“I can still help you find a bride for your nephew. My sisters and I know the very best and proper young ladies in theton.” Iris could not give up. She would do anything to finish what she had started.
“And that will benefit my nephew greatly. But I ask again, what will I gain from this? I need efficiency, remember?” he looked at her keenly.
Iris took a deep breath, and before she could temper the impulse, another offer spilled forth from her lips—a reckless and irreversible offer.
“I will let you take me to…thatroom.” She locked eyes with him as a wave of courage, which she had not known she possessed, crashed over her. “I will let you take me to your red room, Your Grace. I will let you do whatever you want with me.”
The air between them thickened with a tense silence. The duke went utterly still, his dark eyes sharpened in her direction. The scar seemed to pull tighter as his jaw clenched, and she watched the slow rise and fall of his chest as he processed her words.
“That,” he growled, and his voice sent shivers racing down her spine, “is a dangerous offer, especially for someone with so little experience.”
Iris swallowed hard, but her throat felt dry.
Am I certain about this?
The memory of the silk fabrics, the iron rings, and the sketches had made her body thrum with forbidden curiosity. She had spent years alone. Written off in a marriage that had endedbefore it truly began, untouched and aching in ways she had never named.
“It is true that I have no experience,” she admitted quietly, the confession hanging vulnerably between them. “Your cousin… he died on our wedding night, as I am sure you have heard. But what thetondoes not know is that he died before anything could happen. I am untouched, Your Grace. Completely untouched.”
An animalistic sound escaped him as the impact of her words visibly struck him. His eyes darkened to near black, and she saw the way his hands flexed at his sides, as though fighting the urge to reach for her.
“You have no idea what you are asking for, Iris,” he growled, stepping closer once more until the scent of him enveloped her. “I am not a gentle man in that room. I would ruin you thoroughly and show you pleasures that would leave you trembling and begging.”
She should have been terrified. Instead, a thrill coursed through her veins while hot liquid pooled between her thighs. She never knew she had craved this danger until she met him. Her nipples tightened painfully against her bodice, and she knew he could see the evidence of her arousal in the flush spreading across her skin.
“I told you that I am not afraid of you, Your Grace,” she said bravely with a lifted chin.
“Iris, if you are about to enter my red room, you have every right to call me by my name.”
He smirked and leaned closer to her until their lips were inches apart. Iris inhaled sharply.
“Go on, Little Blossom, say my name.” His voice was dangerously low, and it sent a shiver down her spine.
“Blaise,” she whispered his name almost pleadingly.
The duke grinned devilishly, and Iris gulped as his hand came up slowly. His fingers brushed her jaw, tilting her face up to his. The calluses on his fingertips scraped lightly against her soft skin, a reminder of the hard labor he had mentioned.
“Say it again,” he growled.
Iris’s body was drawn completely to him. She parted her lips, and his name escaped on a soft moan: “Blaise.”
Before she could form a thought, his mouth claimed hers. Blaise growled deeply when she kissed him back; the raw, animalistic sound vibrated through her chest and straight down to her core.
“Iris,” he rasped against her lips with barely leashed hunger. “You have no idea what you just offered me.”
Their lips clashed together again, and the kiss was anything but gentle. All of Iris’s thoughts scattered as his taste filled her senses. It was ravaging. His lips were firm and demanding, slanting over hers with a savage hunger that stole the air from her lungs and set her blood on fire. Iris gasped into his mouth, and he seized the opening like a man starved, plunging his warm tongue inside to devour her with devastating thoroughness. He tasted of smoke, sin, and wicked promises, stroking deep and possessively until her head spun.
One of his large hands fisted tightly in her hair, dislodging pins with rough urgency and sending curls tumbling wildly down her back. The other gripped her waist hard enough to bruise, yanking her flush against his powerful body so she could feel every rigid inch of him. His thick, insistent arousal pressed boldly against her belly, hot and heavy even through their clothes, grinding once with deliberate intent.
“Feel that?” he growled into her mouth. “That is what your innocent little offer does to me. You have one month, Little Blossom. One month until you will be screaming my name and begging for more.”
A needy whimper escaped her.
“Blaise, please,” she called out desperately.
“Yes, just like that, Iris,” he groaned and devoured her mouth again.
Iris needed more of him, but she was unsure whatmoremeant. All she knew was that this was exactly the thrill she had been craving. His mouth moved with expert skill, nipping at her lower lip, the very one he had scolded her for biting, then soothing the sting with his tongue. Heat spiraled through her, making her knees weak and her core clench with empty longing. She clutched at his hair and his big, strong shoulders, fingers digging into the fine fabric of his coat as she surrendered to the dizzying sensation of being wanted so fiercely. When they finally pulled back, they were both breathless.
