He stalked close and that muskiness overwhelmed her again. “I saidman,” he whispered in her ear, “not boys.”
Oh. She gulped and then almost shrieked as he spun her, spine meeting his solid chest.
They both stared at their reflection, his face over her shoulder. A bare hand toyed with the ribbon under her breast and her breathing shallowed. He was so large, smothering her delicate frame with…largeness.
“A woman who wears such a dress must have her wits about her. Must realise the effect she has. Then she can take the appropriate action should the need arise.”
“Should what need arise?”
His grey eyes flashed in the mirror as he smiled languidly, and she gulped again as that bare hand came up and cupped…yes, cupped her breast.
She couldn’t breathe.
“I have been very patient, Cordelia.”
“Have you?” she whispered, trying not to moan as his fingers brushed the tip. His hand looked so verybroad there – darker than her own skin with blunt fingers and neat nails. It all conspired to do something exceedingly fluttery to her insides.
“Your mother told me you were guileless, unworldly, but I still wanted you. She warned me away. Said I was too…hot-blooded for her naive little girl. But money talks and your father listened. However, I promised myself I wouldn’t frighten you.”
Cordelia wished her mother would stop interfering with her life. Unworldly? No wonder she was a bit of a goosecap at times, being brought up by someone who wanted to preserve her at twelve years old.
Thank goodness Father had always been a greedy gut.
“I think… I think you should have talked to me and not my mother,” she muttered, feeling curious tingles catapult through her – was that normal?
They both watched his hand meander to her other breast. “Does this frighten you?” he asked.
“No. I like it,” she told his reflection and his eyes flickered, a storm brewing in the depths. But a question plagued… “Why were you at the Miltons’ ball, Lord Oakdean? Were you with a woman?”
“No. Pilkington’s leaving spree. He’s off to the Continent and we decided to combine the two.”
“The jeers and clapping?”
He nodded, hand still caressing. Oakdean appeared to be watching her face for any traces of displeasure – he wouldn’t find any. She was having a delightful time.
“And the female I heard in some form of distress?” she asked.
His cheekbones flushed. “No idea. I was trying to find an empty room, but I knew we might stumble upon…activities, hence the covering for your eyes.” He pulled her tight. “Cordelia, I have not looked at another woman since you ambled into the Landowns’ ball dressed in godawful white frills and what looked to be a chicken in your hair.”
“Dove. But you kissed my forehead when we became engaged. I hardly felt wanted.”
“I was trying not to frighten you. Your mother said–”
“My mother is a bit odd, in case you hadn’t noticed.” She spun in his arms, hands on his broad chest. He felt so very solid – like a stone wall, but they were cold and lumpy and Oakdean was anything but lumpy…although. No, it couldn’t be. Impossible. “I wrote poems about being a sheep to my music tutor’s shepherd when I was sixteen, do you mind?”
“Did he touch you?”
“No. It was all somewhat metaphorical.”
“Then I don’t give a bloody damn. I also don’t want a three-month engagement.”
Cordelia stared into her betrothed’s eyes and saw that same burning expression she’d noticed in the duke’s every time he observed Aideen.
“Why?”
He pulled her all the more closer and she felt every flex of his powerful body.
“Because I love you, Cordelia Greenwood, and I don’t want to wait a moment longer to begin my life with you.”
