Page 18 of The Wallflower and the Duke
“Sweet thing.” He pulled away a moment, whispering against her ear, “Jo.”
She didn’t look up, her lips grazing the corner of his jaw and throat. Her tongue darted against his skin, and he thought perhaps she was going to take him apart right then and there. Whatever control he had left vanished, along with his patience, and he was about to become a greedy man.
His fingers tightened in her hair, tugging against her scalp, bringing her face back to his for another deep kiss, searching. His heart hammered in his chest. For this to feel so wonderful, why did it feel as if his chest was about to break open? He wanted everything, but he knew he couldn’t ask her. He knew she already risked so much just by being here, alone.
But a little more, that was all. Temptation coursed through his veins.
Alfie’s mouth moved to the base of her throat and nipped at her skin, like an utter cad wishing to mark her as his. She sighed, her hips pushing against his, her middle pressing against his bulging cock in his buckskins, and he feared he would spend right there like a schoolboy at the mere touch of a woman.
Then, a knock on the door.
He didn’t break apart. He couldn’t. He leaned his hand against the door, caging her in as she collapsed her forehead against his chest, and he rested his head against the top of hers. For a moment, the two of them struggled to catch their breath.
“A moment, please,” Alfie finally called out.
Marjorie allowed a soft giggle to escape her, and as her laugh grew louder, she wiped at her eyes.
“Was that funny?” he asked, his voice rough.
She clasped her hands to her cheeks as if trying to wipe away the lingering grin. “No, nothing was funny about our kiss, Alfie. It’s only… I’ve never been kissed like that. Kissed by someone who wanted to kiss me.”
Alfie growled and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close just as a second knock sounded against the door. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. “Stay for dinner,” he urged.
Her hand crawled up his shirt, slipping beneath the buttons. The pressure of her fingertips against his chest was oddly reassuring.
“Go on,” she said.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her, afraid that once he turned, it would only be the memory he had to hold of Marjorie for the rest of his life. Kissing her there against his bedroom wall, desperate, heated.
His heart thundered against his chest. The small sliver of possibility that shone back at him in her eyes kept him anchored.
CHAPTER 5
Marjorie stifled a yawn as she shuffled to the sideboard in the morning room and poured herself a cup of tea.
“You were out late,” said her sister, Emily, walking into the room.
Marjorie didn’t bother turning around. Her response mulled around on her tongue at the mere memory of her kiss with Alfie against his bedroom wall.
Instead of telling the truth, she remained quiet.
“I wasn’t home,” her sister continued, “but your silence is confirmation enough.”
Marjorie spun around, pointing at her. “That was a nasty trick!”
Emily crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, her dark beady eyes shining brightly behind her gold-rimmed glasses. She leaned against the dining room chair, her cane resting nearby at the foot of the large table. “Well?” she said smugly.
Marjorie only swatted her hands as if to shoo her sister away. She loved having a twin sister most of the time.
“I need tea,” she barked instead, her mind fumbling for words as memories played over and over again.
When she had returned home last evening after dinner, in the carriage, she couldn’t sleep. Instead, she spent the night writing, pacing back and forth across her room with her quill in hand, acting out the story. Satisfied at last that she had worked through a troublesome plot point, she thought to let Percy have her old manuscript without protest. Her current story was much better anyhow.
No.
The pit in her stomach deepened. Could she allow Percy to claim her work as his, never challenging him? All because it was easier?
That manuscript had been hers, tucked away with the intention it would only remain for her eyes. He was not entitled to it—then or now.
