Page 54 of Wedded to the Scottish Duke

“To avoid you.”

“All I did was look at ye.”

“You didn’t look anywhere else,” she snapped, waving her hand at him. “You shouldn’t be looking at your matchmaker. You should save such looks for the woman you are to marry, and I am proud of the match I made.”

The lie was heavy on her tongue. Even the Duke of Hardbridge didn’t look convinced, his eyebrows shooting up so high that his brow wrinkled.

“I’m sure Lady Alicia will make you a beautiful duchess. She might even be the demure and obedient woman you were looking for.”

He cursed under his breath so strongly that she looked at him in amazement. He really wasn’t like any other gentleman she had ever met, but as he had reminded her countless times, he had been a Scottish warrior laird before he had ever been a duke in England.

“Why do ye think I’m in here, sweetheart?” he goaded her, slipping his hands in his pockets. It was a show of ease, though it only made Celia’s mouth turn dry.

We are alone… completely alone without the chance of being disturbed.

She nearly told him to lock the door, but fortunately, other words escaped her mouth instead.

“You have your match,” she reminded him coolly. “You cannot keep compromising me by sneaking into chambers alone with me.”

“Is that what I’m doing?” His voice had deepened.

“You don’t intend to marry me, so yes, compromising me is exactly what you are doing.”

“Ah, lass.” He took another step forward. This time, her body defied her. She didn’t move away. “Ye don’t want to marry me. Trust me.” He leaned toward her a little, his expression deathly in its seriousness.

“And how could you know what I want?” she asked sharply. “Don’t presume to know my mind.”

“I know yer mind. I know one thing that is on yer mind.” He held up a single finger. “It’s why ye were so keen on saying goodbye in the most argumentative way possible. Why ye are running away from me and seeking an argument now.”

He moved nearer.

“Don’t say it,” she ordered.

“I know what ye want.” He practically growled out the words as he moved until he was standing right in front of her. “Ye want me, and because ye are scared to know what it is like… ye are running away.”

“You do not know me at all.”

“No?” He tilted his head to the side. “Then tell me, sweetheart.” His hand snaked around her waist. She inhaled sharply, feeling excitement coil in her lower belly. “If ye don’t want me, then why haven’t ye run from this room yet?”

She had no answer. He had her. She’d had every opportunity to sprint from this room, and yet she could not do it.

“Lock the door,” she ordered.

In one swift movement, he released her. He marched toward the door, turned the lock, and then hastened back toward her. He took hold of his tie as he moved and tugged it off his neck. That flash of skin was her final undoing as he moved to claim her lips.

She stumbled against him as his arms came up around her waist. One of her hands tangled in his dark hair, her fingers sinking further and further down so she could explore that bared skin. His tongue didn’t hesitate in claiming her own. There was no preamble, nothing beyond pushing her backward until they were in danger of tumbling down onto that chaise longue together.

His fingers splayed across her waist. That touch made her feel dominated, at his mercy and under his control. She wanted him to whisper more orders. When she nipped his lip, he laughed. Those deep vibrations reverberated through her.

“Ye have no idea how much ye have been driving me mad at night.”

“Me?” she spluttered, aware as they leaned away from each other that he was already working on her clothes, pulling at the ties that held her gown together and tugging it down her shoulders.

“Shoes off.”

“I’m the one who hasn’t been able to get any sleep.”

“Ye will soon, lass. Leave the stockings on.” He flashed her a mischievous smile.

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