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The duke rose to his knees but when he tried to stand he swayed and nearly fell back down. Crankshaw caught him around the waist.
“Perhaps if you... pull his arms... from the front,” huffed Crankshaw.
Mina grabbed hold of the duke’s large hands and pulled with all her strength.
Finally upright, he gave her another lopsided smile. “Seem to be having a bit of difficulty staying on my feet. Must have had too much brandy. Don’t worry. Won’t affect my performance.”
Whatever that meant.
Crankshaw draped one of the duke’s huge arms over his shoulders and caught him around the waist. The duke reached out and snagged Mina by her waist, pulling her tight to his other side.
He lowered his lips to her ear. “Ready for bed?” he asked in a husky whisper that sent a shiver between her shoulder blades.
“Take his other arm over your shoulders, madam,” Crankshaw instructed. “It’ll go easier that way.”
Mina lifted the duke’s arm from her waist and wrapped it over her shoulders, reeling under the sudden transfer of weight. His hand infiltrated her cloak and settled over her right breast.
She immediately moved his hand back to her shoulder.
“We’re going to have fun tonight.” His hand moved back to her breast and he squeezed softly.
“All right-y,” she squeaked. “One, two, three and away we go.”
Transfer the duke to his bed and make a hasty retreat. That was the goal.
If she was very, very lucky, Thorndon wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning. She would be a shadowy dream memory, overridden by a devil of a headache. She could even replace the note in the drawer before she left, and none would be the wiser.
She must leave quickly, before anyone else saw her here. She’d go back to her bedchamber, take out a sheet of paper, and begin piecing together everything she knew thus far.
Lord Rafe had said he was going to set a trap for the biggest prize of all and that it was his chance to redeem himself. He’d called it a mission, and said he was going after a target, so there was every probability that it had something to do with espionage, and he most likely thought of it as a way to restore himself to the ranks of Uncle Malcolm’s agents.
Tomorrow she would go about solving the mystery, finding Lord Rafe, and rendering herself indispensable to his mission.
If she met the duke again in Society she would simply ignore his existence. Though truly, he was difficult to ignore. The man was as heavy as an ox.
They half dragged, half pushed him out of the study.
His palm still covered her breast, as if he’d found the anchorage he craved.
In his addled mental state, a woman taking him to bed meant that she had designs upon him and he was free to fondle her at will.
He didn’t even know who she was—just a female with soft breasts. Only a dream to direct to his satisfaction.
Every lurching step brought his palm against her nipple. The friction sensitized her breast. Despite the presence of the servant on the duke’s other side, arousal spiked from the tip of her breast down her belly.
Did she enjoy being handled this way? Or did she enjoy being touched byhim?
By Thorndon.
He’d told her to call him Drew, which of course would be the very height of impropriety.
Impropriety. Ha! They were well past that point. Just look where his hand was resting.
“Drew” must be a shortened form of his Christian name, Andrew. The name fit him. His kiss had drawn her into a new world of sensation.
Drawn vivid colors—hot reds, bursts of gold—where her imagination had drawn only lines in charcoal.
Her very first kiss.
