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Good God, had the late Duke of Averell taught his daughters to brawl?
He grabbed her hands, attempting to pry them away from his chest. When that didn’t work, Ambrose wrapped his arms around her, pulling Theodosia to him. Hugging her tightly, he heard her gasp for breath. “Stop,” he insisted.
Theodosia’s wrists, trapped against his chest, relaxed a fraction.
Small bits of lightning crawled up Ambrose’s skin, sparking wherever Theodosia’s curves molded to the length of his body. His cock, always thrilled to be in the vicinity of Theodosia, tightened to stone in his trousers. There was no way she could fail to notice, even through layers of skirts and petticoats separating them.
Christ, she’s beautiful.
Her eyes, a vivid blue with their distinct ring of indigo, looked up at him. She wiggled against him, confusion and something much more tempting lighting in her eyes before her gaze dropped to his mouth. A ragged sound escaped her.
“Theodosia.” The pull to her was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Despite having planned to compromise her for months, he wasn’t thinking about vengeance or the fact that they were alone together as his head tilted, intent on covering her lips with his.
Unfortunately, Lady Blythe’s scream pierced the air, sounding as if she were being attacked by wild dogs.
It completely ruined the moment.
