Page 29 of The Wrong Duke

“You’ve done nothing but lie to me since the moment I met you,” Evan breathed deeply, a growl escaping his lips as he pressed his body against hers. He could feel her heart racing, her breathing roaring, her body shuddering.

“You don’t know a thing about me,” she said, her voice flinty and throaty, her legs wrapping around his waist.

“No?”

“No.”

Another grin, his eyes flashing as he held her determined stare. And as he did, his hand moved down her legs to her ankles. He gripped the hem of her shift, held it a moment, and looked into her eyes, so she’d know what he meant to do. She didn’t fight him. She didn’t say anything. Rather, she raised an eyebrow as if to say, ‘Only if you dare.’

By now, all sense of reason was gone. Any excuse that Evan made would be just that, an excuse. Trying to trick her. Trying to get her to admit to something that Evan couldn’t even conceive with the way he was feeling. Blood rushed his body. Fire lit his soul. He felt himself engorge in a way he didn’t know was possible, and before he could stop to think, to tell himself how foolish this was, he lifted Miss Baker’s skirt and dove between her legs.

“Oh —!” Miss Baker half-cried out as his lips found those between her thighs. “What are you... no... don’t... don’t stop,” she breathed as her thighs tightened around his head.

Evan’s tongue plunged inside of her. Softly at first, he licked up and down her lips, around the edges, relishing the way she stiffened and spasmed with each touch. Her hands grabbed the top of his head outside her dress, holding him there, refusing to let him yield. His mouth then opened, wrapped around her, started sucking gently, letting saliva drip from his lips as he moved his tongue to the rhythm of her breathing.

“Your Grace...” she moaned, body writhing. “This is... I don’t... We mustn’t — Your Grace!” she cried.

Evan wrenched his head free, pulled the skirt from his face and met her eyes. They were wide and wild and hungry; insatiable was how he read them.

“Why did you stop?” she breathed.

“Don’t call me Your Grace,” he growled as one hand slowly stroked up her thigh. She spasmed.

“Wh — what should I call you?” she somehow managed.

“Call me Evan.”

A small smile; that hunger reaching her lips. “All right, Evan. Don’t you dare stop.”

And so, he didn’t.

The sun had well and truly risen now, spreading its soft yellow light over the manor, waking those inside, letting them know the day was set to begin. Birds chirped in the trees. Servants called to one another from the kitchen as a morning feast was prepared. No doubt, Lord Lindstone wondered where his daughter had gotten, not knowing that if he listened closely, he might just hear her.

In the back corner of the garden, sheltered by the elm tree, hidden by the shrubberies and garden beds, Evan committed himself to an act that’s reason was lost to him. It had a purpose once, he was sure, but now... now, all he cared for was the taste of Miss Baker, the feel of her on his lips, and the way her body moved the closer and closer she came to exploding in his mouth.

He had unmasked her, he knew. But in that, he had also unmasked himself.

CHAPTERELEVEN

“Amelia, are you listening?” Amelia’s mother, Lady Lindstone snapped.

“Hmm?” Amelia looked up, almost surprised to find her mother staring at her.

“She wasn’t listening — what did I tell you?” Her mother gave a derisive look to the seamstress. “She hasn’t heard a word I’ve said.”

“Maybe she’s just a little overwhelmed, M’Lady? One can hardly blame her.”

“Yes, maybe.” Amelia’s mother clicked her tongue and turned back to Amelia. “You’re lucky your father isn’t here. What’s he always telling you about daydreaming?”

“That I shouldn’t do it,” Amelia offered vaguely, still not paying her mother any attention.

“That it is unseemly. A lady shouldn’t let her mind wander like that. Especially when in company.” She indicated with a smile across the store.

“Oh, it’s quite all right, Lady Lindstone,” Lord Malnor chuckled. “I confess, I’m feeling a little overwhelmed myself. I had no idea that this business would be so... confronting.”

“I think you mean confusing,” Martha giggled.

“Yes, well, that too. How does one know what to buy? What to pick? How it’s going to look when it all comes together.”

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