Page 45 of His Arranged Duchess
Slowly, carefully, as if he were moving without thinking, Lucien let his touch trail downwards, light as a feather, until he could curl his fingers over the back of her knee.
“Does it hurt?” he murmured, voice soft. He tried to catch her gaze, but Frances seemed just as keen to avoid it and kept looking away.
“No, nothing much.”
He pushed his hand upwards, inch by tentative inch, until his palm cupped the curve of her hip. It occurred to him then that Frances, as was the custom, was not wearing underthings beneath her nightgown.
His blood pounded in his veins, hot arousal thrumming just underneath his skin. In the darkness, he was sure that Frances’schest was heaving with deep, silent breaths, her skin shivering beneath his touch.
I want her more than I could ever have imagined.
Abruptly, Lucien removed his hand and stood, a little shakily. He was coming too close to losing control, and that would do neither of them any good.
“I shall have to lift you up,” he explained briskly, willing his arousal to fade away. “You must tell me if I hurt you.”
“Yes,” Frances managed, her voice tight and breathy. “I will.”
Bending down, he wrapped one arm around her waist and the other beneath her free leg. She clutched at his shoulders to steady herself, and Lucien lifted her up, slowly and carefully, and bit by bit her leg was extricated from the hole. When she was entirely free, Lucien did not set her down on her feet. Instead, he hoisted her more fully into his arms.
“You’re lucky not to have been more badly hurt,” he said shortly, peering down at the spiked, ragged lip of the hole.
Frances said nothing. She did not ask to be put down or wriggle to be free. Without saying another word, Lucien turned and strode out of the Tower with her in his arms and made his way towards the bedrooms.
A candelabra burned in Frances’s room, and her bed was untidy, showing clearly where she’d lain in it. As he set her down on the mattress, Lucien noticed an open notebook, full of scrawled, tight-packed writing. There was a lingering warmth in the room, a stark contrast to the stale, icy air of the East Tower. Lucien felt as though the stink of the place had clung to him and that he’d brought dead air out of the place.
I haven’t entered that room since the day my father died. And now here I am, entering it again, for the sake of this silly, silly little duchess of mine.
He cut off that thought, straightening up and peering down at Frances. She had pulled her nightgown down to cover her legs, wrapping her robe demurely around herself.
“Thank you for helping me,” she muttered at last, not looking him in the eye.
He folded his arms. “I shall ask you again. Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “Only my pride. And a few scrapes and bruises, perhaps.”
“Hmph. Well, youarelucky. Now, why don’t you tell me why you insist upon breaking my rules?”
Frances flinched. “You found out my secret today. I wanted to learn one of yours.”
He scoffed. “Your friend told me, without any prompting from me at all! I did notchooseto learn your secret, you little wretch!”
She looked up at him properly then, her temper flaring.
“You can’t possibly blame me for being curious! Why am I forbidden from the tower?”
“Because it isdangerous. I just didn’t want you to hurt yourself. I would have thought you’d have discovered that for yourself. Since you disobeyed, however, I’ll have to hurt you myself.”
Frances recoiled at that, eyes wide. She shuffled backwards on the mattress, eyeing him uneasily.
“What are you talking about?”
Lucien perched on the edge of the bed and flashed her a wicked smile. “Oh, it won’t be too bad. You just wait and see. Come here, my dear.”
“I don’t understand.”
Lucien patted his thigh. “Over my knee, I’m afraid. A good spanking should convince you to behave better in future.”
Color rushed into Frances’s face, and her eyes widened. Was there a flare of desire there, too?
