Page 46 of The Dueling Duchess

“I’m sorry, darling—but it’s the truth. I simply haven’t encountered many women who haven’t thrown themselves at my feet.”

“Not that it has made you arrogant.”

“Is it arrogant to admit the truth?”

She rolled her expressive eyes.

“Here is another truth, Cecile,” he said, the smile sliding from his face as he traced the curve of her lower lip with his thumb.

“Oh—what is that?”

“There is more to my fascination than your elusiveness. You are simply different from anyone I’ve ever met. You are so utterly, intriguingly . . . self-contained. Do you need anyone for anything?” he asked, genuinely curious.

Her lips curved into a smile that was a little sad. “Of course, I need people—just like anyone else.” Her eyes dropped to his bobbing cock, and she set her hands on his hips. “But if you mean do I need a man for a husband, then the answer is no.” She leaned forward and flicked the tiny slit in his crown with the tip of her tongue.

“My. God.” A shudder rocked Guy’s body from his toes to the tips of his ears.

“But men are good for a few things,” she went on, cutting him a wicked smile, while she stroked his hips and buttocks, kneading his flesh with strong fingers.

He made a low purring sound. “Lord, that feels divine.”

“Yes, it does,” she agreed, her breath hot on the head of his cock, which was brushing ever so lightly against her pillowy lower lip.

If she kept up this way, he’d go off like one of the fireworks at Vauxhall Gardens.

“I want to see your hair down,” he said in an embarrassingly raspy voice.

“Then take it down.”

His fingers fumbled with the myriad pins that held the heavy plait in place.

Her eyes met his as she took his thrusting cock into the hot velvet of her mouth.

Guy whimpered as she slid her hands between his spread thighs, cupping his heavy balls with an expert, confident touch.

“My God, Cecile,” he muttered through clenched teeth as she sucked hard enough to hollow her cheeks. “Are you trying to make me shame myself, woman?”

Naturally, she laughed, the mocking sound vibrating tauntingly up his shaft.

* * *

As entertaining as it was to torment and wreck the Darling of the Ton, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her own passions in check.

Not only was Guy’s face perfect, but his body was a work of art: Michelangelo’s David had nothing on Lord Carlisle.

She was vacillating between climbing him like a tree or sucking him until he shattered and cried out her name, when he took the dilemma out of her hands—quite literally.

“Enough of that for the moment, sweetheart,” he said, his jaws clenched as he gently slid his impressive erection from her mouth.

His eyes moved over her still-dressed person and a look of frustration flickered over his face. “I want to see your body so bloody badly, but I’m so damned hard for you, a breeze is probably enough to set me off, and I really don’t wish to shame myself our first time out.”

“We have until nine o’clock,” she reminded him, amused and flattered by the raw need in his voice. “There will be time for more finesse . . . after.”

“Right,” he said, his perfect features turning hard and stern. “Lift your skirts.”

When he spoke to her in that tone, with that look in his eyes, she couldn’t think of a playful retort: She obeyed.

“Damnation,” he muttered, his expression fierce as she raised the hem of her dress over her knees and thighs, not stopping until she exposed her sex.