“Now, I am exposed,” Phoebe murmured as her gaze flicked to the discarded glove before returning to his emerald eyes.
“Exposed…” He swirled the word around in his mouth before repeating it a second time. “And how does that make you feel?”
“Ravenous,” she whispered.
“Indeed?” Both his eyebrows shot upward.
“Ravenous for what? What do you need, Lady Phoebe? What do you want?”
“I want you to kiss me,” she said, carelessly throwing caution to the wind.
Phoebe knew that she and the Duke were standing in the garden behind Tripleton House.
At any moment, Genevieve could reappear, or any number of others could come tripping down the path. Her father, her mother, Lord Birchwood… she did not care who saw her out there with the Duke. She wanted to experience her first kiss, and she wanted the Duke of Talwyn to be the man to give it to her.
“Done.”
Phoebe had no time to absorb his acquiescence before his mouth was on hers. The Duke pressed his lips to Phoebe’s and a flurry of thoughts raced through her brain.
He is kissing me. The Duke of Talwyn is kissing me.
There were other incoherent bits floating here and there, but Phoebe did not try to decipher any of them. Instead, she poured all her focus into the moment, wanting to memorize it so that she might use this kiss to inspire her writing later.
The scent of apples overwhelmed her nostrils, but Phoebe rather liked the sweet smell. It was comforting.
She moved her mouth into a pucker, reforming her lips to match the motions he was making. It was difficult to do, feel, and experience all these things at once, but she did not want to miss out on any part of this glorious experience.
Her bare hand, the one he had peeled the glove from, rose of its own accord and slipped upward. She ran her fingers through his hair and the Duke moaned when her nails scrubbed against his scalp. All this while, his top hat had been tucked under his free arm, but now, he dropped the thing so that he could wrap both arms around her waist.
Phoebe was not sure what he did with his hands, but suddenly it felt as though spiders with exceedingly long legs were dancing up her spine, tickling her in the most delightful way.
“Mmm…” she moaned when the Duke’s tongue poked out of his mouth and slid across the seam between her lips. He flicked at her opening, snakelike, and it was then that she was reminded of the mask he had worn on the first night they met.
As if he could read her thoughts, the Duke pulled away and spoke in a low, husky voice, “I have wanted to kiss you since that night in the small library, Lady Phoebe. When I told you my name was Pyramus and you agreed to be my Thisbe, I was ready to tear down the wall between us and take you in my arms then.”
“What stopped you?” Phoebe panted. Her chest heaved as she inhaled more of the Duke’s intoxicating scent.
“Propriety.”
Phoebe laughed gleefully. “When has the Duke of Talwyn ever cared about propriety.”
“Never.”
Once more, the Duke pressed his mouth to hers. This time when their lips collided, Phoebe was more confident. She did not cheer inwardly but instead took charge of the situation and let her tongue pop out of her mouth so that she might lick his lips.
She felt a surge of power course through her entire body as she threaded her bare fingers through the Duke’s hair and pulled him closer. His hands drifted lower on her back and just as she was starting to wonder where they would wander next, he backed away.
“Now.”
Phoebe blinked at him in confusion. “Now what?”
He disentangled his limbs from hers and stepped backward so that plenty of fresh air wafted between them.
“I care about maintaining propriety now.”
“But…but why?” Phoebe’s voice cracked on that last word, and she was flooded with a sense of shame.
This is not how it’s supposed to go.
