He chuckled and leaned closer; the warmth of his breath brushed her ear.
“Your Grace? Weren’t you the one who so freely called me by name, Arabella? Use it now.”
To hear her name whispered in that gravely deep voice so close to her ear made her shift uneasily in her seat. The sound alone sent a shiver through her, and the authority in his tone made her stomach flip.
“Gerald,” she breathed.
A deep rumble vibrated in his chest, and he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. Arabella pressed into the carriage cushion, grateful she was seated, because her knees would have betrayed her under that look.
His gaze traced the line of her jaw, and soon his hand followed, awakening her body. The leather of his glove against her skin was surprisingly soft, but even in her haze, Arabella knew this was deceiving. There was nothing soft on the Duke. This thumb paused beneath her chin. He caught it and forced her to focus on him.
Her instincts told her that if she looked frightened or ashamed, he would stop, he would retreat to his seat, and the moment would remain unresolved. But there was a hole in that solid plan. She could not summon any emotion other than a primal, overwhelming need.
He let his thumb linger beneath her chin a moment longer, holding her gaze. His eyes went from hers to her lips, and Arabella felt it like a physical touch, her lips tingling. Then,almost impossibly slowly, his lips brushed hers. Just a feather touch, barely there, but unmistakably there nonetheless. Her fingers fisted her skirt to hold on to reality. And then it was gone.
Arabella let out a gasping, needy protest and instantly hated herself for it. She knew she had to stop and push him away, but all this felt so wickedly right.
The Duke pulled back a little to study her face. She must have been looking like a mess if she were to judge from the satisfied smirk on his lips. He knew what he was doing to her, and he enjoyed her reaction.
In one smooth motion, he closed the distance fully. This time, his lips claimed hers, not testing anymore; now they were tasting. First, he claimed her lower lip, sucking it slightly. Her hands flew, grabbing onto his coat to control her body. Then he slowly did the same to her upper lip, his other hand rose to her waist, and with one pull, she was flush against him.
Heat flushed her whole body, and her chest heaved in short breaths. He didn’t stop, and Arabella despised herself because she didn’t want him to stop. His hand left her jaw and moved to cradle her face, his fingers lingering at her neck. He leaned just a fraction and deepened the kiss.
Arabella felt as if someone else was commanding her body. It couldn’t possibly be her who moaned lightly at his claim. Nor could she be the one who swayed closer, both hands on his chest, her body against this. Yet she did. Her lips moved greedilyagainst his, answering him, betraying every shred of reason she had left.
“Arabella,” he murmured against her lips softly.
His tongue traced the seam of her lips, testing, teasing, coaxing her to open for him. Arabella felt her breath hitch, her hands digging deeper into his coat. And against all that she knew, she granted him entrance. A low growl filled the carriage as his tongue brushed lightly against hers. The feeling left her reeling, leaning into it more, her head tilting just so to grant him even more access.
Her reaction spurred him more, pulling him flush against him, his kiss more insistent, more demanding, his hands exploring, slightly undoing her carefully gathered hair, upsetting her gown. And yet she wanted more. She needed-
No!
Whatever sense was left in her managed to find the courage to speak up. What was she doing? Her hands that clung to him now pushed him. Not that she could physically push his massive body away, but her gesture was clear. And if that wasn’t enough, her head pulled back, her lips detached from his, and she looked down.
As she had predicted, the Duke stopped the moment she felt her disposition change. His hand dropped from her, and he put distance between them. But he didn’t move away, back to hisseat. He just looked down at her, searching her eyes that she cast away, ashamed of how easily she surrendered to his touch.
“Arabella,” he demanded.
“No,” she said firmly, shaking her head.
That simple word hit him, and he finally retreated to his seat in the small carriage. She started to nervously adjust her hair and smooth her dress, her movements nervous and curt.
“Arabella, look at me!”
“We need to call upon Winnie and leave,” she demanded, still avoiding his look.
“I said, look at me,” he ordered.
His tone pierced through the dangerous concoction of emotions that brewed inside her. And went straight to the only thing that ensured distance: anger. Her chest tightened, heat flaring through her cheeks.
“There, Your Grace!” She looked at him, her look feverish. “His Grace ordered, and everyone needs to obey.”
“Arabella,” he warned.
“Or what, Your Grace? What more would you demand of me?”
The look that they exchanged spoke nothing of two people who were tangled together, kissing passionately. They weighed each other as if they were rivals. Theywererivals. Arabella felt like a fool for letting his charm fool her into forgetting who that man was.
