Page 32 of Tamed By a Duke
"Oh?"
Now it was Charlotte's turn to raise an eyebrow, as her breath hitched in her chest. There was no mistaking the meaning of Penrith's words, his smouldering gaze, or his body, which had moved even closer to hers.
"Yes," the duke gave a smile that could only be described as wicked, "In fact, you've inspired me to follow your lead."
Charlotte was about to ask him just how he was going to do this, but Penrith captured her mouth with his own before she had a chance to form the question. His lips pressed against hers, while his arms moved to encircle her body, pulling Charlotte against the hardness of her chest.
Well, this was unexpected, Charlotte thought, as she allowed herself to melt against him. Not to mention exquisitely pleasurable, sensually delightful, and veryrisqué.
So overwhelmed was she by the duke's passionate embrace, that Charlotte clear forgot that she was standing in the rain in the middle of the park. Her senses were delighted by the feel of Penrith's lush lips, by his masculine scent of sandalwood and tobacco, and by her own giddy feelings of longing and desire. The storm which raged around them was nothing in comparison to the tumultuous passion and desire which filled her at Penrith's touch.
He was the storm, Charlotte thought dazedly, as her arms encircled Penrith's neck drawing him closer to her. He was a tempest which threatened to wreak havoc on her very existence—and who was she to fight him, for had she not already declared herself a lover of storms?
It was only when a crash of thunder sounded above them and the sky illuminated with a crack of lightning that the two broke apart.
"Well," Penrith ran a hand through his hair, looking perfectly discombobulated, "I should probably apologise for that, but I'm afraid I'm not actually sorry. That was..."
The duke paused and looked at Charlotte, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. His breath, Charlotte could see from the rise and fall of his chest, was as laboured as her own. It gave her something of a thrill to realise that the duke—for all his worldly experience—was every bit as affected by their kiss as Charlotte.
"That was unexpected," Charlotte finished for him, unable to resist teasing him despite all that had transpired.
"Quite," Penrith's lips quirked with amusement at the same time as another crash of thunder echoed across the sky. He cast a worried glance at the clouds, before reaching for Charlotte's hand.
"Come," he ordered, once again assuming an air of ducal authority, "While you might enjoy storms, I doubt even an enthusiast like yourself would relish being struck by lightning."
Charlotte allowed herself to be led by the duke from the park. Penrith shielded her from the worst of the wind with his body, before depositing her at the steps of Ashfield House.
"What about you, your Grace?" Charlotte queried, nervous that he might take off into the storm alone and on foot.
"Unfortunately, after I called on you to find you not at home, my horse then lost a shoe," Penrith grinned, "And I had the humbling experience of having to beg assistance from your father's stables. Everything should, I hope, be mended by now."
Oh dear. How it must have rankled Penrith's pride to have been forced to linger at a home he had been refused at.
"I am sorry, that I did not wait for you," Charlotte offered, feeling genuine remorse for her treatment of him.
"I am not," the duke smiled, "For I would not have been able to kiss you like that in a sedate drawing room. Now, inside before you catch your death. But Charlotte?"
Charlotte turned, with one foot on the first step.
"I will learn the reason as to why you felt the need to pawn your jewels. It can come from your lips, or another's, but I will know. Am I clear?"
Charlotte nodded mutely, before turning and fleeing up the steps to safety. As the door closed behind her, Charlotte could not help but worry about what Penrith would say or do once he discovered what it was that she had done. For no proper lady would involve herself in the affairs that Charlotte had taken on. Though Charlotte was no proper lady, and she could not regret her actions, even though some might condemn her.
She just hoped that the duke would not.
Chapter Ten
"There he is."
"Indeed, it is he; the enamoured duke who looked at Miss Charlotte Drew with eyes softer than Spitalfields' finest spun silk."
Hugh frowned at his two friends, who were seated in their usual seat at the bow-window of White's. He had hoped that they might have missed the papers' platitude-laden reports on his trip to the theatre with Miss Drew, but they obviously had not.
In fact, Montague appeared to have memorised sections of the gossip columns by heart.
"The formidable Duke of Penrith, who for years has ignored the impassioned pleas of thousands of women, has at last succumbed to the agony of love," Montague quoted cheerfully, as Penrith took a seat.
"You'll succumb to a rather quick punch, if you don't stop your blathering," Hugh muttered, as he waved for a footman to fetch him a drink.
