Page 46 of How to Capture a Duke

Olivia found herself thrown over Tristan’s shoulder like pirate carrying his booty. Shocked, she pounded on his broad back, but doing so was like striking steel.

He strode out the back doors of the club and into the mews. Even in her unladylike position, she spotted his crested carriage. His coachman’s eyes widened when he saw the duke approach, but he didn’t say a word as he hopped off his perch to open the door. She found herself tossed onto the padded bench.

Olivia struggled to sit upright and smoothed her skirts. She was inflamed by his highhandedness. “How dare you! What if we were seen? You could have caused a scandal.”

He settled across from her on the bench and folded his arms across his chest. Dominant and masculine, he seemed to take over the interior of the conveyance. A single carriage lamp illuminated the chiseled planes of his face. The tinkle of harness and the lurch of the conveyance proclaimed they were off for Keswick Hall, just as the duke had demanded.

“I dare because I don’t want my drunken duchess to cause a scene in a casino.”

She felt her temper rise. “Your duchess!” she screeched. “You do not want a duchess.”

He leaned forward, his face inches from hers. “Now that I have one, I’ve decided to keep her.”

“Keep me? What on earth does that mean?”

“It means I expect my wife to behave like a lady, not a tavern doxy.”

He caught her hand before it made contact with his cheek. His dark gaze narrowed. “I suppose I deserve your outrage, but do not seek to strike me again.”

Perhaps if the world didn’t spin, she would be afraid. But she had never feared physical harm from him. Other things, yes, but not physical harm.

She licked suddenly dry lips. His gaze lowered to her mouth, and she felt as if he’d touched her there, his stare had turned so heated. The air shifted in the carriage, like a storm that blew away. She was left with a heightened awareness of lightning about to strike. She felt warm all over, as if he’d hauled her against his chest. She should be furious. What was wrong with her?

“You drive me mad.” He released her wrist but didn’t move, and neither did she. They stayed suspended in their seats, inches apart, eyes connecting.

“Why do you care? If you refuse to consummate our marriage, am I to stay untouched forever?”

“No,” he said, his voice rough. “You are young and lovely and should experience passion.”

It must be the whisky that was making her bold, but she didn’t care. “Do you prefer I seek a lover, then?”

“No. The thought of you with another does not sit well with me.”

Her pulse leaped. Oh. She’d never expected him to say such things. Never expected him to make such an admission. “Why?”

“It’s my right to bed you and your right to be with me. For me to make love to my wife. To make you cry out with passion.”

Oh my.

She could get lost in the longing in his eyes. For a brief moment, she imagined things had been different between them. He wasn’t a duke, they weren’t forced to marry, and their pasts had no consequence. They were simply two strangers ensconced in the intimacy of a carriage.

“I’d start here.” He reached for her hand and drew back her glove to place a kiss on the pulse point of her wrist. She stifled a gasp at his gentleness and the brush of his lips on the sensitive spot. Then, slowly, he peeled off her glove and kissed the center of her palm.

She watched the top of his head, and she longed to bury her fingers in the dark locks, to see if they were as soft as they appeared. Then he lifted his head and met her eyes. He was close, so close, and she wanted to kiss him so badly she ached.

“And then?” she asked.

“Then I’d kiss your lips.”

She leaned forward across the bench. He met her halfway.

His lips were soft and coaxing. Her mind flashed back to their very first kiss by the creek with the sunshine on her face and the ruggedly handsome man cradling her in his strong embrace. This was even better. No sun heated the interior of the dark carriage, but the warmth of his lips made her feel ablaze. Her breathing grew ragged, and her corset felt too tight. She slid a hand along his arm, grazed his hard bicep, then touched his shoulder. Her fingers inched up to bury in his hair. The thick strands were soft and inviting. She gave a slight tug to pull him closer. Thankfully, he knew what she wanted and plucked her from her bench to settle on his lap.

Even through broadcloth and silk, she could feel his searing heat. Clutching his shoulders, she parted her lips and opened to him and met his tongue. This was what she’d craved. She squirmed in his lap and was shocked by his hardness. She felt a burning need for something more, something only he could ease.

“If I could make love to you, I’d start by nuzzling the delicate shell of your ear.” His lips tugged, and she’d never known how sensitive her skin could be.

“Then I’d kiss your neck.” Her head fell back, and tremors began to vibrate through her body as his lips devoured her throat.