Page 39 of The Duke Who Dared Me
This time she smiled, stepping closer, but stopping short.He reached forward and tugged her by the netting on her skirts until she was flush against his body.His hand curved around her cheek, relief sweeping over her.He pressed his thumb under the bottom of her chin, brought her lips up to his, and kissed her slowly.
“Now I am,” he whispered against her ear when they finally broke apart.
“You defended me against Lord Rackham tonight.”
He exhaled, nearly hiding the low growl in his throat.“The man’s an arse.”
Verity drew back, gazing up at him under her lashes.She liked the way he always swallowed when she did that, as if the very sight of her was overwhelming.It felt powerful.
“Lady Clara didn’t seem pleased by your agricultural insights.”
“She means nothing to me.”His voice was sharp now.Raw.“Only you.”
“What a pretty thing to say.”She stepped away to sit on the edge of her bed.She drummed her fingers against her lips, fighting back the urge to kiss him again.If only she understood what was truly happening between them.He’d spent the evening ignoring her, then publicly chose her side in front of his peers and her worst judges.They had moved on from hating one another, and it wasn’t a flirtation any longer.
Alistair reached into his coat pocket and pulled out something wrapped in a linen handkerchief.
“I needed to escort my mother across Town this evening after dinner, and then I was caught up in business at my club, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.That’s not a pretty thing to say, Verity.I know damn well we are making a mess of everything.I can’t think straight.I…” He stopped, then glanced up at her.“I need to give this to you, and there hasn’t ever really seemed to be a good time.”
He unwrapped the linen and held it out.
Years.It had been years since she had seen that porcelain figure.The last time she had seen it was on the floor, shattered, at Warwick Cottage.
It had been clumsily glued together, and there was a large crack on the side where a piece was still missing, as well as the flower that the porcelain girl once held.
But it was nearly whole.
“I tried to fix it,” he said.“I don’t know if it’s good enough.But I wanted to try.”
“Alistair.”
He dropped to his knees and grabbed her hand.“I have the rest at my estate in Kent.I’ll make sure?—”
She cut him off with a kiss.
Later, she’d be furious.Later, she’d pick apart what it meant that not only had he repaired the figures, but kept them safe for years.Later, she might have been able to string together a sentence, but for now, she sank into his kiss, opening herself to him.
“Verity,” he rasped.
She met his gaze, and the last of her defenses crumbled.“No half measures, Alistair.”
His mouth found hers again, deeper this time, possessive.Heat gathered low in her belly as he guided her back onto the bed.The familiar ache of resisting him was gone, replaced by an overwhelming want that felt like finally choosing herself.The mahogany bed creaked softly as her knees hit the mattress.
She pushed his coat from his shoulders, letting it fall to the worn Persian rug with a soft thud.Bright silver light from the moon slanted through the tall windows, casting shadows across his face as he reached for her.
“Here,” she whispered, catching his wrist and guiding his fingers to the laces at her side.“I’ve been wanting out of this dress since dinner.”His eyes darkened.“Help me.”
“Christ, so have I,” he said roughly, but his fingers were gentle as they worked the ties.“Been imagining this all evening.”One warm palm curved over her shoulder as her bodice loosened.She arched into his touch, a movement that would have embarrassed her once.Not now.
Years of forcing herself to be unshakeable, and tonight, she wanted the mess of it.She wanted his hands and his mouth and the way he looked at her like she was just as precious as she was dangerous.
Her fingers found his cravat, working the knot until it gave way.She tugged the crisp linen free, her hands already moving to the open collar of his shirt.Heat and hard muscle beneath her fingertips, his pulse hammering against her palms.
Alistair dipped his mouth to the column of her throat and trailed a line of kisses up to the corner of her jaw.She couldn't quite bite back the sound that escaped her when he raked his teeth over the delicate skin.“Shh,” he murmured against her skin.“Your brother is just down the hall.”His mouth trailed lower, tasting the edge where linen met the soft skin.“Tell me if I go too far.”
“I'm asking you to,” she whispered back, the words plain and honest.“I’m tired of almosts, Alistair.”
The look he gave her then—hungry, yes, but also astonished—made her chest ache.He kissed the center of her sternum, then lower, slow and worshipful, and every place his lips touched felt like a promise kept.
