Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
‘Why were you mad with me?’
‘Your obvious distaste after you kissed me, that is why.’
‘Distaste? For you, Eliza?’
I look at him.
‘Never,’ he whispers softly, removing the glass from my hand and setting it on the table. ‘I have only distaste for myself.’ He reaches for my cloak, pulls the tie loose, and pushes it from my shoulders. His eyes drop to my breasts. ‘My God,’ he whispers, lowering to his knees before me, resting his forehead on my stomach. I can feel his shakes. Hear my heart pounding. Smell the need dripping from us both.
Power. Heavens, it is potent within me. I can bring him to his knees, this feared, ill-reputed heathen. Bend him, break him. I know better than I know anything that he can do the same to me. But I can sense his reluctance, which is somewhat confusing. His letter was quite assured, as was his kiss. Oh, his kiss. ‘Is something the matter?’ I ask quietly, and he laughs, a laugh of true humour, and, perhaps, a little despair. It’s quite unexpected.
‘Yes. You in that chemise,’ he says, shaking his head and blinking rapidly, ‘is what’s the matter.’ On a loud curse, he stands, drinks back his wine, and pulls at his cravat in quite an irritated fashion, as he starts to pace up and down. ‘I am not the kind of man a lady should build her dreams on, Miss Melrose.’
I baulk at him. He says that now? ‘I suppose you brought me here merely to share that news with me, did you?’
Another curse. I may join him imminently, for I am growing progressively cross too. He wants me. He doesn’t. He does. He doesn’t. Fair enough, I am not without my own dawdling, I must confess, but the Duke is leaps ahead of me and, frankly, it’s becoming tiresome.
He curses under his breath. ‘If you want me to speak frankly––’
‘I do.’ I smile sweetly when a scowl is thrown at me.
‘I am, apparently and none too reassuringly, unable to stop imagining all of the ways in which I can pleasure you.’
My back straightens. ‘Maybe you should try to resist thinking such lurid thoughts.’
‘You cannot expect me to resist when you present yourself to me in such a manner.’ He waves a hand up and down my body.
Is he suggesting this is all my doing? ‘As I understand the situation, it is you who has instigated this, from the stranger’s voucher for Almack’s, to the kiss outside. From the letter, to me being here at this very moment, to you removing my cloak just now.’
‘I’m questioning myself, trust me on that, Eliza,’ he mutters, raking a nervous hand through his hair. ‘I find you unhealthily irresistible. Your smart mouth, your ambitions, your stubbornness.’ He sighs. ‘To name but a few of your appealing qualities. But you shall be disgraced if you surrender to me, and I do not wish to tarnish your prospects.’ He frowns, in utter confusion, as if surprised by his own reasoning.
‘Then let me put us both out of this misery.’ I dip and collect my cloak, throwing it over my shoulders. ‘I think we can both agree it is for the best, and I would ask you kindly to refrain from temptation again.’ I walk to the door, pull it open, and jump when it is slammed shut over my shoulder. I whirl round. His eyes land on me, heavy with confliction, content, and, God save me, intent.
He groans, removing my cloak once again, and I inhale, pushing myself into the wood. His forehead takes on a mild sheen as he stares at my breasts. ‘This won’t only be one night, Eliza,’ he says, his voice strong but rough. ‘Once I’ve had you, I will not give you up.’
I am hardly able to breathe, let alone speak.
‘And I fear we will both be ruined.’ His hand, which is shaking terribly, reaches forward slowly and tentatively, and for my sins, I will him to hurry. My heart is pumping dangerously, every inch of my skin singing for his touch, but I can see his remaining lingering reluctance as well as I can feel my own, because we may not only have one night, but we certainly will not have acceptance.
‘Your Grace, if I may share––’
‘Do not speak, Eliza,’ he warns as his hand comes closer and his eyes appear to smoke further. ‘I need silence in this moment.’
‘Why?’
‘So I can hear your desperate breathing. It tells me you want this as much as I do.’
‘I do,’ I whisper. I do not think wild horses could drag me away from this moment. Not my conscience. Not my fear. Not my worries.
‘I cannot marry you, Eliza. And I will not be forced to, not by your brother or your father, be sure of that.’
I can only nod, and he smiles, as if he feels sympathy for me, but it soon drops when his fingertip brushes my neck. ‘Forgive me,’ he whispers as I close my eyes and release a quiet whimper. His fingertip. Just his fingertip! But that fingertip must be magic because when he drags it lightly over my flesh, something quite incomprehensible happens. I convulse. I jerk. I shudder. So much so, I’m forced to reach for his arms to cling to, and as his eyes burn into me, I see his reluctance diminish.