Page 28 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
Most annoying of all was admitting that she was hurt. She didn’t want to acknowledge that he held such power over her emotions.
The amusement drained from his expression. She caught a glimpse of what, even in her innocence, she recognized as hunger. The summer twilight was fading, but she could see his face quite clearly. “No. On my soul, no.”
“You don’t have a soul,” she said, knowing she was being unfair.
“You make me feel like I’ve got a soul,” he muttered, and this time she saw more than hunger. She saw that this yearning that drew them together left him as bewildered as she was. Perhaps she wasn’t alone in finding this attraction both inexplicable and invincible.
So she didn’t resist when he caught her hand and drew her closer. God forgive her, she curved forward when he wound his arm around her waist.
Evesham released her hand and captured her chin in a grip that felt both powerful and tender. Juliet caught the flare of heat in his dark eyes, before his face moved closer and his lips brushed hers.
Searing heat that lasted a second. An impression of fresh breath. A tingling aftermath.
His hand dropped away from her face. She made a brief murmur. Protest? Plea? Even she wasn’t sure which.
Her eyelids felt heavy, as she lifted them to discover Evesham watching her with a steady interest that made her stomach clench in forbidden longing. Forbidden and unknowing, because while she understood the mechanics of what happened in bed between a man and a woman, she had an inkling that more was involved than a mere interlocking of bodies.
“What did you think?” he murmured.
Juliet licked her lips, expecting to taste him, but his kiss had been over too soon. His gaze fastened on the movement with feverish urgency.
“It was rather pleasant.”
If only she didn’t find his smile so inviting. “I’ve had better reviews.”
She was conscious of the weight of his arm around her waist. His tangy scent teased her senses. He was so close that she felt his warmth, as alluring as a crackling fire on a bleak winter’s day.
Juliet struggled to remind herself that fire could blister as well as comfort, but the warning had no power to break the enchantment. “I thought…I thought there might be more to it.”
She recalled how vivid her sister Viola had looked after she was caught kissing the Earl of Renfrew in the Tierneys’ garden. Disturbed and radiant, as if she’d glimpsed a dazzling new world.
Juliet didn’t feel like that.
Evesham groaned and closed his eyes in brief torment. “I was trying not to frighten you.”
“So there’s more?”
“Much more,” he said with fervor.
That should spur her into running back to the house. But instead, she stayed just where she was. Because shocking as it was, she wasn’t satisfied with that single taste. Despite saying that he could kiss her only once. Despite all her common sense insisting that it was time to bring this encounter to an end. Insisting that she was all kinds of fool to start this in the first place.
“Will you show me?” Juliet was surprised that her question emerged steadily.
She didn’t feel steady. Anything but. She felt like she’d swallowed a whole pond full of frogs who jumped around inside her. Her rubbery legs threatened to fold up at any moment.
Instead of seizing her – some wild part of her longed for him to sweep her up against that hard chest – he eyed her with a hint of suspicion. “Are you sure?”
“No,” she said. Or rather squeaked. She was having difficulty drawing in enough breath to fill her lungs. Her hands opened and closed at her sides over and over.
“Well?”
She bit her lip and made herself meet his eyes. She expected to see mockery, but he was watching her as if he was willing to let her decide what happened next. “You’re meant to be a rake. Why are you hesitating?”
He ran one hand through his hair. It was a characteristic gesture, she’d noticed. One that he made when he was frustrated or impatient. “Because I don’t want you deciding that I took advantage of you. I don’t want you deciding that you hate me again.”
“I don’t hate you.” Before she could think to stop herself, she lifted her hand to cup the severe angle of his jaw. The skin beneath her palm was warm, and she felt the prickle of his whiskers. “I’ve never hated you.”
She’d never touched a man like this. It was thrilling and strange. And addictive.
