Page 50 of The Duke's Mysterious Lover
“Kit?” His voice sounded strangled, and she hid her smile as she focused on unhooking his stockings.
“Your Grace, I know you. You’re simply too enthusiastic to worry about your clothing when you get a woman back to your chambers.”
“A— Listen, lad, ye’ve never seen me with—”
She switched her attention to his other foot, interrupting him with “Lad?”
“Och, nay, ye’re all woman, and I’m enjoying the show.”
Chuckling, she tucked his shoes out of the way and pulled him to his feet. He was the one to unbutton his trousers and shuck his smalls, and then he was naked.
Dio Benedetto, what a beautiful man!
When Thorne went to reach for her, Kit stopped him with a hand flat on his chest, stepping back so she could sweep her gaze over his body. He had a dancer’s body—tall and lithe and golden. His stomach was chiseled, the muscles of his arms and shoulders corded.
But there were scars too.
Humming, she carefully swept her fingertips across avicious slash that might’ve been aimed for his kidney, and a small pucker on one shoulder which could’ve been a bullet hole. She’d seen them daily, while scrubbing his back, but hadn’t thought of what they’d meant.
He’d been in danger, and the thought made her want to hurt someone.
Thorne stood there, fists curled at his side, and she thought he was being passive. But when she raised her eyes, it was to see him hungrily devouring her, his gaze caressing her nude body.
She shivered, a movement which had nothing to do with the air temperature.
“In the bath, Thorne,” she ordered, her voice low. “I have to scrub your back.”
“Mercy, love,” he pleaded, reaching for her hand. “Ye’re no’ going to give me time to explore this new treasure?” His touch skimmed up her arms, over her back, down her arse, causing her to shudder. “Ye’ve seen me bare dozens of times, and I hadnae even begun to imagine what delight awaited me under those trousers of yers!”
Because he’d pulled her hips forward with that comment, even as he dropped a kiss to her shoulder, she had to giggle. Taking pity on the man—and knowing she was really doing herself a favor—Kit lifted her arms around his neck and let him…explore.
Love.
He’d said that in the carriage.
I love ye, Kit, nae matter what.
But…surely that was the sort of thing he said toallhis women?
You were dressed as a lad at the time, though.
Well, yes, and he’d been feeling up her tits. What did it matter?
He was talking to you, not anyone else.
Kit skittered away from the thought, burying it deep in the detritus of her mind. Why concern herself with Thorne’s past experiences or what lies he believed he had to tell to get her into bed, when she could be focused on how he made herfeel?
And goodChrist, but the man could make her feel.
He stroked, he caressed, he kissed. And through it all, gentle words of praise and promises. Promises of pleasure, and of a future. Promises he couldn’t fulfil—not as Duke and valet—but promises something deep inside Kit cherished anyway.
He was the one to leadherto the tub, to hold her hand as she stepped inside it.Hestepped in behind her and pulled her into his chest,hereached for the soap and sponge,helathered her.
Somewhere, a part of Kit was frowning.Shewas supposed to be in command here, bathingThorne. But the rest of her was sighing in contentment, adoring the way his touch sent cold shivers across her skin to collide with the heat from the water.
“Lay back, love,” he cajoled, pulling her back against his chest. “Let me wash yer hair.”
Kit wanted to protest, to say she could wash him…butdamnthis felt good. The groan which escaped her lips when his fingers dug into her scalp was just…Yes. She sighed.
