Page 22 of The Duke's Improper Bride
Her hands ran through his hair as she pressed herself against him, the two of them lost in sweet oblivion. Isaac was sure he had died—how this time, he didn’t care. But sure as heaven above he must be dead—for Nora to show up on his doorstep when moments before he had been about to spill himself at the very thought of her.
“I realize this isn’t proper.” Nora let out a rough laugh laced with the doubt that her kiss hadn’t possessed. “But if I had been braver last evening, I would have kissed you…”
Her hands left his hair and skirted his bare shoulders.
“Nora.” He pulled away, instantly regretting the loss of her. He leaned his forehead against hers, his arms tugging her tighter as they spun into the middle of the small cottage, his paintings strewn around the place. If they didn’t watch their step, they were likely to be covered in oil paint. He closed his eyes, cursing under his breath. “Nora,” he whispered again.
How he loved her name.
How quickly he had grown to love her. Somehow. This was love after all, wasn’t it?
“My sweet Nora.”
Isaac kissed the edge of her mouth, tracing the line of her jaw as he made his way south, kissing her neck, then the hollow of her throat. Her body melted against the small table in the kitchen. His hand shook as he reached for the collar of her dress, his lips still pressed to her as something by the front door caught his eye.
He sobered, scratching his jaw as he peered between the beautiful woman laid out before him and the trunk by the door. “Where are you going?”
“Leaving.” Nora sat up and wiped a hand across her mouth, the perfect picture of lust with her heavy-lidded eyes. “I have an elderly aunt I can stay with. I am sure she needs the h-help.”
Her beautiful hair cascaded down around her shoulders, her dress collar still open, revealing a slice of freckled skin. Her eyes, wide and full of want, met his. So much between them remained unspoken. How was it possible to know someone completely and not at all?
“Don’t leave,” he said, his voice husky. “Please.”
She shook her head. “I can’t stay, n-not now. I should have found a safer place.”
“Safer?”
He stood between her legs, the table hitting his thighs as he did. He pinched a lock of her hair between his fingers, careful not to scare her from speaking. “You’re not safe now? Has someone hurt you?”
She straightened, hesitating before she touched him again, circling her arms around his neck. “You’re not wearing a shirt.”
“I wasn’t expecting company so early.”
“It is early.” She yawned. “I shouldn’t have come. I’m sor—”
He didn’t let her finish. Couldn’t let her finish, in fact. He kissed her, this time a slow, drugging kiss that felt as if it lasted hours, yet when their lips parted, he was altogether too sorry to see it end so soon.
“Marry me,” he whispered, nose to nose with her.
“What?” She tensed beneath his touch.
He pulled back, cupping her face in his hands. “Nora MacAllen, please marry me.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “You can’t mean that.”
He kissed her, and properly, to show her he meant it. She nuzzled beside his cheek, shaking her head as she pulled away.
“I’m dreaming.”
“No.”
Nora gently pushed him away. “We hardly know each other. And I doubt my father will give permission for m-me to marry an Englishman.”
But an English duke certainly?
“There have been marriages based on far less than what we share, and we could have far more if we take the chance.”
“That’s hardly romantic, Isaac.”
