“Perhaps she was scared?” Miss Chilcott suggested, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Scared?
“I cannot imagine what she might be scared of,” he said, hoping she’d say something more.
“You have done an admirable job of turning your life around, Your Grace, but be that as it may, your rakish reputation is not so easily forgotten. It would be difficult for any young lady to associate with you without tarnishing her own good name and that of her family in the process. No, I can understand Miss Smith’s way of thinking—she probably means to marry a reputable gentleman who can offer her respectability and comfort.”
Anthony gritted his teeth. He’d been the perfect gentleman toward her at the ball—well ...almostperfect. He hadn’t planned on kissing her. Surely that had to count for something. Besides, it could have been worse. He could have submitted to his urges and had her right there in the library.
Recalling how lost she’d been in their kiss, he felt certain she wouldn’t have stopped him. The thought of it sent a wave of heat surging straight to his groin. He winced as he felt himself harden. “I have behaved most honorably since becoming a duke and without the least bit of wrongdoing.” It was the truth. What surprised him was how much he enjoyed this new way of life he’d chosen. For the first time since he could remember he felt a calm togetherness, as if his life was finally on the right track, though he was certain that it would be much improved with Miss Chilcott at his side. She was also the only person who threatened to bring out the rake in him, not for the sake of ruining her but to win her, and he heard himself say, “But after meeting Miss Smith ... I find my resolve wavering.” He paused, watched as she sucked in a breath, and then took a step closer. “She encourages me to abandon all thoughts of propriety, to stop acting like the decent gentleman who never thinks of what it might be like to hold her ... touch her ... kiss her in the most wicked way I know how. If anything, Miss Chilcott, it isIwho should fear Miss Smith, for I do believe it isshewho poses a threat to my reputation, and not the other way around.”
“How can you say such things?” she gasped. “It’s entirely inappropriate.”
Keeping his eyes trained on hers, he began removing his gloves with slow deliberation. Reaching up, he then touched his hand against her cheek, allowing his fingers to trail along the soft skin until they reached her lips. Her eyes widened, her breathing turned shallow, and a deep flush rose to her cheeks.
But she did not turn away, or even move as he ran his fingers over the plump, strawberry-colored flesh. And when he pressed her lower lip down, suggesting she grant him entry, her eyes closed and her lips parted, letting him in. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever experienced, watching her take his finger in her mouth ... feeling the wetness of her tongue as it brushed against him. Heaven above, he couldn’t believe he’d been so forward—could not believe that she had accepted such an advance. What on earth were they thinking? This was an act she would surely regret.
They weren’t exactly kissing, and yet there was something far more intimate about it ... something very suggestive that led to thoughts of tossing her on the ground and burying himself inside her until this unbearable yearning went away.
He knew better though. The sort of need he felt for her was not the kind that would ever go away even if he was fortunate enough to act out his every fantasy with her. No, it was only going to grow stronger—become more and more demanding. Pulling his finger away from her mouth, he tugged her against him, his arms encircling her in a tight embrace. She opened her eyes but said nothing—just gazed back at him with eyes that begged,Kiss me.
So he did. His mouth closed over hers, and he was delighted to discover that she was ready to meet him, her lips parted to allow him immediate entry. And as their tongues swept over and under each other, Anthony heard her sigh, whimper and groan. He heard himself groan too, the pleasure she offered so rich and full that it was impossible for him not to.
There was a soft thud against the ground and Anthony realized she must have dropped her basket, for in the next moment, her arms came around his neck, pulling him closer—urging and enticing him. He ran his hands slowly down her back, pausing at her waist before allowing them to roam lower still, across her bottom. She responded with another groan as he gently squeezed and forced her up against him.
Abandoning her mouth, he kissed his way along her jawline until he reached her ear. Allowing himself the pleasure of pushing up against her, he held her firmly in place as he whispered, “You were correct in your assessment of me, Miss Smith,for though I may appear to have abandoned my sinful ways, my thoughts of you are most wicked indeed.”
