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She opened those big brown eyes and looked up at him and suddenly he was bereft of speech. When had that ever happened to him? Speechless? Never.
Last night, so much had happened, so much had been thrown at him. He had never had to deal with such a muddle and this wasn’t going to be easy. Explanations had been thrown at him, but none of them had served to help.
She scrambled to her feet and there in the sunlight, her lively eyes bright with concern and her body in boys clothing so much more alluring than he had ever thought possible, this imp of a woman stood grabbing all his attention to the exclusion of all else.
He felt the frown bend his brows as he looked her over. Even in dirty breeches, even with dusty boots and a smudge across her cheek, the Sherborne creature was utterly devastatingly beautiful.
The duke was a man who adored women, their foibles, their mysterious ways, and their many faces. He loved the way they laughed and giggled. He loved their softness, their hearts, and their ability to deal with a world that set them as the ‘lesser gender’ when he had always known otherwise. Indeed, though he knew it was the male’s job, his duty, his pleasure to protect a woman from harm; in no way were they the lesser gender. His mother had taught him that because he had adored and observed her and his feelings for her had left him with a deep affection for womankind.
Thus, the duke became a man with a fondness for all women, all sizes, and all ages. They were an intriguing lot, full of charms and had a way of seeing the world that opened that same world for a man.
He had always thought perhaps that he loved women too much and that was why he had never wanted to get attached to just one. There were so many choices.
This woman standing before him had been loyal to her brother to the point of absurdity and he admired that in her. However, she had to be taught that this could not continue, if only to keep her safe.
He found himself fighting a mental war. He wanted in all sincerity, to protect her, even from herself and yet…he could not stop the sure desire rushing through his blood when he looked at her. What the bloody hell was that? He never bothered with innocent maids. His flirtations
were always with women married for convenience and looking for diversion and the occasional widow.
His mind was lost in cogitation as they saw to their horses, but in spite of his mental resolve to keep her at arm’s length, he found himself breathing in the fresh soapy scent of her. She must have washed with freezing cold water, poor girl, he thought.
He stepped closer without knowing that he did so. She went very still, but she resisted when he tried to take the saddle and the end result sent her flying backward.
He hurried and with great concern, reached for and found her waist as he helped her up and she put out a hand to his chest.
It was with every ounce of strength that he set her aside and did not kiss her, for at that moment, it was the only thing he wanted to do, but he wouldn’t. How could he take advantage of her like that? He couldn’t…could he?
* * *
She moved toward him, and didn’t have far to go with only an inch between them. She put her hand to his chest and while on her toes, she closed her eyes.
She knew, absolutely knew he was going to kiss her.
His voice was near her ear as he said, “Is there something I can do for you, Mandy? Something no one else can do?”
She heard the tease in his voice and realized what she was doing and feeling like a childish fool, she landed back on her heels, as her eyes snapped open. What must he think? How could she have been so wrong?
“No,” she answered, turning away from him. “Why would you think so?”
“Why? You looked as though you were in need of er…attention,” he said softly. “Indeed, you seemed to be reaching for it.”
She felt the vibes in the air. It was as though something inside of him broke free as he spoke.
She turned back to him. She should run. Instead, she found herself in his arms, his touch impassioned, his head bent to hers as his mouth devoured hers and his tongue searched hers for a response.
She gave herself to that kiss. Her body melted into his, her tongue moved hesitantly at first and then as he took over, she instinctively gave herself to his lead and the moment of erotic and primal sensation swept through her.
He was a rogue and a libertine and would forget her as soon as he walked away, but she didn’t care. She wanted his kisses. She wanted this feeling. She wanted the hunger he aroused in her. She wanted.
Why him? He was dominant and controlling and she was an independent young woman who liked to make her own way. She didn’t want or need a man forever taking control, yet she wanted this man and she wanted him to be the one to make love to her.
She would be one and twenty soon and had never been in love to the point of wanting a man to bed her, but she wanted this one to do just that. What was wrong with her? But it wasn’t wrong. It couldn’t be, because it felt right—so right.
Rules—men’s rules, never made sense to her. She had always felt men made rules to benefit men. Why shouldn’t she enjoy passion with a man?
She was entitled to this.
So many of her friends were already married and most of them had done a great deal more than kissing before they entered the blissful state of matrimony. It was time she lived a bit, wasn’t it? There was no saying that she would ever marry—not with the course she had taken. Her reputation now would be ruined because she broke her brother out of prison. No one would want her as a wife.
