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“Is there nothing I can do to enhance your pleasure this evening?”
Grace startled, a frown marring her brow as she turned to study the duke’s too innocent expression that told her his query was not in the least innocent.
Her chin rose before she turned away from the challenge in his dark gaze. “I would be much obliged if you would cease asking me unnecessary questions. In fact, it would make the evening far more pleasurable for me if you were to cease talking altogether for what is left of the performance.”
“Good choice,” he murmured in approval. “I have always preferred actions to words.”
Grace tensed as the infuriating man moved slightly so that he could lift the arm closest to her and place it lightly about her shoulders. His warm palm and long fingers then curved about the shoulder left bare by the style of her gown.
“You cannot do that sort of thing here,” she hissed as she glanced quickly about to see if anyone had noticed the intimacy.
The duke appeared completely unconcerned by her distress, nor did he remove his arm or stop touching her shoulder. “Then let us go somewhere where Icando it.”
“Alaric—”
“Dear God, say my name again!” he groaned.
She frowned her confusion, “Alaric…?”
His eyes appeared a glittering black as he turned to her in the darkness. “It has been pure purgatory to sit beside you for the past three hours, to breathe in your perfume, to feel the heat of your body so close to mine, and not be allowed to touch you in the way I wish to.”
Grace felt mesmerized by the intensity of passion in his expression as much as his words.
“Do you have any idea how often during the past week I have fantasized of having you kneel at my feet,” he continued achingly. “Hearing you say my name huskily before you part your delectable lips and take my engorged cock into the heat of your mouth?”
“Your Grace!” Grace recoiled in shock, never having been spoken to with such explicit language before.
Much to her relief, the curtain came down on the stage at that moment, signaling the end of the play. An ending Grace had completely missed because of Melborne’s outrageous comments. Not a particular hardship when the duke’s presence meant she had paid little attention to the rest of the play.
“Thank you for this evening,” Grace told Melborne stiffly as she rose quickly to her feet. She gathered up her cloak and bonnet before rushing toward the door and out into the hallway.
She was now desperate to get away from this man. From the heat and desire that was once again coursing through her body at the imagery his words created inside her head.
She needed to distance herself from Melborne immediately if she were to maintain any of her equilibrium.
She knew from when she arrived earlier that the number of carriages waiting outside to take their wealthy employers’ home would block the roads for some time. She would have to walk some distance away from the area before acquiring a hansom cab to transport her to her home. It was far too dangerous for her walk the mile to her house alone at this time of night.
Strong fingers curled about her upper arm as she joined the crowd of people also rushing down the stairs toward the front exit of the building. “What are you doing?” Melborne scowled his displeasure.
She gave him a flustered glance as she attempted to pull on her cloak. “I need to find a hansom cab—”
“You most certainly do not.” He took the cloak from her before placing it about her shoulders. “I will drive you home in my carriage.”
“No—”
“Grace?” a woman’s voice enquired curiously. “My goodness, it is you!” The voice warmed. “How lovely to see you here.”
To Alaric’s surprise, he instantly recognized the person greeting Grace so familiarly as being Lady Penelope Harper, the Countess of Redding. And the wife of Grace’s lover. A tall and fair-haired lady, at least ten years Grace’s senior, and the mother of Redding’s three children.
“My dear.” The countess turned to her husband as he stood beside her. “This is Miss Grace Sunderland. She is one of the most dedicated of our helpers at the orphanage.”
A glance at Grace showed him that all the color had drained from her cheeks and that her eyes were open wide with shock as she glanced briefly at the equally pale-faced man staring at her as if he had seen a ghost.
Or his mistress being greeted by his wife as if the two of them were friends.
“Miss Sunderland. Melborne.” Whatever Redding’s turbulent thoughts on the matter, they were not revealed in the coolness of his greeting or when he turned to nod acknowledgment of Alaric.
“Redding,” he returned as abruptly before taking a proprietary grip of Grace’s elbow. “Excuse us, we were just leaving.”
