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Titus guided her out onto the terrace, then down the pair of steps into his stepmother’s garden. “It might be small, but Lady Satterfield prides herself on the roses in particular. You should see the gardens at their country home.”
He was fairly certain his attempt at small talk was pathetic in the extreme, but his brain was having a difficult time outpacing his body at present. The touch of Nora’s hand on his arm, the sensuous curl of her lips as she spoke to him, the provocative slant of her tawny eyes—all of it triggered an exquisite need.
Walking with her in the garden was a bloody terrible idea. But he was doing it anyway.
He steered her toward the roses he’d mentioned. They weren’t blooming yet, but in a few weeks, they’d be a riot of color and a buffet of gorgeous scents.
She inclined her head toward the neat row of shrubs. “We have roses back in St. Ives. Tending to them was one of my favorite summertime activities.”
He envisioned her alone in the country, clipping at rosebushes, perhaps pricking her fingers on their nasty thorns. Somehow that seemed a metaphor for Society—beautiful but treacherous. “Will you miss that? I’m sure my stepmother wouldn’t mind if you wanted to tinker with these.”
She smiled. “Thank you, but I think she will have me too busy with other things. She’s quite committed to ensuring I have a Season to remember.”
Complete with a husband. He barely managed not to scowl.
They walked for a moment in silence. He should leave. He’d only come to dinner because he enjoyed dining with his stepparents. Except now, that dinner came with a beguiling woman who occupied far too many of his thoughts. A woman he’d pledged to avoid but couldn’t seem to.
She tipped her head toward him. “I hope you won’t find me impudent, but I wonder if I could ask how you ended up with the nickname of the Forbidden Duke.”
He stopped and pivoted toward her.
She winced and withdrew her hand from his arm. “I’m sorry. Lady Satterfield has indicated you’re a man who values his privacy. Forget that I asked.”
“It’s not as if I cultivated the name,” he said. “At least not on purpose. I can’t say I dislike it either. People cut me a wide swath, which means I don’t have to suffer banality. For that, I am quite relieved.”
She laughed. “My goodness. I can’t decide if you’re a snob or just intensely aloof.” She slapped her hand over her mouth, her beautiful eyes widening.
He laughed with her, delighting in her honesty even while acknowledging that if anyone else had said that to him, he’d give them the cut direct. “Probably a bit of both.”
Her eyes lit with mirth. “So you enjoy being forbidden?”
“Ienjoybeing left alone. If not for my responsibilities in the House of Lords, I would hardly come to London.”
She sobered. “I see. I am just the opposite, I’m afraid. I’ve been alone for so long that I’m quite eager to be among people.”
Her tone was matter-of-fact, but there was something else lurking in the depths of her eyes—an uncertainty or perhaps a sadness. Whatever it was, he wanted to banish it. He moved closer to her, drawn like a raindrop to the earth. His blood was roaring in his ears in a thoroughly primal fashion.
Again, he thought that he shouldn’t be here with her. This moment could be a scandal in the making.
Only if there was a witness, his mind whispered.
“I enjoy talking with you,” he said. “It’s a crime that you were alone for so long.”
Her lashes fluttered. “I enjoy talking with you too.” Her voice was low, unintentionally seductive.
He desperately wanted to touch her, determine for himself if her flesh was as soft and warm as he imagined. So he did.
His fingers grazed her jaw. She sucked in a breath, and the sound evoked an even greater physical response, sending his body into complete abandon.
“We should return to the house.” Her words were barely audible, scarcely more than a breath.
Yes, they should, but he hated the ton’s stupid rules. Right now, he wanted to rebel against them. “We should. Only…” He wanted to kiss her. So badly. But he couldn’t. Not because of the rules, but because of what she’d already been through nine years ago.
He edged backward and was shocked when she placed her hand on his lapel. Her touch was light, hesitant.
“Would you…kiss me?” she asked softly. “I’ve only ever been kissed that one time, and it was awful.” She blinked rapidly and snatched her hand away. “Never mind. I’m far too brazen.” Her face colored, and he could practically feel her embarrassment.
He didn’t want her to be embarrassed. Nor did he want to deny her request. “You are not. It’s a sin that you haven’t been kissed properly.”
