“Odd?” she shivered as he found another spot that had the skin prickling along her arms.
“In consideration of your caustic wit and personality.” His breath feathered her hair. “Which others mistake for mere rudeness and lack of decorum. That is the second thing I know. Your blunt manner is used to shock others so you will be…seen.”
Sophia tilted her head. Roxboro’s mouth was very near her own.
“Your hostility towards me is,” he whispered with only a fraction of air separating their lips. “Is because you thinkIdon’t see you, Sophia, Duchess of Roxboro. But I do.” His mouth caressed hers. “I only pretend that I do not.”
“Oh,” she sighed. Warmth bloomed along her chest.
“I will not admit to it tomorrow.” Roxboro’s tongue flicked along her collarbone, nipping and skimming until she shivered and arched closer.
Their lips caught, mouths clinging together. This kiss was…lazy but so…blatantly carnal in nature that Sophia’s toes stretched in to the deep pile of the rug. His fingers carefully trailed over one breast, palm hovering over the nipple, barely brushing the hardened tip hidden beneath the lace.
Sophia whimpered. Pressed herself closer.
Threading her fingers through the silk of Roxboro’s hair, she kissed him back with every bit of longing inside her. Sophia hadn’t realized that she’d had any yearning for him at all, but—
Oh, I do.
Roxboro’s hands mapped every curve through the silk and lace while his tongue teased along the bottom of her mouth, coaxing Sophia to open for him, which she did without hesitation. Sucking at her tongue, an altogether erotic sensation, two fingers trailed along the slope of her breast, before nipping at Sophia’s bottom lip.
She tugged at his hair. She wanted more. Would beg for him to—
A pained, annoyed sound came from Roxboro. He grabbed Sophia’s hands from his hair and placed them on her lap. “I can’t,” he said under his breath, pushing away from her. “I—cannot bed you.” He turned away and swallowed the remains of his glass. “No,” he said more firmly. “Absolutely not.”
“I see.” Roxboro’s heat fell away from her body, leaving Sophia cold inside and out. His rejection after such a passionate embrace left Sophia’s heart to beat shallowly in her chest. For a moment, she’d thought—
“That’s—perfectly fine.” It wasn’t. This was a mistake. A miscalculation on her part. “I prefer a more…convenient marriage. One that is not muddled with physical relations. I would prefer, Roxboro, that you not ever touch me again,” she said with more force.
“I won’t.”
“Don’t so much as offer your hand to help me into the bloody carriage. Or I will kick you in your well-laudedcock, Your Grace.” Sophia jerked to her feet.
“Jesus, don’t say that,” Roxboro murmured, shifting on the sofa.
“I’m pleased we understand each other.”
I am ever foolish about Roxboro. But I won’t be again.
When he didn’t reply, Sophia poked a finger in his arm. “Do you understand me, Roxboro?”
“I do.” His body slid down along the leather of the sofa until his backside hit the floor. “Now, go away, Lady Salmon.”
Sophia stumbled to the door, dropping the empty wine bottle on the rug. Timmons would clean it up. Or not. She didn’t care.
“You’ve used that one more than once, Your Grace.”
Chapter Seventeen
Alexander squinted asthe sunlight hit his face. He was rarely up this early and frankly, wished he was still in bed. His temples pounded so fiercely the beat had him a bit unsteady on his feet, and lord knows, Alexander needed no help with that.
As a lad, he was forever tripping or stumbling. Stubbed his toes on everything. Damon grew exasperated but Aunt May only hugged Alexander tight and whispered he would outgrow his awkwardness. But he never had. Several physicians were called to examine the Duke of Roxboro, but not one found anything wrong with Alexander. He was just…clumsy.
Good lord, his entire staff at The Pillory lived in fear that he’d trip over a rock and land in the pond at his estate and drown.
To be entirely fair, he had tripped into the pond. Damon eventually found him, thrashing about and covered with wet reeds, and fished Alexander out. An excess of spirits made the problem worse, but ironically, more acceptable. No one batted an eye at adrunkenduke tripping about. Mostly.
“Headache powder, Timmons,” Alexander ordered the butler as he came to the bottom of the steps.
