Page 22 of Duke of Seduction

Morgan’s smile transformed into a devilish smirk. What she did not know was that he had originally planned to write a riddle to have her arrive the following evening, but as he prepared to pen his missive, he found himself unable to wait that long. It was a risk he had taken, but now that she was here, he was happy to have taken it.

He stopped, turning her towards her, and wrapped his left hand around her throat. Desire coursed through him as she swayed forward, pressing herself into his palm. She wanted this night. Perhaps not as badly as he did, but shewantedto be here with him.

“That is the thing about desire,” he rasped, stroking his fingers reverently over her larynx. “One has to be open to chasing it from time to time at the very last second. And look at you now. Arriving perfectly on time, despite your concerns.”

Helena’s pink lips parted as she gasped slightly during an inhale, and Morgan’s arousal grew as he felt every little reflex in her throat. Unable to deny himself, he squeezed slightly harder, just for the briefest of moments, until he could feel her heartbeat in the tips of his fingers.

“You are cold. Come, let us get you inside,” he commanded, pulling his hand away as Helena’s eyes began to glisten.

Helena made no protest as he put his hand on her lower back and guided her once more into his library.

“There is something I wish to mention,” she told him, the yearning gone from her voice, replaced by insistence.

“Yes?” he asked.

“My list,” she replied her brow furrowing. “I want to participate in gambling and swimming last. I have decided that they are the least important aspects of my curiosity, and with my time running out, I want to focus on the other goals.”

Morgan initially felt a flutter of delight at the news, but as he watched Helena’s expression grow more determined, he mentally swept away the sarcastic response he had intended and instead asked, “what happened today, Helena?”

Rage touched her eyes as she shot a glare towards the ground and her jaw tightened.

“Ambrose is unhappy with my lack of interest in his selections. He is going to take the decision away from me, I am certain of it.”

Morgan’s first thought was to go to Ambrose, slap him upside the head and ask him why he was he behaving like such a dolt. But he knew all too well how poorly that would go. Not just for him, but also for Helena. If Ambrose ever found out…

“That is an easy fix,” was all he said. “We will save those for last then.”

A look of relief passed over Helena’s face and she gave him a quiet nod of appreciation.

Once inside, Morgan shut the garden doors and pulled the maroon velvet curtains across them. His garden gates were tall, but he had made a promise to Helena, and he was not about to let anyone else catch a glimpse of what he was about to see.

“So, if you solved my riddle then you must know that tonight I will…” Morgan’s words died in his throat as he turned back to Helena.

She had removed her cloak and robe, both of them tossed onto a nearby settee, and was standing in a black night shift. The flames of the fireplace stood behind her, shining through the gauzy fabric and making the silhouette of her petite, slender figure vividly apparent. Morgan felt his mouth begin to water as another shot of painful arousal struck him in the groin.

“What is wrong?” Helena asked, her voice laced with concern.

Morgan suddenly realized that he had no idea what sort of facial expression he had been sporting; his face had become numb as all the blood had rushed elsewhere.

“Not a damned thing,” he croaked, the curse slipping out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Enough, Morgan. Get yourself together.

Morgan let out a growl as he forced his eyes away from the tempting beauty that was his student and now muse, and he stalked towards his easel.

“Is this not what you requested?” Helena asked, watching him curiously as he readied his canvas.

“You worry too much,” he taunted, forcing himself to grin at her mockingly as he finally looked at her again.

Doing so delivered a swift tug of desire to his lower belly, but at least this time he was not as taken aback by her beauty as he had been the first time.

“Besides, it is not the gown I am to be sketching,” he went on, “it is what lies beneath.”

Helena’s pink cheeks deepened to red as she self-consciously brought a hand up to the center of her chest, as if trying to hide the bare expanse of flesh.

“We are…what am I supposed to do?” she asked.

Morgan could hear the intimidation in her voice, and for some reason, it allowed him to finally take control of the lust he had been feeling.

---