Page 100 of Kathryn

“You heard me,” he rumbled, closing his hands around her upper arms, and walking her backward.

“What are you doing?” she squeaked when her bottom bumped up against something hard.

“Turn around.”

“Dulverton—I demand—”

He easily spun her to face a heavy cabinet of the sort that usually held crockery. “Bend over.”

Katie’s entire body shook with lust and she could not seem to move.

Dulverton’s hand, large, warm, and rough, slid around her neck and cupped her jaw, turning her head to the side just enough that she could see him out of one eye. “Tell me you don’t want it and I will stop right now, Kathryn.”

Katie swallowed but did not make a sound. Oh God. Please don’t stop.

His lips twitched and he gave a smug, approving grunt. “Just as I thought. Now, lift up your skirt.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Gerrit did not truly believe that his proud, hellcat of a wife would allow him to bend her over a cabinet and fuck her in a public inn parlor, but—by God—her hands moved with all haste to pull up her walking costume, a pretty, frilly thing the color of emeralds that turned her eyes an even brighter shade of green.

He knew he was behaving like a savage brute but could not bring himself to step away. If he were a decent man, he would release her and tell her to stop. She wasn’t a common whore; she was his duchess. But his hunger for her had turned him into an unprincipled beast and he could not make himself say the words.

Besides which, something told him his prickly, haughty wife would be angry and ashamed if he called an end to this game right after she had capitulated.

The thought gave him pause, and Gerrit was more than a little impressed that her possible reaction had occurred to him. When did he ever notice somebody else’s feelings or give a damn what they thought?

And why did he suddenly care now?

Hell! A man could go mad thinking about such things. He was already at least half-mad with jealousy even though he knew damned well that Ampthill was always cup-shot and out of control. He also knew his wife had done nothing to attract the man’s attention, but that didn’t make him feel any more reasonable. No. It just made his urge to claim her all the fiercer.

Why the hell did he want her so damned badly? Who would have guessed that his Achilles heel was an argumentative red-headed shrew?

With the body of a goddess and the brain of a military commander, if her skill on the chessboard was anything to go by.

Gerrit had to bite his lip to keep from moaning like a fatuous fool when the hem of her skirt reached her knees, exposing the pretty green and blue garters that held up her stockings. Stockings which had lines up the back and—he leaned forward and squinted—butterflies embroidered around the top edge, as if they were holding the garters.

It was bloody adorable.

Adorable? Damnation! He’d turned into a blithering idiot.

Gerrit could not bring himself to care, his thoughts firmly riveted to her delectable thighs. Did she wear garments this sensual every day? Perhaps he should have her remain clothed when he came to her at night so that he could undress her.

Has it slipped your mind what she wants from you in the bedchamber?

Gerrit gritted his teeth as reality crashed down on him, crushing the pleasurable fantasy he’d just constructed. No, it bloody well hadn’t slipped his mind, although he constantly tried to forget it. He was working on a way to address that issue and he would do so, in his own damned time.

Right now was not that time.

The hem of her gown drifted farther up, over the bare flesh of her slender thighs, pulling her chemise up along with it and exposing her bottom.

Gerrit groaned. “Just like a peach.” The terribly trite words came out in a choked voice that sounded like it had been dragged behind a carriage for twenty miles. When he reached out to stroke her generous arse, he half feared she was a gorgeous mirage that would disappear before he could touch her. But the warm, smooth globe that trembled beneath his hand was satisfyingly real, as was her muted half-whimper, half-grunt, a sensual sound that he adored eliciting from his proud, haughty duchess.

Adorable? Adored?

He did not want to ponder just how bewitched he was becoming. Not now.

“Lift it higher,” he ordered gruffly.