“Fruit is no less important than anything else.”
Andthatwas what made him all the more intriguing as a lover. He would not be content with a fumble in the dark. He would want to know the woman in his arms. Every inch. Her skin, her scent, her moans, her taste. He would not be a careless lover, interested only in his own pleasure. He would find all the secret places and not rest until he brought—
He leaned forward, his voice husky, his eyes hot on hers. “Stop me.”
“No.” She grabbed his lapels and pulled him forward, even as his mouth crashed over hers.
This time, he did not smell of rich cologne and taste of even more expensive champagne. His mouth tasted tart and sweet, the memory of every playful argument they had shared still lingering on their tongues.
His hands cupped her face, his fingers cradling her gently while his tongue teased and took, ravishing her and romancing her all at once.
This was not a kiss for an audience. This was the kisshewanted to take, the kiss he wanted togive.
To her.
Unity met him parry for parry, kiss for kiss. She disentangled her hands from his lapels only to slide her hungry fingers beneath them, seeking the warmth of his hard, muscled body and the insistent beat of his heart against her palm.
His waistcoat was embroidered silk. Soft and slippery in comparison to the rough heat coiled within him. He felt like strength and power, danger and wealth. Wound far too tight beneath a thin veneer of control. He kissed her as though he were seconds away from rending both their garments to the floor of the carriage.
If he did so, she would fall down upon them and pull him to her to finish what they’d started, right here on the floor.
“We’ve arrived, Your Grace.” The coach came to a sudden stop.
Unity jerked her fingers out of the duke’s coat and smoothed his hopelessly wrinkled lapels.
He still held her face, his lips brushing against hers one last time before drawing just far enough away for them to meet each other’s eyes.
“We must stop this once I choose my duchess.”
That was a cold dash of water.
“Or whenIwish to stop.” She pulled out of his reach. “Don’t be so arrogant as to assume I—wait. Do you mean to imply the lord of masquerades won’t so much as kiss another person once he’s betrothed?”
Lambley shrugged as if her shock held no merit. “I shan’t kiss anyone but my bride from the moment I’ve ascertained who it will be.”
Unity blinked. Not only was that not how the ton tended to operate, the duke’s parties implied a rather flexible understanding of traditional marital vows.
“Your monogamy starts even beforesheknows she’s your duchess?”
“Iwill know.”
It was like the fruit and the champagne towers and the careful arrangement of chairs. Once Lambley decided on a path, nothing would sway him—or tempt him. Not even a house full of scantily clad guests eager for a tryst upstairs.
His perfect future duchess would want for nothing. The duke would be hers. Body and soul.
Even though it was foolish, Unity could not help but wonder what it might be like to have someone feel that way about her.
Chapter 11
Julian rose from his escritoire when Heath Grenville entered the study for their scheduled appointment. The duke’s first impulse was to spring on his guest and demand to know everything Grenville had uncovered about Miss Thorne.
Instead, he offered his friend a glass of port from the sideboard.
“Any news?” he allowed himself to ask once they were comfortably ensconced in a pair of armchairs. Night had fallen already.
Grenville reached into an inner pocket of his frock coat and handed Julian a folded sheet of parchment. “Broad strokes at this time. I’m working on filling in the details.”
Julian tucked the report into his own inner pocket and handed Grenville a different scrap of paper. “I dropped her off at this address yesterday. An unusual direction for a courtesan. See what you can find out.”
