Page 17 of The Dueling Duchess

Cecile sighed. “It is a special weave. I had it made for the blindfold.” She reached into the sleeve of her gown and pulled out the thin silk scarf. “Put it over your eyes and you will see what I mean.”

He took the scarf, looked at it skeptically, and then held it up to his eyes, his hands fumbling with the ends, as if he’d never tied a knot in his life. Well, she supposed he had a valet to do everything from shaving him to buttoning his dance slippers.

“Here! Let me do it,” she snapped, snatching the scarf from his elegant but clumsy fingers.

Not until her hands were against his silky soft hair and her body close to his did she question the wisdom of her actions.

God! He smelled so good. A blend of cologne or shaving soap, or perhaps shampoo along with a faint saltiness that was sweat on clean skin.

Cecile wanted to lick the strong column of his throat.

You are weak and pathetic, Cecile.

Yes, she was. She most certainly was.

Her fingers fumbled and she struggled with the simple knot.

“Should I bend down?” he asked.

“No, it’s fine,” she muttered, finally getting the damned knot tied. She put her hands on his shoulders, her eyelids fluttering as she realized the breadth of them, and then turned him around.

“Open your eyes,” she said gruffly, reaching up to shift the blindfold until the special weft—which ran right down the center, although you couldn’t see it—was in his line of vision. Then she strode to stand where he would be. “There. You can see me, can’t you?”

His lush lips pulled down at the corners. “Er . . . see? Not exactly. It’s more of a lighter smudge of darkness—an outline.”

Cecile rolled her eyes, even though he wouldn’t be able to see that. “Yes, that is all I need.”

He hesitated a long moment before asking, “And what shall I be holding? Please tell me it will be bigger than an apple or playing card?”

“It will be a hat.”

“I’ll be holding a hat?”

She snorted. “You will be wearing it on your head, you fool.”

His jaw went slack. “You want to shoot at my head while blindfolded?”

“Yes, that is what I said.”

He laughed.

Cecile strode toward him. “What is so funny?”

He reached up and pulled off the strip of black silk, the action mussing his hair in a way that made her think of rumpled sheets, tangled, naked limbs, and sweaty skin.

You’re standing far too close to him, Cecile.

She took a furtive step back, and then another, until her breathing got easier.

The look in his honey-brown eyes was warm, but rueful. “You feel confident you can hit the target?”

“I wouldn’t suggest such a thing if I was not confident.”

He pursed his lips and twitched his mouth from side to side, his expression contemplative. “Very well,” he finally said. “I will allow you to do it today—one time.”

She scowled. “I need more than one shot to practice.”

“We shall start with one,” he said. He was still smiling, but, for once, there was a surprisingly firm expression in his melting brown eyes.