Page 69 of His Arranged Duchess
Frances paused and winced. “Ah. I didn’t think of that.”
Her legs felt like jelly, just like before. Her thighs were uncomfortably slick, and there were a few faintly sore patches where Lucien’s stubble had scraped against sensitive skin.
Frances could not find it in herself to care, however. In fact, she desperately wanted to do it again, as soon as possible.
As soon as they stepped out of the hallway into the ballroom—which seemed entirely too bright to Frances’s sore eyes—Benjamin pounced on them.
“There you are,” he said, grinning. “I hope you two don’t intend to sneak away. Lady Quince won’t be happy.”
Lucien glanced down at Frances and lifted his eyebrows.
She beamed up at him. “I’d like to stay. There’s more dancing to be done. When I’ve regained my strength, that is.”
Color swept across her cheeks as she said that, even though Benjamin could not possibly have known what she meant. The poor man only nodded, oblivious.
“A good choice. Well, Lord Easton has gone home. He’s been drunk since he arrived, apparently, and has annoyed a good many people. He won’t be back.”
“That’s good. Thank you, Benjamin,” Lucien said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a good man.”
“I certainly am. Now, if you’ll excuse me, a new dance is beginning, and I believe I have a partner.”
Throwing an impish grin at them both, Benjamin went scurrying off into the crowd.
Lucien turned to smile at Frances. “I believe my friend is growing on you.”
“I do like him more than I did,” Frances admitted. “Still, I am not sure thathiswas the face I wanted to see first when we left that room. It was a little unsettling when one is still feelinglike that, if you understand my meaning.”
Chuckling, Lucien leaned down to whisper in her ear.
“I do understand your meaning. And imagine my surprise, learning that you enjoyed me claiming you in public so very much. What a wicked little thing you are.”
Frances flushed a deep red, excitement fluttering inside her.
If he dragged me back into that little room to do it all again,she thought hazily,I would go without protest.
Aloud, she said, “Claim me? Why, my dear duke, you have notclaimedme yet, not by any stretch of the imagination.”
He gave a low, wicked chuckle. “I believe I have said this before, Frances, and I shall say it again and again until you and everybody else around us believes it. You are the Duchess of Blackstone, the finest woman in London, if not in all of England, and you arevery much mine.”
CHAPTER 23
“You’ve recovered from last night, I hope?”
Lucien flinched, head snapping up. “I beg your pardon?”
Benjamin glanced up at him, looking mildly hurt.
“I mean Lady Quince’s, with all the dancing.”
“Oh, of course. Forgive me. Yes, I am quite tired.”
Benjamin eyed him for a moment. “What did you think I meant?”
Images flashed through Lucien’s head—Frances with her hand tangled in his hair, arching her back against his touch. He swallowed thickly.
“Oh, nothing much.”
No doubt Benjamin did not believe him, but at least he did not press the issue.
