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“Have what, Your Grace?”
“My devilish charm.”
“Did you think you’d lost it?”
“When we danced you appeared to loathe me. As if I were a horrid turnip.”
He knew who she was. So much for him forgetting she’d ever been here.
“Your Grace, I—”
“But now you’re in my bed, therefore I’ve still got it.” His grin was self-satisfied. “And what’s more, you’re in my arms.”
“About that,” began Mina. “It’s late, and I really should be—”
“When thus reclining on my breast, those eyes threw back a glance so sweet, as half reproached yet raised desire, and still we near and nearer pressed.” He clasped his arms tighter. “And still our glowing lips would meet.” He kissed her lips softly. “As if in kisses to expire.”
“Lord Byron? You’re quoting Lord Byron.” Now Mina was truly concerned for his sanity. His conversation thus far had been terse. Unemotional. He was not a man given to reciting love verses.
But that man was buried somewhere inside him, and all it took was a sharp blow to the head to bring out the poetry, the warm teasing... the passion.
Before her mind could come up with any more dangerous revelations, Crankshaw returned with a tin basin sloshing with water and chunks of ice. “This ought to bring him round, madam.” He made a move as if he were preparing to upend the basin.
“Wait!” She was still entwined with the amorous, amnesiac duke and didn’t relish a dousing.
She snuggled closer to him and lifted her lips to his ear. Again, the mouthwatering scent of his almond cologne nearly undid her. “Your Grace,” she whispered.
“Mmm?” He kissed the tip of her nose.
“If you let me leave the bed, I’ll divest myself of this cumbersome cloak.”
His arms sprang open. She rolled away and hopped down from the bed.
“Now,” she ordered.
Crankshaw stepped forward.
The duke’s head swiveled. “Not now, Crankshaw. The lady’s about to lose her cloak. Leave this instant and I won’t sack you.”
Crankshaw trembled. “I can’t do it, madam. His Grace has a very long memory, once it’s properly restored.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake. Give it here.” She held out her hands and Crankshaw handed her the basin. “This will be cold, Your Grace.”
He caught her skirts and attempted to pull her closer. “Ice can be used in love play. But only a sliver of ice, drawn slowly over a nip—”
She dumped the basin of icy water over him from head to abdomen.
“Bloody Hell!” he roared, springing to a seated position.
He shook his great shaggy head like a hound, spraying cold water across her chest. “Why’d you do that?”
“I-I’ll just be downstairs if you require me, madam,” said Crankshaw hastily. “All you need do is use the bellpull.”
He scurried from the room, abandoning Mina with a dripping wet, highly enraged duke.
Chapter11
“It was necessary,” Mina said tartly, wiping water from her cheeks with her sleeve. “You were reciting Lord Byron.”
