Page 46 of A Bride for the Rakish Duke

He cursed inwardly at his wife’s curiosity, but he would soon make her forget to be curious about anything but him.

He heard footsteps and the turn of the key in the lock. With a sly smile on his lips, he waited for Lydia to open the door wide towelcome him into her chambers. Instead, she opened it a crack and stared up at him with a rather unimpressed look on her face.

“I am tired, so I will hear your apology, accept it, and return to my bed,” she said, stifling a yawn.

He blinked. “My apology?”

“Is that not what you meant by unresolved matters? I assumed you wanted to apologize for the way you behaved at dinner, making your brother and I exceedingly uncomfortable with your grim temper,” she replied in that same maddeningly indifferent tone. “Indeed, you should at least apologize for trying to control the company I keep.”

He put his hand on the door and pushed gently.

She pushed back. “Say your piece and go to bed.”

“What I wish to say is better expressed in a way that does not involve words,” he told her in a low, seductive growl. “Do you remember what I mentioned at dinner? I should like toreconcile.”

He rested his arm against the door, curving it over his head and hers as he leaned in. If she were to step back suddenly, he would probably stumble into her chambers instead of striding in, but that was a risk he was willing to take.

Lydia gave her most disarming smile. “I shall give you one minute to figure out how to say it with words. If you cannot, perhaps it is something you can practice and rehearse over the next two days, and you can tell me in the carriage on the way to Bruxton Hall.”

“Bruxton Hall?”

“Joanna’s ball. It is in two days.” Lydia’s tilted her head to one side, her eyes glinting. “Unless you would prefer me to attend alone? I had hoped to hear your opinion on my new gown, but if you are intent on remaining in London, then I suppose you shall just have to imagine it.”

William took slow breaths, calming the rising heat that simmered in his veins, tempted and perturbed by the minx standing in front of him in equal measure. From the instant he had met her—before he had realized she was the woman he planned to marry—he had known she was a firebrand, but it had not been this sultry, seductive, maddening sort of fieriness. This was a newer revelation, and he still did not know what to make of it.

“I would advise you not to taunt me, kitten,” he purred, bringing his fingertips to the underside of her chin.

You have a greater chance of becoming the Queen of England than attending that ball alone.

He could already envision a horde of ravenous gentlemen salivating over her if her gown was anything like the one she hadworn to the opera. The thought of even one of those imagined men touching so much as a fingertip of hers made him bristle, his hackles rising as if he really were a wolf, ready to snap at anyone who dared to get too close to his territory.

Lydia smiled back. “Then do not make it so easy.” Her teeth grazed her lower lip, and that beast inside him began to prowl restlessly. “It has a neckline cut to here,” she said, trailing her fingertips over the flimsy white cotton of her nightdress. “Barely a sleeve. A ribbon to enhance my waist. And such… exquisite beading. Did I mention that it was red?”

“You ought to show it to me so that I might find a tailcoat to match,” he said, pushing the door again. “Though, I am curious—where have you found the coin to pay for such rare garments?”

Lydia took a step back, and he just managed to keep his balance. “My father gave me what he called my ‘settling money,’ so that I would make an excellent entrance into Society as a duchess. I did not wish to disappoint anyone, least of all my husband.”

She had been calling him that more often, peppered sparsely with the pet names that were undoubtedly intended to irritate him. But hearing ‘husband’ on the threshold of her bedchamber had a far greater effect than it had possessed before. It stoked the furnace of desire that was already roaring to mighty heights within his veins, intoxicating and undoubtedly dangerous.

“Remove your nightdress,” he commanded, stepping all the way into the room and closing the adjoining door behind him. “Puton your gown for Joanna’s ball. I would see it before I truly decide if I am to accompany you or not.”

Lydia turned her back to him, the firelight ahead of her revealing the breathtaking silhouette of her body beneath that light white fabric. He leaned back against the door to admire every curve—the perfect hourglass of her narrow waist and sensual hips. As she walked closer to the fireplace, he caught sight of shapely thighs, thick and supple, just how he favored them. And an equally shapely backside that it was a crying shame not to be able to grasp in his palms.

“You just said it was unwise for me to taunt you,” Lydia replied, “so I think I shall leave my nightdress where it is.”

He could have laughed at her quick-wittedness if he were not so distracted by her exquisite physique. “How else am I to see your gown properly if I do not see it on your person?”

“At Joanna’s ball,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder at him. “I cannot put the gown on by myself, and it is far too late for me to summon my lady’s maid. What a pity that you cannot touch me, or you could have helped me.”

What manner of temptressareyou?

He had never encountered one more gifted, that was for certain, for he had never wanted anyone more.

“Of course,” she continued, turning the rest of her body slowly toward him, “youcouldsee more than the gown, and I would obey your request to remove my nightdress if you felt inclined to break my rule. However, the consequences for breaking my rule are exceptionally severe.”

William ran his gaze over that tortuous silhouette—the hint of full, pert breasts, the teasing points of the nipples he had drawn into his mouth last night, that enticing waist, and those divine hips. All things he could have, could taste, could explore, could possess if he just conceded defeat. She was giving him the invitation—all he had to do was take it.

“How severe?” he asked, forcing himself to look away from the perfection of her body to meet her sultry gaze.

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