Page 47 of The Duke's Hellion

“Of course,” she answered and curtsied.

Placing her hand in his, she felt the tingle she always felt with him and wondered if he sensed it too. Realizing now that those sensations were unique to him, and she wouldn’t feel that with any man, she allowed her heart a moment of hope. As they took their place in the dance, they could hear the light patter of rain against the tent. There was a slight chill in the air, but nothing too cold. The dance began and Mimi was pleased to know it was a waltz. Their first dance togethershould bea waltz. She was lost in the feel of his hands on her body and gracefully floating through the steps when a commotion in the middle of the tent put pause to their steps.

Someone was drunk. It looked innocent enough until the man said something he obviously shouldn’t have and then the first punch was thrown. Men were clamoring to pull apart the two rivals, but in all the chaos the mass of men was thrown into the center pole holding up the tent.

Down. Down. Down went the town.

Rain sluiced down the fabric soaking everything in its path. Still in Sam’s arms, Mimi was instantly soaked.

“God, I’m sorry, Mimi, let’s get you inside and dry.”

This was a disaster. Or…

“No,” she said, smiling up at him. “Let’s just dance.”

Chapter Nineteen

Standing in frontof the mirror, Mimi stood awaiting Sam’s return to his bedchamber. Yes, his bedchamber in his house. After the dance, they had dried off and she had been whisked away to her new home. By the time they arrived home, it was too dark for introductions of any kind. And Sam had left her in his room to get ready while he went away and did…well, she had no idea what he was doing.

And she had no idea what he was expecting.

It was their wedding night. She knew what was supposed to happen, and she knew what she wanted. Him.

This was her chance. Her choice. To remain brave in the face of real fear, in the face of rejection. She would offer herself to him, fully, and she could only hope that he would offer in return as much as he could. She would choose love.

She was wearing a translucent negligee that had been secretly packed in her trousseau by one of the women in her life who knew what was needed for the night.

A light tap on the door startled her, bringing her arms around her waist. But that wasn’t where she wanted them. She wanted to portray her confidence, so she steeled her hands on her hips, nerves wrought with vibrating steel, as if someone had banged her with a hammer and left the reverberations to simmer through her.

“Mimi, are you—” Sam stopped mid-sentence, catching sight of her. Visibly, she watched as the air was sucked from hislungs. His eyes climbing her body from toe to head, ambling back down, and slowly, deliberately, crawling up again. The only thing holding her up was an invisible cord through her spine attached to the ceiling. She felt like a puppet, and somehow Sam was the marionette, controlling her from afar.

“You look…” His voice caught again as he stepped closer. His hands stroked her arm and she closed her eyes. “I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect you to—”

But she didn’t want him to finish his thoughts. She didn’t want to know. She just wanted him. Her eyes flew up and she rushed up on her toes, pressing her lips against his.

He was as surprised as she was, and he held her jaw in his hand to speak.

“Mimi, I—”

“I want this, Sam. I want you. You’re my husband. Show me what only a husband can do. Show me how a husband treats his wife.”

With a growl he picked her up. “You’re damn right I’m your husband. And I’ll show you what no other man can. What no other man ever will. You’re mine.”

It wasn’t a vow of undying love, but they were the words she needed in order to feel right about giving herself to him. If she offered herself up to him and he didn’t accept her gift, that would have devastated her, but here he was, ready, willing, able, and determined to make her his.

His lips were on the column of her neck, and she could feel her breasts rubbing against the single layer of unbuttoned linen that covered his chest.

His familiar scent of tea and whiskey, mixed with sandalwood permeated her body with something soothing yet wild. She wanted her body closer to him, to rub against every muscle of his, to feel his power and control.

His hands were on her bottom, squeezing and lightly kneading into her. Opening her up. She could feel the muscles moving within her that she didn’t even know existed. Remembering his passion and the way her body reacted to him, she let go of any outside thoughts. There were no worries in his arms, no external problems to consider. No one to help. Only herself.

His lips were on her nipple, soaking through the light gauzy fabric. He hummed his appreciation of her turgid peaks and a swell of pleasure rolled through her. Shoving her hands under his shirt, she clawed at his shoulders, grazing her nails atop his skin.

He groaned his pleasure and thrust his hips up into her. She could feel the bulge in his breeches and wanted to rub against him. Over and over.

“I’m taking you to my bed now where I’ll do whatever I want with you.”

Yes. Yes. Yes. This was her fantasy. This was her dream. This was her reality.

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