He teased and tormented, tracing his tongue over her lips again and again, until at last he gave in to her broken pleas for more. Then he took her mouth harder, tugging her lower lip between his own and sucking on it until she was panting for him.
He was insatiable, low groans breaking from his lips as he ravaged her mouth, but his hands were gentle—the long, slow slide of his palm down her spine, the light stroke of his fingertips against her jaw. He touched her with infinite care, with tenderness, and when he raised his hands to cup her cheeks, she saw they were shaking.
Something inside her gave way, then, some tiny but significant piece of her heart.
Yet this was madness, all the same. Any of his guests could wander into the corridor and see them. At any moment, Abby could open the bedchamber door and catch them in each other’s arms.
But she didn’t pull away. She waited, her body trembling as he drew her closer, his eyes as black as midnight as he lowered his head to kiss her again, tugging her lower lip into his mouth to suck on it. A low, needy whimper rose from her chest, shocking her.
Not once, in all her twenty-one years, had she ever made a sound like that before.
She wrapped her fingers around his forearms and held on as his tongue darted between her lips. He slid his fingers lightly down her throat, then lower, testing her collarbones with his fingertips, then swept his hands over the quivering skin of her shoulders, left bare by the gown she wore.
“Beautiful,” he murmured as his lips followed the path his hands had taken, his mouth lingering at the curve of her neck and shoulder. “Even more so than I imagined.”
“Y-you imagined this?” Muscles twitched against her palms as she reached up to trace the contours of his chest, then let her fingers slide lower, grazing the hard plane of his stomach.
He smiled against her throat. “Every single day since you forced me to go ice skating.” He skimmed his lips over her ear, his breath stirring the wispy hair at her temples. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you that day.” He chuckled, low and seductive. “I’ve never seen a lady spin that way before.”
“Or fall so clumsily, I daresay.” She twined her arms around his neck, pressing closer, and she might have remained there all night, gathered against his broad chest, her fingers sifting through the soft hair at the nape of his neck, if they hadn’t heard a footstep on the landing.
They both froze, but it must have been a servant, because they continued up the stairs to the attics.
He tore his mouth away, but rested his forehead against hers. They were both breathless. He touched his thumb to her lower lip, opening her mouth for him, then leaned over and placed a sweet kiss there before stepping back, away from her.
“I beg your pardon, Rose. We can’t . . . you should go to your bedchamber.” He sucked in an unsteady breath, brushed the loose locks of hair that had tumbled from her chignon back from her face, and pressed a quick, soft kiss to her forehead. “Quickly, before I forget myself.”
Rose pressed a shaking hand to her trembling lips. She should do as he said at once, fly into her bedchamber and put an end to this madness.
Because he wasn’t for her.
Never for her. How could she have forgotten that? He was a duke. Aduke, and soon to be betrothed to another lady, and she . . .
She was no one.
“Yes, I think that would be best.” She ducked her head, avoiding his gaze as she made her way down the corridor to her bedchamber. She opened the door, slipped inside, and closed it behind her, then fell back against it, her heart still hammering.
She’d kissed the Duke of Grantham.Again.
“Rose?” Abby bustled in from the tiny sitting room that was attached to the bedchamber. “I’ve been waiting for ages for you, pet. Where have you . . .” She trailed off when she caught sight of Rose, all the color draining from her cheeks. “Rose?”
Rose huddled against the door, but even if she could have escaped that keen gaze, she never kept secrets from Abby. A hot flush scalded her cheeks as Abby took her in from head to toe.
Disheveled hair, flushed skin, swollen lips . . .
“Oh, Rose.” Abby let out a low cry and brought a shaking hand to her mouth. “What have you done?”
* * *
The sun hadn’t yet risen when Max rose from his bed, dressed hurriedly, and made his way from his bedchamber down the stairs. The house was silent, the entryway deserted, so early the servants were still asleep in their beds.
No one saw him slip out the door and into the dark, silent grounds of Grantham Park.
He’d been pleased enough when he’d gone to his bed with Rose’s kiss still lingering on his lips, but he’d woken sometime in the night to find her sweet taste had vanished, leaving the leaden flavor of regret behind in its wake.
There’d been no hope of sleep again, after that.
He wandered through the gardens, his boots crunching over the icy pathways, heedless of his direction. It didn’t matter where he went. He simply couldn’t bear to be inside any longer with his thoughts haunting him, swirling about him like invisible ghosts.
