Page 27 of Duke of Wickedness
Even just this thought was enough to make her let out a little whimper into his mouth.
He smiled against her mouth, then, with one last caress of his tongue against her bottom lip, he pulled back, leaving her with her eyes closed, struggling to catch her breath. When he pressed his forehead against hers, she could feel that his breathing was just as labored as hers.
“Suffice to say, little bird,” he breathed, a slight hitch in his voice, “that we have a deal.”
“Is that how you strike all your bargains?” she quipped before she could think better of the scandalous comment. “Because, I’ll tell you, handshakes are a bit more usual?—”
When he stole one last swift, brief kiss, she could still taste the laugh on his lips. She felt incredibly proud of herself for that—propriety be damned.
CHAPTER 7
When Ariadne left Bacchus House, she felt good about her decision. Vaguely disappointed that, following their kiss, the duke had sent her on her way with little more than a vague promise that they would meet again soon, but good.
When she went to bed, she felt good. She wasn’t even terribly bothered by the dreams that left her waking several times, squirming and sweaty in her bed.
When she woke up, she felt strangely energized, despite her late night. She felt good.
And then, she looked in the mirror and saw that there was the faintest, tiniest bruise against her throat.
A bruise that looked a great deal like the mouth of a certain duke.
She felt as though she was in a trance as she lifted her fingers to the mark, watching her reflection mirror her movements. It was a small mark, not even particularly noticeable if she hadn’t already been looking at the place where he had skimmed his nose, then pressed his lips, where he had sucked lightly against her pulse?—
That would, she supposed, account for the bruise.
She touched it again, transfixed. It didn’t hurt. It vanished completely when she covered it with her fingertip.
She moved her hand. There and gone. There and gone. There and?—
It hit her like a wave.
What the hell was she doing?
She watched her own face in the mirror go from dreamy and absent to panicked in a flash.
This was—this wasinsane. She’d spent years—actualyears—learning how to be the proper Society miss so that she could find a good husband and stop being such a burden on her siblings. She had a plan. It was a good plan.
And then she’d met the Duke of Wilds and…
“And you lost your bloody mind,” she told her reflection quietly.
Her reflection did not suddenly start looking any less like a lunatic, so, to avoid her own judgmental stare, Ariadne began pacing.
It didn’t make her feel better, in truth.
Neither did the muttering, but that didn’t stop her from doing it.
“This is ridiculous,” she told herself. “You are being ridiculous. You are making very, very ridiculous decisions.”
Talking to herself wasn’t helping; no matter how much she said the words that she was supposed to say, no matter how much she reminded herself that she had a plan, that she needed to be smarter than this, that she had to remain focused on her future, her mind kept trying to insist on other things.
Things like Don’t you deserve a chance to see what he has to offer before you settle down to a life of respectability?
And Can something that feels so amazing truly be so bad?
And How much risk is it, really?
“A lot of risk!” she scolded herself. “The most enormous amount of risk!”
