“I didn’t mean to frighten you—just surprise you a little, that’s all.” He brought his hand up and ran the inside of his thumb along her cheek. “I’ve missed you.”
Isabella felt her heart hammer against her chest at the deep sincerity that glowed in his eyes. “Your Grace, I—”
“Anthony,” he muttered, still stroking her cheek.
Isabella frowned, her mind not at all its usual alert self with him caressing her. “I beg your pardon?” she managed, the feel of his arm tightening around her waist sending a shiver down her spine.
The duke smiled, and it was the sort of smile that was filled with the promise of pleasure, sin and mischief all rolled into one. Isabella felt her legs grow weak—the man was completely irresistible with his hair all mussed and his cravat slightly askew, as if he didn’t give a damn about propriety. Isabella’s heart skipped a beat. “I have kissed you twice, Miss Chilcott, and I am about to do so again. I believe it’s time we dispensed with formality, wouldn’t you agree?” And then, before Isabella was afforded the chance to voice a response to that question, the duke lowered his mouth over hers, and it was almost as if the ground fell away beneath her feet.
It was gentle at first, with their lips just grazing, but then he captured her lower lip between his teeth, tugging at the tender flesh, and she gasped, her arms reaching around his neck and pulling him closer. She was a fool, but she couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t think of anything else—didn’t want anything but this, right here, right now, with him.
The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, and Isabella ignored the voice in her head that called for her to stop and walk away. She was powerless against him and gave herself up to the kiss instead, parting her lips and allowing him entry. His tongue swept inside her mouth without hesitation, rolling over hers as he tasted her in the most sensual way possible.
Not knowing how it happened, she suddenly found herself pressed up against the barn wall, her breasts flattened against his chest as he pushed up against her. He abandoned her mouth, kissing his way along her jaw instead, straight toward her ear, where he flicked his tongue against her lobe.
A shock of heat shot straight through her, she felt her breasts tighten and then ... an unbearable longing between her thighs. Dear God, she had to get away from him before she started begging him to do his worst with her. What a surprise that would be for Mr. Roberts on their wedding night. She groaned at the thought of it—a reaction the duke apparently took as a welcome, for his hands slipped between them, his fingers seeking her hardened nipples, then squeezing.
She groaned again, but this time it was from complete and utter pleasure.
“Tell me your name,” the duke whispered against her neck, sending yet another wave of heat straight to her groin. “Please,” he added.
“It’s ...” Dear Lord, he’d managed to make her forget even that. She fought for control of her wits. “Isabella,” she gasped as his head dipped and he proceeded to lick his way along the edge of her neckline.
He paused. “Beautiful,” he murmured as he gave her bodice a slight tug. “The woman as well as the name—so utterly beautiful.”
Isabella allowed her head to fall back against the barn wall. She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath, knowing what he was looking at. There was no corset, since she rarely wore the uncomfortable thing, and her chemise was loose. Anthony had no trouble pulling both it and her gown down just enough to reveal her breasts in their entirety, and she was too caught up in the moment to stop him. It was mortifying.
Common sense spoke to her from a faraway corner of her mind, and she thought to push him away—to put an end to this folly before it was too late. But then he did the unspeakable. The wicked man grazed his teeth against one of her nipples, nipping it gently, and Isabella practically buckled. “So responsive ... ,” she heard him mutter. “So passionate.” And then he took her entire breast in his mouth and suckled.
Oh, dear Lord!
What was happening to her? Her whole body was humming with expectation, there were tingly sensations in the most unspeakable places and she felt restless—as if she wanted something but couldn’t quite put her finger on what that something might be.
Blast!
The next thing she knew, she was in his arms and he was carrying her across the floor to a large pile of hay, his gaze hot and determined, which should probably have scared her to death but didn’t. Something about this man made her feel safe and comfortable. She trusted him, and the way in which he looked at her was enough to make her want to forget about all else. This was a sacred moment they were sharing, and nobody was going to intrude on it or ruin it for them.
Sitting down in the hay, Anthony leaned back with Isabella on his lap and hugged her against his chest. He wanted her in every way imaginable, but that was not the reason he’d come here. In fact, he really had meant only to talk to her, but then he’d seen her standing there with the scattered beams of sunlight brightening her hair and skin and he’d been unable to control himself. She’d looked so divine and tempting.
His hands reached for her breasts again and she groaned as he molded the soft, pliable flesh, feeling them swell with excitement. No, he would not deflower her so primitively in a barn, though it would not be for lack of wanting but because he knew she deserved better than a tumble in the hay—literally.
She wriggled against him and he belatedly realized that the deep, guttural groan he heard, so foreign to his ears, had come from somewhere deep inside himself. Again she moved, submitting him once more to the same sweet torture he’d felt a moment earlier as her bottom had rubbed against him. “Stop,” he muttered, his hand grabbing at her thigh in an attempt to hold her still. Her thigh ... how he’d contemplated it for endless moments since accidentally placing his hand against it in the pumpkin carriage the night of the ball; the way it had felt to his touch—so soft and curvaceous—so sensual and womanly.
He felt her tense beneath him. “What ... what is it?” she asked, her breathing low and heavy. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, except that you’re driving me mad, and I’m not sure how much of that I can bear before I ...” He coughed to mask his discomfort and decided to steer the conversation back to more comfortable ground, focusing on her needs instead of his own. He squeezed her thigh and kissed the side of her neck. “I wonder ... if you’ve ever ...” His fingers trailed up over her leg, bunching the fabric of her gown as they travelled across her hip and settled between her thighs. “Touched yourself ... here.”
She probably would have jumped to her feet and run out the door if it hadn’t been for the fact that Anthony held her firmly in place. At least that was the indication her very loud “no” gave him. She then started prattling on about what sort of doxy he must think her to be, that she must have been mad to be there with him and what could she possibly have been thinking.
Unable to silence her with a kiss due to their present position, he decided to move his hand against her instead. “Then allow me to show you what magnificent pleasure can be found in a mere touch.”
Her hips rose to meet him, as he’d known they would, and though she sighed and groaned, she muttered, “No,” and then, “You mustn’t.”
He stilled, unable to advance unless she asked him to. Whatever people thought of him, he’d never so much as kissed a woman without her granting him permission. So he turned his attention to her shoulder instead, nibbling there as his hands found her breasts once more. “Are you quite certain?” he asked as he tugged at one of her nipples, eliciting a throaty cry of pleasure from her.
God, he was hard for her. He’d never in his life been more aroused than he was now, to the point when it was causing him actual physical pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to concentrate on what mattered. This was about her—about showing her what he could give her if she’d only let him.
“No,” she murmured again, and Anthony reined in his passion and started to pull away—to do the right thing—when she grasped his hand and said, “I mean no, I’m not certain I wish you to stop.”