Isabella did not doubt him for a second. She could still feel the proof of his desire as it pressed against her. The worst of it was that shelikedit. Good Lord! It was deplorable, unseemly, scandalous and about a dozen other awful things. To her horror, she couldn’t stop her errant mind from thinking it absolutely wonderful as well. Heaven help her, she was no better than a doxy—whatever must he think of her? Based on what they’d just done and what he’d told her, that she was the sort of woman whom he could take some rather alarming liberties with. The thought did not sit well with her at all. Placing her hands against his chest, she gave him a small push.
To her surprise, he disengaged himself from her immediately and stepped back, leaving her with a sense of abandonment that failed to allow the feeling of relief she’d been hoping for to take root. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but what we just did ...” She looked around, fearful that someone might have seen them, but there was nobody else on the road. She let out a deep sigh. “I hope you’ll try to forget this ever happened. I am to marry Mr. Roberts, and I will not have you ruining the chance of that happening.”
“He hasn’t even proposed!” The duke sounded well and truly agitated as he crossed his arms over his chest and stared back at her with defiance.
“He will,” she said. “It’s only a matter of time.”
He stepped toward her again, looming over her with his broad shoulders, dark eyes and tousled hair. “Don’t do it, Miss Chilcott. Don’t marry him.”
“I must, for the sake of the security he offers to me and my family.”
Something deep and dangerous ignited in the duke’s eyes. “He cannot offer this.” And before Isabella knew what was happening, she was in his arms again, his lips were on hers and her arms had found their way around his neck once more. It was the safest course of action really, considering she’d probably collapse on the ground if she didn’t hold on to him with all her might. No, she couldn’t imagine Mr. Roberts being so seductive. In fact, she couldn’t imagine him being seductive at all.
Their intimate encounters with one another would probably be meticulously scheduled, and whatever they would do, it would not have anything to do with passion but everything to do with the production of a child in mind. Pushing the thought aside, Isabella tried not to think of it, willing herself to enjoy the kiss the duke offered instead. But then it ended—much too abruptly for her liking—and she found herself standing alone once more with a decent amount of space between them.
“Marry me,” the duke said, a raw longing emanating from his eyes. “Marry me, and I will promise to give you this every day for the rest of your life.”
Swallowing hard, Isabella blinked. She felt faint. Had she just received a marriage proposal from the Duke of Kingsborough in the middle of a dirt road? Her mind reeled at the possibility of his offer, even though she knew, sadly, that she could not accept. Instinct told her to fling herself into his arms and sayYes, with all my heart, yes,but instead she just stood there, until slowly, she shook her head. Her throat closed at the look of anguish and disappointment that filled the duke’s every feature at her rejection, and it was sheer willpower that forced the words from her throat. “Forgive me,” she said, choking back the tears of despair that she feared would overcome her.
“Why?” His words were softly spoken, but when she found herself unable to answer for the knot in her throat, his voice rose to a near roar as he repeated the question. “Why?”
“My father has made an agreement with Mr. Roberts—it is the honorable thing to do.”
He stared back at her in disbelief and eventually shook his head. “It is a stupid thing to do—an action you will come to regret many times over.”
“You cannot possibly know that,” she said, annoyed by his accusation.
“Of course I can,” he insisted. “For the minute you marry him, you’ll find yourself waiting on him hand and foot. He doesn’t give a damn about your needs or your desires, but only about his own. I believe your question yesterday about reading will attest to that. You like to read, but he doesn’t. Consequently there will be no more reading for you once you marry him. Is that really the sort of life you desire? One where your husband will dictate each detail of your existence for you just so he can take you out in public on occasion, the way other men might take out their horse?”
Shocked by his statement and pained by its accuracy, her hand flew across his face in a hard slap. Her blood was boiling she was so enraged—at Mr. Roberts for wishing to deny her freedom, at her parents, who’d made the match, at herself for being too honorable to reject Mr. Roberts’s attention and at the duke for making her doubt a decision she’d long since come to terms with.
