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An audible hiss of breath sounded above her head.
He shifted beneath her, bringing her into a sudden awareness of the effects of her teasing.
“I might like to spank you,” he said. His hand moved lower, to the small of her back, and lower still. He cupped her bum with his palm.
She squirmed on his lap, moving forward to give his hands better access. Excitement pulsed through her body, gathering in the tips of her breasts, the pit of her belly, the juncture between her thighs.
She remembered how he’d held her by the wrists in the shed and how the feeling of being under his control had been both dangerous and arousing.
“To willingly lose control when you know that it’s safe to do is exciting for some,” he said. “Not for me.”
“You never lose control, do you?” She played with the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Traced the outer edge of his ears. She wanted him to kiss her so badly.
She wanted to make him lose control.
“I’ve worked hard to cultivate utter control over my emotions and my life,” he said.
“I know something about you.” She tilted her lips to his ear. “A secret.”
His face turned until their lips were nearly touching. “What’s my secret?”
“You were afraid to go behind the bookshelf.”
His body became even more rigid beneath her. “No, I wasn’t.”
“I could see that you were scared.” She placed her hand over his heart, as she had earlier. “Does it have something to do with your kidnapping?” Her uncle had warned her never to speak of it, but she wanted to know more.
“Has anyone ever told you that curiosity killed the cat?” he asked, attempting a lighthearted tone.
“Tell me what happened,” she said. “Don’t shut me out, as you tend to do. Don’t remain cold.”
He remained silent for a few heartbeats and she thought he wasn’t going to answer the question, but then he drew in a breath. “I was kidnapped when I was fifteen, taken from Eton, and held for ransom in a small ship anchored near London.” His voice emotionless and flat, as though he were reciting someone else’s history. Someone long dead and buried. “So the threat to Beatrice is personal. I’ll never let the same thing happen to her. Never.”
She shuddered. “It must have been so frightening,” she said.
Fear squatted in the center of your chest and choked the breath out of your body. Fear had the taste of watery oats and sour milk.
The thing about fear was that it never really left you. It was your companion for life, always there, waiting to take control when you weren’t vigilant enough.
The other thing about fear was that you never admitted it to anyone. Not if you were a man.
Not if you were a duke.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she said.
“I never talk about it.”
“I understand.”
She did understand and she wouldn’t push him to admit his weakness. She’d just been through the experience of being trapped, her limbs splayed out, and her skirts falling over her eyes.
She’d been vulnerable, and she’d been scared. He’d heard it in her voice, though she’d also been brave. Making a joke of it, trusting him to help free her.
“MissPenny, the sight of you in those manacles.” He swallowed. It had brought everything back. He’d been desperate to free her, clawing at the irons like an animal. “It reminded me of the kidnapping. I’m so sorry that you had to endure being trapped for even a few minutes.”
“You were trapped for days,” she said.
“Ten days. One of my wrists was chained to a ring in the wall. The other left free. I scratched marks on the rough wooden walls of the ship for every day of my captivity.”
