No one had ever cared for Alexander in such a manner, save possibly Aunt May.
“You are mistaken, Your Grace. That was Barstow, Stone, and the occasional maid.”
“Untrue. I wasn’t entirely out of my mind. And neither my butler nor my valet smell of roses. Also, Barstow has hairy knuckles. I would have recalled that.”
“Your memory is faulty, Roxboro.”
She pulled at her hand, trying to get away from him, but Alexander wouldn’t allow it. “You would have been a widowed duchess. Still young. Wealthy beyond belief. Had property given over to you.” He brought her fingers to his lips. “You would have had to suffer my uncle for a time, but eventually Damon would have left you alone. You could have pursued your own interests.”
“Perhaps I have no hobbies of worth, Your Grace. You told me once that I was average and unexceptional in virtually every way.”
“Except in the matter of your heart. I surmise that it is larger andfar more generous than most,” he said softly. “You hide very well, my wife.
She turned again to the window, pretending deep interest in the tree swaying in the wind outside the window.
“I’m not completely obtuse.”
While Alexander had bedded some of the most beautiful women in London, there had been little feeling involved. Relationships with the opposite sex were shallow. Only one or two, like Lady Maxwell, could he claim as friends. He hadn’t thought his mind, heart and cock would ever find themselves in agreement. Honestly, his heart had never made a peep before. Until Sophia.
He wanted more of her.
Allof her.
Alexander nipped at the edges of her fingers.
“What are you doing, Your Grace?” She sucked in a breath as his mouth closed over her forefinger, his tongue swirling about the tip.
Yes, what are you doing?Uncle Damon’s voice hissed in his mind.If you seduce the chit, you’ll never be rid of her.
“Mmm.” He hummed, ignoring Damon’s counsel, before popping Sophia’s finger out of his mouth. She sounded breathless. Aroused. So different from her usual chafing bluntness.
Then there was the matter of her…lips.
Decadent. Lush. Two delicate pillows begging to be put to all manner of wicked use. He imagined her begging him with those lips. Moaning out her pleasure along with his name. Perhaps taking his cock.
The sheet covering him twitched.
Alexander smiled.
Definitely not dead.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Roxboro’s eyes hadgone stormy. Murky. The streaks of gray nearly blotting out the shimmering green. He didn’t release her hand, though his tongue was no longer wrapped around her finger.
What a strangely sensual experience, having your finger bitten and sucked by a handsome duke. The ache that had started as no more than a trickle of warmth, had now taken up residence between her thighs. The sensation teased along her calves, making her toes curl inside her slippers.
“You don’t even like me,” she whispered, struggling to maintain some control over the situation.
“I’ve changed my mind. And not because you’ve been fussing over me. Well,” he shrugged. “Partially. But I liked you before, probably because you didn’t like me. That rarely happens. Everyone likes me.”
Sophia swallowed. She’d no idea that her lack of respect and ability to hurl insults would produce such an unexpected response in Roxboro. It certainly hadn’t inspired any other gentleman. She tried to pull her finger away once more but was held fast.
“You are…terrible,” Sophia breathed.
Also witty. Clever. Possessed of a teasing personality which kept Sophia…off balance. And judging by the books in the library downstairs, all of which Barstow claimed the duke had ordered himself and read when he came to The Pillory, Roxboro also possessed intelligence. One well-worn tome was on Roman aqueducts.
His looks and the ability to consume vast amounts of spirits were the least of Roxboro’s talents.
