Page 36 of Stolen By the Duke of Stone

Jessamine took a step closer, though she hadn’t entirely meant to. Something about the pain in such a large man made her ache to be closer. He pulled her into his orbit.

“All right,” she said, and took his hand, pressing it between hers. “That sounds like a very good plan.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but she saw no amusement in his gaze. “I’m glad you’ll approve. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to a modiste so you can purchase a new gown for the event.”

“I already have dresses, Andrew,” she said, laughing.

“Very few formal gowns,” he said, not laughing. But the corners of his eyes softened. “I would have you dressed well for this, Jessamine.”

“I am offended on behalf of all the other dresses in my wardrobe.”

“Why not think of it rather as a gift for William?” He had stepped closer still, his heat searing into her.

Why did he no longer think of kissing her? She remembered how his eyes had looked before he kissed her, wintry blue around pupils gone wide and dark. Now, they were merely… controlled.

When he was this close to her, it became all she could think about. What his jaw might feel like under her fingers… it was always so hard and firm. Would it be like granite, or hold the softness she found on her face?

And his mouth. She often wondered how a mouth could be at once so stern and so soft. His lips had coaxed pleasure from hers once, and she longed to feel them again.

“A gift for William,” she repeated, feeling as though he had cut her strings and left her to float loose into the sky. “I hardly think he will notice my appearance, Andrew.”

“He might not. Even so, my duchess deserves a new dress. You deserve a beautiful thing, Jessamine. Because you are bea—” he caught himself and cleared his throat. “I mean, because you’ve done nothing but care for William. You deserve a gift.”

He held her gaze, and Jessamine wondered if she was a fool, because at the thought of Andrew seeing her in a new gown, of appreciating her dress with that same intensity in his eyes as she saw now, made her stomach tighten.

“Very well,” she said as lightly as she dared. “Tomorrow it is. I will allow your tastes to guide me, Your Grace.”

The corner of his mouth curled, and he leaned toward her before stopping and moving away again. “I look forward to it.”

This was nothing but a mistake.

Andrew sat on one of the chairs placed for guests as he admired Jessamine, seamstresses pinning the gown into place on her voluptuous figure. When he’d imagined purchasing a dress for her, he’d assumed he would be bored, women’s fashion being of no interest to him. But that was before he had arrived here with Jessamine.

Madam Roux, the proprietor of this particular establishment, had bustled forward to take his wife under her wing, promising premium treatment. And so far, she had delivered. And despite the prickly demeanor she showed Andrew, Jessamine seemed to bloom under the attention.

Andrew could not take his gaze from Jessamine. The high empire waistline just skimmed the underside of her breasts, which the low neckline only served to highlight. Soft swells, just the beginning of cleavage, which tantalized him to no end.

Then there were the skirts.

He knew, logically, that she wore more than one layer underneath. At least a chemise. Stays. And yet it felt as though the curves of her body pressed against the silk. The long line of a leg here, a rounded hip there. And when she turned, he caught a glimpse of her derriere, which might become his undoing.

She was all dimples and cream, perfect roundness that he longed to press and squeeze and make his.

He shifted in his chair, his arousal having reached unmanageable levels. If someone were to look at him now, they would glimpse the unsightly bulge in his breeches. And while these ladies had no doubt seen such things before, he didn’t want Jessamine to know how much she affected him.

After he had lost his mind over her all those days ago, he had done his best to keep his attraction to her at a low simmer. Every time he looked at her, he felt a burn anew. An ache. The taste of the forbidden was appealing indeed, and although he did his best to convince himself he didn’t want her, just as he had attempted to deny every other desire or inclination in his life, he couldn’t quite manage it.

She turned back to him, a bright smile on her face. “Well?” she prompted. “What do you think?”

“I think peach becomes you,” he said, leaning forward to better disguise his erection. “But the better question is whether you like it?”

She ran a hand down her stomach, as though attempting to see whether the gown adequately disguised its soft curve, and Andrew had to bite his lip against saying anything.

If it were up to him, he could make her his right there, in front of the mirror.

How he’d enjoy making her watch as he claimed her…

He throbbed with need and silently cursed himself.