Page 31 of His Arranged Duchess
Nowthathelped to cut through the haze of Frances’s desire.
“That,” she snapped, “is untrue.”
“Oh? Is it?”
He lifted one hand, the knuckle of his forefinger trailing along the curve of her jaw. The touch seemed to tingle, prickles shooting down her neck. Frances swallowed reflexively, fully aware that her eyes had widened and flush had spread over her cheeks, which he could not fail to notice.
“I think,” Lucien whispered, his voice rasping and low, “that you are enjoying being at my mercy already.”
CHAPTER 12
Now would be the time,Frances thought,to say something clever and sharp. Something exceptionally witty, to diffuse the tension of the moment and neatly extricate myself. Eleanor would manage such a thing.
To her disappointment, however, no such witty comment came to mind. Real life, unfortunately, did not have the same sparkle as fiction, it seemed.
Instead, Frances found herself staring up at Lucien with huge eyes, her jaw hanging loose, blood pounding in her ears and desire churning in her gut. He pinched her chin ever so slightly, almost teasingly, then lifted the pad of his thumb to swipe across her lower lip.
Frances was quite sure that all of the air had gone out of the room and that she was minutes away from suffocation. She had read plenty of depictions of desire in various books, but none of them were sophysical.
Her legs had turned to jelly, so perhaps Cecilia’s constant swooning was not so very unrealistic, but her gut tied itself in knots, and the place between her legs throbbed in a way that Cecilianeverdescribed.
He cupped her cheek, the warmth from his palm soaking into her skin, and Frances felt that she was somehow entranced. Hypnotized, even.
“Wallflower indeed,” Lucien murmured, his voice catching in a way that it had not done before. In a smooth, practiced movement, he leaned forward and kissed her.
Now, Frances had read about hundreds of kisses in the books she had devoured over the years. Some seemed delightful, others sweet, others merely uncomfortable. She had not, however, ever been kissed herself.
It’s not at all like the books,she thought hazily. Lucien’s lips were soft and firm, pressed against hers as if he were trying totasteher. One of his hands still lingered against her jaw, fingertips beginning to graze the tender skin of her neck. His other hand rested on her waist, just above the curve of her hip.
Frances had not waltzed often, but when she did, the gentlemen generally put their hands on her waist in just that place. It had never bothered her much before. With all her layers of clothing in the way, she could barely feel their touch.
This time was entirely different. For starters, there was only one thin layer of fabric between her skin and his, the warmth of hishand burning her. She was entirely sure that if she were to look now, she’d find a hand-sized print on her side.
The tip of his tongue slid along the seam of her lips, giving Frances something of a jolt. Should she be taking a more active part in the kiss? Her insides were in turmoil, wanting to do everything at once, and in the end, she found that she froze, unable to do anything.
Her fingers curled around the curve of Lucien’s bare shoulders, giving her something of a start. When had she decided to touch him?
It didn’t matter. His skin was warm and smooth, and when one of her hands slid further over his shoulder, she felt muscles shift under the skin when he moved.
Something about her touch seemed to excite him, and he growled faintly under his breath, pressing her closer against him. Now the heat was suffusing Frances’s whole body, making her gasp aloud. His hand splayed out over the small of her back, and he shifted, breaking the kiss.
Frances sucked in a breath as if she had not breathed for minutes on end. There was no time to react in any way before Lucien tilted his head, fitting his lips to the space underneath her jaw.
The skin there was soft and sensitive, his lips sending a flurry of sensations hurtling down her spine. Gasping aloud, Frances tilted her head backwards, closing her eyes and lettingthe sensations rush through her. She let one hand slide from Lucien’s shoulder, her palm pressing against the firm, muscled curve of his chest.
I can feel his heart beating under his skin.
Was it her imagination, or was that heart beating faster? Frances’s certainly was. Blood seemed to pound harder in her veins, making her dizzy. She felt a gentle scrape of teeth against the side of her neck, not enough to leave a mark but certainly enough to be felt.
Arousal shot through her, hot and impossible to ignore. At the same instant, he placed his hand on her side, higher up this time. The hand inched upwards, until Lucien’s fingertips nudged at the underside of her breast.
Frances’s eyes flew open, panic cooling the red-hot desire in her chest.
Is this it? Is he going to bed me? Does it usually happen in such a rush? Perhaps it is too late for me to change my mind. Perhaps after tonight, I will be carrying a child, and then there’ll be no need for him to concern himself with me ever again.
She felt the same barely-there press of teeth against the side of her neck, but there was hardly any pleasure in it this time, only panic.
And then, quite abruptly, all the sensations ceased. Lucien released her, leaning back, and stepped away.
