“Nay, I cannot answer that.It would be tantamount to the command itself.”Yet he hadn’t retreated to maintain space between them.
She was a maid now, not a lady.Might as well take advantage of the freedom.She licked her lips again.
A satisfying gasp escaped from him.
She leaned in, so close her breath gusted over his tieless neck as she asked in a whisper, “Shall I guess?”
Not waiting for an answer, she gripped his upper arm—goodness, that was hard—and went on tiptoe to slant her lips over his.
His hands settled above her hips, and he sighed into her mouth, “Thank God.”
Her fingers flexed into his granite biceps, and she gave herself over to the kiss.For long moments, his tongue played with hers, his lips alternating pressure with softness.Roaming hands along her back brought every inch of her skin to life.Her nipples peaked—they might be as hard as his arm muscles—and she pressed full, sensitive breasts against him.
He tugged her hair, still in its bun, to continue the kiss, and her free hand came up to explore his chest through his thin lawn shirt.He surged against her, his hardness poking her in the belly through their clothing.
Their magnetism boded well for a marriage.Her thoughts fractured and exploded into confetti when he cupped her breast in an outsized, rough hand and swiped a thumb across her nipple.
Her hands on his arm and chest clenched to hold her up as her knees buckled from the shot of lightning that pierced her from nipple to the swollen folds between her legs.
He caught her weight with his other arm, sliding it across to band behind her back.When he intensified the pressure of his lips, she leaned back under the onslaught.
Apparently, that was what he wanted, as he broke off the kiss and replaced his thumb’s strokes with the suction of his mouth on her tight bud.
“Xander!”she cried, ignoring protocol.If he was going to take such liberties with her body, he could not object to her doing the same with his name.She threaded her fingers through his hair and gripped his head, uncertain if she wanted to yank him away or hold him there forever.
Her most private flesh pulsed, and she felt a rush of wetness.She had read enough and had enough married girlfriends that she knew her body was readying itself for his touch.And oh, did she want it.She wished to explore all the benefits that wedding and bedding him would bring.
How would she explain her true identity after misleading him for so long?
Feeling as though freezing water had been dumped on her, she gasped and pulled out of his arms.Blast, why could she not be like all those heroines in the novels and be mindless with pleasure?But the risk was too great.If he was angry at her deception and refused to marry her after taking her innocence, she’d be ruined.
He blinked and straightened, and they stared at each other for a long moment.
Finally, she found her voice, taking refuge in formality.“Your Grace, it is my turn to beg your pardon now for taking liberties.I hope you will forgive my transgression.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she hurried on, using her standard excuse.“My workday begins early, so I shall take my leave.”
She fled.
* * * *
Evie knelt on the floor, polishing the legs of the small table and chairs in the duke’s library, as she did once a week.
He seemed to have forgotten her presence.
She smirked.Settling right into that dukedom, aren’t you?
Munroe sat in front of his desk as Xander worked his way through a new pile of contracts he’d found in a drawer.
Taking meals with staff had introduced her to more bawdiness than even her married friends had shared, including the phrase “polishing his knob” from the male servants.His gesture had clarified his meaning.Now, as she polished the duke’s knobs of wood, she had to stifle a snort of laughter.
Glancing over, she imagined oiling—another muffled snort—his desk, crawling under it to be thorough.Having him sit there with her at his feet.
Her imagination stalled on that image.She simply did not have the experience to picture what he’d do or want her to do.
Would he be the sort of husband who would teach her?Would he want that from his wife, or was that sort of behavior only among servants?Perhaps that was why she’d never heard the term before.Oh, if only she could visit with her aunt without giving her disguise away.She could not even write letters, as the footman who mailed them would question why a housemaid was writing to ladies and countesses.
She was almost certain she wanted that—
