Page 15 of Rules for Heiresses
“That’s rather insulting.”
“No less true.”
The look she speared him with should have left him bleeding. He had no idea why he enjoyed poking at her and provoking a response. “It was suffocating, if you must know.”
“And look what being so fussy got you—trapped in marriage with a duke.”
“I amnotfussy.”
He twirled her around. “I don’t think you quite know what you signed on for, Lady Ravenna, with me as your husband instead. A plebeian island duke is hardly a catch.”
“There’s no so thing as acommonduke, Your Grace. I think you undervalue your own significance.”
“A duke of disagreeable origins, then,” he tossed back.
“To whom?” She sent him an arch glance as they spun in a well-executed twirl. “You would be surprised at what some women would overlook for the title of duchess. Old, stunted, pox-marked, gout-ridden. Your heritage would hardly signify.”
“I forgot how bloody naive highborn ladies are,” he said. “You live in a bubble of rainbows and ribbons with no sodding concept of reality.”
“Do you have to be so vulgar?” she shot back, cheeks reddening. “It’s our wedding dance. And besides, it’s no wonder no one has taken you for a husband if that’s your dreadful opinion of women.”
“Not all women, just ladies ofquality, though quality is a matter of interpretation, isn’t it?” His stare was deliberately condescending. “Your privilege allows you to make such an erroneous statement. You see, Duchess, the same heritage you speak of is the very reductive and despised thing that dehumanizes. According to aristocratic sensibilities, that is what make mecommonin society’s eyes. While well intentioned, your estimation is irrelevant.” Ruining the dance or not, the unpleasant turn of the conversation was certainly helping to cool his remaining ardor. “It’s the truth, ugly and spare, but true nonetheless.”
“You’re an arse, Ashvale. I am not like them.”
“Now who’s being vulgar?” he asked silkily. Ravenna’s face went beet-red, and she moved to wrench out of his arms, but his fingers tightened about her, bringing her dangerously close to his chest. Her eyes went wide with alarm, even as chortles and loutish whistles reached them. “Finish the dance, Ravenna,” he said.
“Why?” she snapped. “So you can insult my intelligence some more?”
“I wouldn’t have to if your views were.”
“Were what?”
He smirked. “Intelligent.”
“Oh, you, you unspeakable—”
She was gloriously indignant. He had no idea why he loved riling her up so. Her coppery eyes fairly shone with rage, cheeks blooming and full lips parting. He wanted so badly to kiss her, to swallow the furious tirade trembling over that lush pout, modesty and decorum be damned. His arousal returned in full force.
Well, he was Duke, wasn’t he?
Anislandduke…and island dukes did whatever they pleased when they pleased, especially in their own domains. And besides, they weren’t in London yet, and most of the guests in attendance were his acquaintances. As the last of their waltz drew to a close, Courtland grinned and yanked her close…scandalously close, enough so she could feel the unyielding evidence of his lust. Her gasp was gratifying, even as answering fires lit those expressive eyes.
“What are you doing?” she blurted out.
“Iamunspeakable,” he said. “Ruthless. Hard. Selfish. Not like those senseless fops in London you can control with a crook of a finger and the flutter of an eyelash. But I will always be honest with you, even if it stings.”
Then he dipped his bride, cupped her nape, and set his mouth to hers in full view of everyone.Thatshould give his contrary little vixen something to ponder.
* * *
Thank heavens his big hands were holding her upright because if Ravenna had to depend on the strength of her own body, she’d be sinking into a very fashionable pool of ivory skirts on the ballroom floor. As it was, she could barely hold a coherent thought in her head. All she could focus on was the persuasive heat of her duke’s kiss.
Courtland’s mouth sealed to hers, his tongue darting out in a wicked flick against her upper lip, the sinful and utterly masculine taste of him invading her senses. Everything and everyone fell away—their guests, the musicians, the ballroom—until it was just the two of them suspended in a universe of their own making. As far as kisses went, it was mostly chaste for the sake of their chaotic hooting and hollering audience, but there was nothing decent about the lewd images currently hatching in her brain.
Or the fact that she wantedmore.
Grinning, he broke from her, but still held her cradled in his strong arms. Her husband’s eyes gleamed, their fathomless depths fraught with fervid promises of what he intended to do to her later, and every bone inside of her went liquid. His desires matched hers, it seemed, not that she wouldn’t know it from the hard male organ grinding into her hip. A needy whimper escaped her lips, and Courtland’s smile was positively corrupt.
