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Valentine blinked. A fond nuisance.
They groaned and complained, all the while shooting daggers at him for spoiling their fun, but she smiled charmingly and offered a gloved palm to the sullen, kneeling buck who was the most vocal. He stood and pressed his lips to her knuckles, which set Valentine’s teeth firmly on edge. He clasped his hands behind his back and reminded himself that he had no claim on her, despite his body’s propensity to think otherwise.
She’s not yours.
Well, she was his prisoner.Thatthought let to an unholy swarm of lewd thoughts—including the lady being deliciously restrained—that had no business seeing the light of day. He blinked and gave his head a rough shake.
When those thoughts dispersed, he glowered at her. “Is that all I am to you? Your brother’s friend?”
“Do you wish to have a deeper designation, Your Grace?” she asked and signaled for a glass of champagne from a waiting footman. Her voice lowered. “Would you rather I introduced you as my lover? As the gentleman who was buried so deeply inside me, I couldn’t form a coherent thought? That would have done wonders for my reputation.”
His cock twitched. It wanted to be buried in her right now. Nape heating, Valentine’s eyes shot to hers, noting the mischievous glint as she sipped, regarding him over the crystal rim. Hell, why had he marched over here in the first place as though she needed rescue from a bunch of overeager young rogues?
“Walk with me,” he said, desperate to escape the many eyes watching them, including Lisbeth’s. When she nodded, he led her out of the room to the cool air of the main decks.
“Oh, how beautiful,” she murmured.
He glanced up, following her wide-eyed stare. Bright stars twinkled against the immense backdrop of a twilight sky, glittering over the slumbering stillness of the Atlantic Ocean. The moon was large and full, casting a silvery sheen over the polished floorboards. It was, indeed, lovely, but Valentine had other things on his mind. There were a few couples with the same idea strolling near the bow, so he led her toward the more deserted stern.
“Your Grace, are you trying to get me in trouble?” she teased. “I promised my gentlemen friends that you would not lead me astray, and here you are, guiding me to a very solitary part of the ship with no care for my poor reputation.”
“Your reputation will survive.”
“Will it?” she asked, voice low and husky in indecent invitation. Hell, he should have stayed in the lounge where he would be in control by default of everyone else’s observation. He huffed a breath. He’d say what he meant to say and escort her back inside.
Valentine throttled his spiking desire. “Is this some kind of game to you?”
“All life’s a game, Your Grace. If one doesn’t play, it passes you by in a blink.”
“You think what you’re doing is some amusing diversion?” he asked, furious, though a part of him sensed that she was baiting him. “People can get hurt. You can get hurt.”
“I’m well aware of my limitations, Your Grace,” she replied coolly. “I’m also aware of my merits. I’m sorry that with your blinkers on where I’m concerned, you cannot possibly see past the satin skirts and the proper manners to realize that I am perfectly capable of not being foolish.” A hint of red touched the tops of her cheekbones, indicating she wasn’t as cool as she pretended to be, but he was too busy being insulted to care. “Give me some small credit, sir.”
“Blinkers,” he echoed softly.
“A horse wears them to focus for a race, blocking out all other distraction.”
“I know what they are.”
She smiled. “Then you take my meaning.”
The breath left her in a gasp when he took her by the arms and ushered them both around the sternpost and then into some kind of crew alcove where a ladder led down to the engines. His much bigger frame crowded hers in the narrow space, but she did not cower or back away. No, the little minx reached for his lapels and erased any space between them. Her face tilted upward. “Are you going to kiss me, Your Grace?”
No.He had absolutely no intention of doing so.
His hands trembled on her elbows and slid over her arms to her shoulders and up in a slow, measured glide until he cupped her slender nape. His thumbs grazed over the sides of her delicate jaw. Her lips parted in invitation, and he had to force himself not to sample them for the sake of it. No, he wasn’t interested in those lips.
“Lift your skirts, Bronwyn.”
Twelve
Bronwyn’s throat dried at the explicit command.
Every time she thought she held the reins and was in control of the seduction, he demonstrated so easily that she wasn’t. Because, dear heavens, he was going to debauch her out here in public view where anyone could come upon them, and she couldn’t stop from shivering with equal parts of excitement and alarm. This wasn’t like their coupling in an abandoned shelter in the woods, even though this part of the ship seemed to be mostly abandoned. Any and all crew would be readying for the dinner service. At least, she hoped.
The duke stared at her with hooded, expectant eyes and removed his gloves. The sight of those long bare fingers did something to her… Would he use them on her? Graze their calloused edges over her goose-pimpled skin? Touch her beneath the skirts he’d commanded her to lift? Her breath hitched with desire. With tentative hands, she tugged at the satin of her gown, grabbing handfuls of the thicker petticoats beneath until her stockings came into view, then her garters, and the embroidered edges of her drawers.
“All the way up,” he said and she complied. “Loosen the tapes of your drawers,” he said, voice so guttural her own core clenched with need.
