Page 80 of The Duke Says I Do
But not here.
She looked away and licked dry lips. His growl expressed intolerable frustration. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Lick your lips. It always makes me mad to kiss you.”
And other things, she knew. In their three days in Surrey, he’d introduced her to so many debauched acts. Carnal memories sent blood rushing to her cheeks.
“Portia, stop it,” he hissed.
He knew what she was thinking. Of course he did.
“I can’t help it.” Her voice vibrated with a frustration that matched his.
“Say you’ll meet me tonight, if only to save my sanity.”
With a feeling of grim inevitability, she heard the waltz move into the coda. Her time with Alaric had been so short. Now it reached its end. They hadn’t even been alone. If they’d been alone, they’d be kissing.
“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration.” She strove to inject some mundanity into this fraught conversation.
His lips flattened. “It doesn’t feel like one.”
“If I stay until the end of the ball, I’ll have to go home or Papa will lock me out.”
“You could stay at my house.”
Temptation tugged at her. A night with Alaric would be bliss. Last night, she’d slept alone. Except that she hadn’t slept. Even after a few days sharing his bed, Portia had been unable to settle without him by her side.
She maintained enough grip on common sense to see the pitfalls of his suggestion. “Your servants would know. Heavens, my servants would know. The story would soon be all over London.”
He was pale and determined, and the grip of his hands conveyed craving. “Then leave now,” he said tersely.
Could she? It was easy enough to claim a headache. The Shelburns had already noted her edgy mood.
“Portia, for the love of heaven, say you will.”
How could she resist? “Yes.”
The tension seeped from his features, and he swung her in a triumphant circle. “Thank you.”
“An hour?” she asked breathlessly.
“Yes.”
The music ended with a clash of cymbals and a harp glissando. She hated seeing him step away, even with the promise of a tryst ahead. “Shall I take you to the Shelburns?”
“Yes, please.”
He caught her arm and made his way through the crowd. Portia struggled to maintain a neutral expression. She felt a battery of curious eyes upon her. Or perhaps that was her guilty conscience speaking.
Leighton and Kate waited near the refreshment table. They turned to watch Portia and Alaric approach.
“My lord and lady, Lady Portia is feeling unwell. Perhaps she should go home.”
Alaric’s voice was smooth, not at all like it was when he’d confessed his hunger. It expressed precisely the amount of concern a man should feel for the sister of his former fiancée.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kate said. “It’s very close in here. Would a breath of air help?”
