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Perhaps sensing the precarious position she was in and how aroused he was, Miss Jones suddenly broke the kiss.
When she spoke, her voice was soft and breathy. “I trust that was satisfactory, Your Grace.” Her lips were as dark as the dew-slick petals of a bloodred rose and her pupils were so dilated, Dominic swore he could drown in them.
“Satisfactory? I’d say that kiss was incendiary, Miss Jones.” He gently tucked a loosened curl behind the delicate shell of her ear. “And perhaps, given the circumstances, I may be so bold as to call you Artemis?”
Her cheeks, which were already flushed, turned a deeper shade of pink, and Dominic was strangely charmed. “Of course, Your Grace.”
“And you may call me Dominic. If you would like to.”
“I would.” Her smile lit her eyes. “Dominic.”
Dominic couldn’t help but smile back. It seemed like forever since a woman had spoken his Christian name, especially in such a soft, throaty voice. The intimacy of it made his chest ache with something akin to longing.
Dear God. He should be terrified. He wasn’t looking for tenderness or love or happy endings, just a sensible woman of his own class who’d be quite content to enter into a marriage of convenience. The unconventional, entirely unsuitable Artemis Jones wasnotgoing to be his next duchess.
Was she?
He swallowed to alleviate a totally unexpected tightness in his throat. “So my wild, sweet Artemis, I should probably bid you adieu before I do actually ruin you in a spectacularly public fashion.” Releasing her from his hold, he took several steps back.
Artemis blew out a shaky breath and ran her hands down her slightly rumpled skirts. “Yes.” When the shop’s front doorbell tinkled, she slid deeper into the shadows of a nearby bookcase. “If you go on ahead, I’ll follow in a few minutes.”
Grateful that his arousal had subsided, Dominic tilted his head. “Very wise.”
“Don’t forget your hat,” she called softly after him. “I think it’s near the ‘horrid’ novels by Dalton, D’Aubigne, and Davenport.”
