his Adam's Apple jumped up and down and his meaningful gaze poured into her– “to a summer’s day?”
She blushed, suddenly feeling like he was no longer reading.
“Thou art more lovely and more temperate,” he continued and slid closer to her.
She smiled at him, emboldening him closer still. She thought…hoped he was moving in to kiss her, but though, at one point, he was teasingly close enough to do it, he only skirted around her to sit behind her, his back against the wall, his breath against her nape. He sat close, his long legs spread out on either side of her, and held the open book before her.
“Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,” he recited against her ear. “And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.”
“Too short a date,” she repeated. “That’s very sad. Summer is only here for a short time.”
