Page 64 of The Duke Says I Do
He responded with an amused grunt and surveyed the ruins of their meal spread across the mahogany table. The dining room was small enough to feel cozy, even with only two occupants. Heavy green velvet curtains kept out the night air. A fire in the hearth added its flickering light to the candles. “I’d hate you to miss that chicken and leek pie.”
“And the cheese savories and deviled eggs,” she said after a sip of wine.
“My sacrifice paid dividends.” His solemn tone made her choke on her wine.
The meal had been surprisingly lighthearted. Conversation had flowed. Alaric was at ease here in a way that she’d never seen before. Or perhaps like her, he found that satisfying their sexual appetites allayed their tension.
“I salute your heroism, Your Grace.” She suited action to words.
Setting down her glass, she studied her companion. He wore another beautifully tailored coat. The unadorned black emphasized his magnificent form.
After they left the capacious armchair in the kitchen, he’d brought their bags in. She’d had a wash and changed into a clean gown, and Alaric had put on a fresh shirt. The shirt that he’d worn earlier had ended up in the fire.
Now he relaxed in his chair, eyes slumbrous. With casual grace, he dangled his half-empty wine glass from one hand. He had beautiful hands, long-fingered and elegant. The light glinted off the heavy gold signet ring and turned the wine ruby. Portia couldn’t help remembering those hands on her skin, trailing heat wherever they touched. The images stirred a lazy ripple of arousal.
Portia wanted Alaric so much, she was nearly sick with it.
With a decisive gesture, he set his glass down. “What would you like to do now? I’ve got some books in the drawing room, or we could play cards. There’s a piano, too, if you fancy some music.”
“I’m not very accomplished on the piano.”
“Do you sing?”
“Like a crow with a sore throat.”
That made him laugh. She loved his appreciation for her odd sense of humor. She loved the way that every time he laughed, he become less the formidable Duke of Granville and more charming, endearing Alaric Dempster. “God help us.”
“The comparison is unfair to the crow.” She put down her glass and shot him a direct look. “Do you really want to stay down here, doing the pretty as if we’re polite strangers? Or are you being a gentleman again?”
His answering look was equally frank. “I don’t want you thinking that the only thing I value about you is that beguiling body.”
Gratification flooded her. “You haven’t seen much of the beguiling body yet. Aren’t you curious?”
His strangled response combined a groan and another laugh. “What do you think?”
Portia sucked in a shaky breath. Her breasts swelled against her bodice as if they strained toward his touch. “I think we’ve got three days to enjoy each other. We can play cards in London.”
Without raising an eyebrow, his gaze dropped to her bosom, revealed to advantage under a scooped décolletage that she usually covered with a scarf for modesty’s sake. Not tonight. Modesty remained behind in London. She loved how he ogled her cleavage.
Heat spread from her brimming heart to her extremities. She shifted on the chair to ease the erotic weight. For pity’s sake, she was in a bad way. He just had to look at her, and she melted with female need.
Smile lines deepened beside his eyes as he watched her squirm, although his lips retained a serious line. She had no doubt that he knew how he affected her. “Are you saying it’s time we both retired upstairs?”
“You promised me a bed, I believe.”
He rose and proffered his hand. “Then, my darling, let’s go.”
Portia didn’t move straightaway. She couldn’t. It was that blasted “my darling.” It always turned her wobbly.
Scolding herself for being a sappy lackwit, she stood and took his hand. “Excellent plan, Your Grace.”
Chapter 16
Granville put away the last of the plates from their dinner and turned to watch Portia wipe down the table where he’d enjoyed the most explosive sexual encounter of his life. While he’d loved what they’d done in the hay, his awareness of her inexperience had helped him maintain some vestige of control. Astonishing to think that soon afterward, he’d swive Portia in brazen abandon across a table.
She was the most exciting woman he’d ever known. Even here in the kitchen performing the most everyday of tasks, something about the sway of her hips and the deft movements of her hands het him up like a randy adolescent.
He was in a ferment for her. He’d hungered for that exquisite body. Now that he’d had her twice, he should feel less on edge. But the craving to tup her again left him strung as tight as a violin.
