Page 22 of Rules for Heiresses
“God forbid,” he said with an exaggerated shudder. “No one wants to seeteeth.”
“I must speak when spoken to, and only in appropriate situations. I must never have more than one glass of champagne. Never be seen in public without the finest of gloves. Oh, and don’t get me started on clothing. Corsets and petticoats are devilry in disguise! Crimes against women, I call them. Down with undergarments, I say!” She gathered her skirts in one hand and displayed a hint of a trim ankle. Ashoelesstrim ankle. Courtland blinked at the sight. When had his wife’s slippers gone missing? Ravenna grinned wickedly at him. “What would dear Lady Holding think about that, hmm?”
Courtland’s gaze rose to hers, noting her flushed cheeks before it fell back to the hitched skirts of the lovely walking dress she wore. The sight of that delicately arched foot made him salivate, and the thought of what else lay under those yards of striped fabric blanketed his brain. In that moment, everything—all his careful plans to avoid temptation and stay away—evaporated.
He glanced at the lady’s maid—Colleen or some such—who hovered in the corner. “Out.”
“Was that necessary?” Ravenna asked as the young maid scurried away with a squeak, shutting the door to the sitting room behind them.
Every one of his reservations, his qualms, and his warnings went out the door with the maid. All he could think of was getting under those skirts. “For what I have in mind, yes.”
He prowled toward her, watching her coppery eyes go wide with alarm and then brighten with desire in the same instant as his intent became clear.
“What are you doing, Your Grace?” she asked, breathless.
“Conversing in private with my wife.”
“Conversing?” She licked her lips, and he felt the stroke echo in his groin. “Then why does it feel like I’m being stalked by a hungry wolf?”
“Is that what it feels like?”
He reveled in the full-body shiver that rolled through her. “Quite.”
“I am rather famished. I haven’t hunted in some time.”
“Haven’t you?”
No—he’d starved himself of female company, so much so that he was ravenous. Lust bled through him, more powerful than any hunger. Her eyes widened, and his smile was indeed all wolf. Courtland shook his head. “Will you run, little hare?”
She met his stare head-on. “Does it look like I’m running?”
God above she enflamed his blood. Even as he closed the distance between them, his wife was no meek prey, no damsel in distress. Chin high and eyes bright, she held his gaze. She was bold and fierce, and by some random twist of fate, she was nowhis.
As two consenting adults, why shouldn’t they indulge in a bit of harmless fun?
Not harmless if it clouds your judgment or purpose.
Courtland ignored that. He wasn’t clouded, he was distracted. Deliciously so, and distractions were best handled quickly.
For every step he took forward, she took one back, until her legs bumped up against the sideboard propped beneath the glass porthole. Her chest rose and fell in shallow pants, but she made no move to escape as he bracketed her in with his arms. Breathing deeply, Courtland inhaled her scent. She smelled delicious, like lemon and sugar drizzled over hot buttered scones. His mouth watered. He’d barely gotten a taste of her, and now he craved more, plans be damned. It was a dangerous game, but she did not seem to care either.
“What were you saying about undergarments?” he rasped.
Molten eyes met his. “I dislike them?”
“Don’t you know answering a question with a question is quite rude, Duchess?” His nose trailed along the column of her neck, above the very modest neckline of her dress. Her pulse hummed like a bird’s wings beneath her flushed skin. “We shall have to work on reminding you of the rules, shan’t we?”
“I might require a refresher, Your Grace.”
Smiling, his lips feathered over the impossibly soft skin of her jaw to land at the corner of her saucy, smart mouth. Just recalling her questions about his ship made him as hard as stone. The fact that she was intelligent and shared similar interests only made her more attractive to him. In truth, he despised the edicts that governed their society. He’d always enjoyed a woman who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind.
“Rule number one: you will always say what you think in my presence.”
“Even if it’s not the done thing?”
He nipped at her earlobe. “Especially then.”
Ravenna let out a moan when he took the lobe into his mouth and then traced the pale-pink shell of her ear with his tongue. Moving back south, he lapped at the corner of her lip, the barest hint of the sweetness within making him groan. Hands rose up to clutch at his lapels.
