Page 24 of The Wallflower and the Duke
“I was thinking how perfect you are.” He brushed his hands into her hair, suddenly sitting up and pulling her into his lap.
Such utter reverence. She was sure she had gone mad. This could only be a dream.
“I was thinking how we’re outside.”
His shoulders tensed under her touch. “London doesn’t know what’s coming. No one steals from my duchess.”
“Your duchess?” she squeaked.
He grabbed her hand, kissing the back of her knuckles. “If you will have me, Jo. I know I am not?—”
Marjorie shook her head, rocking her hips against his, satisfied to feel his hard length between her thighs. She cupped his face and brushed her thumbs over his sharp cheekbones, remembering once the boy who had stumbled upon her reading, eating a plump peach.
Alfie tipped his face up toward the sky.
He choked back a surprised laugh, suddenly feeling the tension melt from his body as a soft breeze caressed his skin and birdsong filled his ears.
Outside.
Maybe it was the woman tracing her thumbs over his cheekbones, sitting in his lap. Having her there made the moment all the easier, and now he was outside.
The heavens still remained, and the world wasn’t coming to an end.
He turned his eyes back to her, loving how the golden September light flickered on her dark-brown hair, painting it with gold. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes nearly sparkled, and her lips were plump and inviting. Her dress lay off her shoulders, making her look wilder and more desirable than he had ever seen her before.
He was used to seeing Marjorie Merriweather walking in the park, her boots covered in mud, her raven nearby. He loved to watch her march across the fields in the early morning mist. That had been some kind of magic. But this, now, was a different magic: kinder, softer, and overwhelming all the same. He wasn’t certain if he’d ever loved anyone more than he loved her.
“Sweet,” he said.
She giggled, dropping her head to his shoulder. “Someone could have found us.”
“We’re not doing anything,” he said, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a smirk. She only grinned.
He kissed her more, bringing her pleasure, and now all he could think of was bringing her to his bed, exploring her, savoring her. The rest of London could hang; he would deal with that damn cad another day.
He hadn’t shared with Marjorie yet, but he had already written to his solicitor to see about buying the publisher and stopping the presses on Percy’s book. That was his first step. His next would be marrying her and bringing her to London as his duchess, confronting Percy together.
“Door,” she reminded him again.
He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers, sucking on the tip of her index finger. “Right, the door.”
“Are you listening?”
She slowly rose from his lap, and he couldn’t hide the cockstand in his trousers. He pushed up to his knees and then to his feet, gesturing for her to spin around to fix her dress and pull up her sleeves.
“I don’t suppose you know how to fix hair.”
“No one is here to mind,” he replied. “And I love your hair.”
She blushed, as if he hadn’t had his mouth on the most intimate part of her only moments ago. Too bashful over a compliment about her hair. He laughed.
When she was sorted, he fixed his shirt. He braced his hand on the stone of the building and peeked over his shoulder once more at the park beyond. The morning light danced, casting shadows over him and Marjorie.
He stepped inside his room, grabbing her hand, before marching over to the door, fully expecting to either slam it shut or freeze. He was surprised when he stepped through.
“Alfie?” she asked as they found themselves in the hallway. She clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling a surprised giggle.
“It’s my house, isn’t it?” he said.
