Page 72 of A Spinster for the Cold Duke

“Then admit your desires.”

Despite every rational thought screaming at her to pull away, Annabelle found herself leaning into his touch. Her eyes fluttered closed at the warmth of his palms against her skin.

“Tell me. Tell me what you want, darling,” he murmured, his breath warm against her forehead. “Let me give you what you deserve.”

Heavens…his voice was so deep and intense. How could she pretend? How could she draw back when he used her weakness against her?

“Please.”

“Please what, darling?”

“Please don’t make me admit how much I want you.”

“Why?” he asked hoarsely.

“Because it’s too much. Because I have never wanted something more in my life. Because it’s dangerous, because my desires could harm you, your reputation, your?—”

“Darling.”

“What?” She was breathless now.

He moved closer, and his thumb caressed her cheek.

“It’s alright,” he soothed. His voice spread over her chest like a warm blanket.

And before she knew it, his mouth found hers in a kiss that was both claiming and questioning, demanding and gentle. Her hands fisted in the lapels of his coat as she pulled him closer,even as her mind screamed warnings about the inevitable heartbreak that awaited.

When they finally broke apart, she was breathing hard. Her pulse raced with a mixture of desire and desperation.

“No,” she whispered, pushing against his chest with trembling hands. “No, you cannot make me believe in impossible things. It’s not fair.”

“What’s impossible about this?” Henry’s voice was rough with confusion and barely restrained desire.

“You know what,” Annabelle said, her voice breaking on the words. “You’re the Duke of Marchwood. You have been frequenting my residence simply because my grandmother is giving etiquette lessons to your daughter. She is the reason you’re here at all. And if…if word were to get out that anything inappropriate is happening between us, then it would…”

Henry’s expression was stubborn. “Let me worry about my reputation,” he said, and she groaned in frustration.

“My God, you aren’t listening to me!” She stomped her foot. “I’m not going to let you ruin your daughter’s debut and blame it on me afterwards because?—”

“Every single touch has been real,” Henry interrupted. His hands gripped her shoulders with a sense of urgency. “I spend every moment thinking about you, wanting you, and needingyou until I can barely function. Do you understand what you’ve done to me, Annabelle?”

“Henry—”

“You’ve consumed me entirely,” he continued, his voice raw with confession. “I see you in everything—in the morning light, in the sound of music, in every breath I take. You’re everywhere, and I cannot… I will not let you disappear from my life because you are afraid.”

The moonlight painted his face in silver and shadow, highlighting the stark need in his eyes and the way his jaw clenched with barely leashed control. Annabelle felt her carefully constructed walls crumbling under the weight of his words.

“This is madness,” she whispered, even as she swayed toward him.

“Then let us be mad together,” he murmured, and when his mouth claimed hers again, she was utterly, completely lost.

She could no longer fight the need that had propelled her to meet him here, despite everything inside her that told her not to go. Her heart was a mess inside her chest, and she found herself clinging to him even harder than before.

“Annabelle, my Annabelle,” he was murmuring against her lips, over and over again, as his hands roamed greedily over her body.

“Henry—” she gasped, as the heat that had been brewing between her legs rose.

Henry’s gaze was sharp as his fingers slipped beneath her gown, trailing the slick evidence of her arousal with featherlight touches. Around them, the conservatory glowed silver with moonlight, the scent of blooming jasmine thickened the air, and glass walls fogged from the heat of their bodies.

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