But no. These were the foolish longings of the lad he had once been. Life had taught him those fantasies belonged in the ashes of a fire rather than meandering through his restless mind.
He turned his thoughts back to the question she had asked. “Mayhap you ask questions I have no wish to answer, Duchess.”
“We can spend all evening turning in circles, or you can give me what I want.”
Her words curled around him, like a siren’s song. Luring him to the death. His entire body was a conflagration, on fire with want. Desire for her overwhelmed him. Consumed him.
He rolled to his side so he faced her instead of the wall. “And what is it you want?”
Her swift inhalation cut through the silence. “I did not mean that the way it sounded.”
Too tempting, his wife. He envisioned her cheeks, emblazoned with pretty color. Imagined her curves, hidden by nothing save the thin night rail he had managed a glimpse of before politely turning his back. It had been too long since he’d had a woman. The last time had been with her. Because ever since she had found her way into his life and his bed, she was the only woman who owned his thoughts. The only woman he wanted.
Curse her.
“How did you mean it then, Duchess?”
“Would you cease calling me that?”
She was right. Angel had suited her better. Until she had disappeared and he had uncovered her deception.
“What would you have me call you instead?”
“My sisters call me Addie,” she ventured.
He growled. “If you have yet to notice, I am hardly your sister.”
“I am more than aware of that.”
He did not miss the breathlessness in her tone. The urge to touch her was sudden and insistent. So he did. Slowly, tentatively. He was aiming for her shoulder. What his fingers sank into instead was the lush, silken skeins of her hair.
Fucking hell, she must have pulled the pins from it and let down her hair after he had blown out the candles. He had to tamp down a groan. He was an ardent admirer of all aspects of Lady Adele’s beauty, but her hair was utterly bloody gorgeous. He had fantasized about running his fingers through it, about spreading the dark curls over his pillow. About burying his face in the fragrant mass and inhaling, of holding a handful as he buried himself deep inside her beautiful body.
“I love your hair.”
The admission rumbled from him before he could banish it. Entirely unwanted. Ridiculous, in fact. He was not the sort of man who issued such compliments. Who worried about a woman’s hair. Who gently stroked it in the darkness, following its cascade over her pillow.
Damn it, yes he was. Because he was doing all that now. How much ale had he consumed? Perhaps it was the combination of brother dearest’s poisoned wine and the ale which had done him in.
“You can call me Adele if you like,” she whispered.
“Adele.” He found the sweet warmth of her cheek then, cupping it. “May I kiss you?”
Someone ought to beat him. If the Suttons could see him now—the mighty Dominic Winter, asking his wife’s permission to kiss her—they would laugh first and pull out a shiv and bury it between his ribs next.
But none of that mattered because one word flitted to him, and all other thoughts fled his mind.
“Yes.”
Thank Christ.He slid himself nearer, so their bodies were aligned. Through the shadows, he found her lips. She opened for him on a sigh. He wasted no time in deepening the kiss, his tongue slipping past the seam of her mouth to tangle with hers. She tasted sweet and rich. Hunger roared through him. He told himself to proceed slowly, to avoid overwhelming her.
But he had been starving for her ever since he had first laid eyes on her. Having her once had not sated him. It had only made him desire her more. She was an infection, a fever in his blood. He was helpless to do anything but surrender.
Her arms twined around his neck and she sidled nearer, until they were pressed fully against each other, nothing but the barrier of cloth between them. She kissed him back with a fierceness that took him by surprise.
Adele’s response undid him.
Any attempts at restraint were impossible as her fingernails raked over his shoulders, scoring his flesh through the thin fabric of his shirt. He sucked on her lower lip, then trailed a path of kisses along her jaw. Lower. Down the softness of her throat. He kissed her ear, nibbled the cord of her neck. She smelled like spring and sunshine and everything that was good.
