“I ken,” she repeated. “I enjoy unravelin’ yer perfectly curated façade.”
He drew her closer, closing the space between them, while his right hand curled possessively around the swell of her hip, guiding her into him.
Each kiss, each caress, was deliberate, an unhurried demand, as though he were asking,Will you yield to me?And every answering brush of her lips, every tremble of her fingers against him, was her silent consent.
He tore his mouth from hers, his breathing ragged with restraint, hot against her lips.
At last, he lifted his head, his eyes boring into hers, searching, testing, waiting.
“Elspeth,” he growled, his voice rough with need. “If we remain here, I will take you on this damned settee where anyone might walk in. I will not have you ruined like that.” His hands tightened on her waist, possessive, trembling with the force of his control. “Come with me. To your room. Now. Before I forget myself entirely.”
She simply nodded, too aroused for words.
“You are trembling,” he whispered as he carried her out of the drawing room and toward the stairs.
She rested her head against his shoulder. “It has been a long night. So many ups and downs, I daenae ken which way to look.”
“Let me guide you,” he said as he carried her up the rest of the stairs and into her room, the door creaking softly behind them.
He gently laid her on her bed and knelt beside her, his hand stroking her hair as he delicately loosened a ribbon. Her hair fanned out in perfect ringlets on the pillow.
“Are you cold?” he asked, pulling the duvet over her.
“No,” she said, reaching for his hand. “Me blood is on fire for ye, Hugo. I am surely nae cold.”
He held her hand tightly.
“Just stay with me,” she begged, her voice barely audible.
“Say no more.” He pulled the duvet back down and looked down at her, licking his lips. “You are the most exquisite creature I have ever seen.”
“Stop, Hugo,” she said, covering her face with her hands. “Daenae say things ye daenae mean.”
“Look at me, Elspeth,” he demanded, his voice low, almost feral. “I do not waste words. I never have. When I say I want you, it is the only truth left in me. You haunt my mind, my blood, my sleep. I burn for you. And God help me—” His thumb brushed her swollen lip, his gaze searing into her own. “All I want is to taste you again.”
She pulled her legs up, unable to restrain her excitement as her body trembled harder. She craved him and yet felt so unsure. She was unsure of herself, of what was happening between them.
He looked down at her, and she felt as if he would devour her if he could.
I want him to.
“Show me that beautiful body,” he purred as he began taking off his clothes at a painfully slow pace that made her hang on his every move.
“I am nae feelin’ very confident,” she admitted. “Unlike ye…”
“Do not make me beg, Elspeth,” he groaned as he got off the bed and stood beside it. He paused for a moment, then strode toward the bed in only his pants, which hung low on his tight hips. “I will if I have to. I will get down on my knees right here in front of you. Is that what you want? Do you want to make the powerful duke beg for it, darling?”
“I want ye—I want ye to take me,” she whispered, again bringing her hands to her heated cheeks as she felt the embarrassment of her admission. “All I want in me life is to lead me own destiny. But when I am here with ye, all I want is for ye to do what ye want with me.”
“You cannot fathom what you do to me,” he rasped, pressing his hand against the bulge in his trousers. His eyes burned into hers, hungry and unrelenting. “Every inch of you is my undoing. You are my wickedest fantasy made flesh.”
He descended on her in a rush, his hands urgent, almost frantic, tearing at the delicate fabric of her gown until the silk gave way.
She gasped, breathless, unable to keep pace with him, so she yielded—let herself be handled, possessed, adored. She wanted nothing more than to vanish into the heat of his desire, to lose herself entirely in the hunger blazing in his piercing eyes.
Her gown fell in tatters on the bed. She caught her breath, a wild laugh slipping out despite the pounding of her heart.
“Yer Grace,” she whispered, her voice trembling with nerves and mirth, “ye have just destroyed the Duchess of Greystead’s gown.”
