Page 87 of The Design of Dukes
Romy turned, hiding her surprise and happiness at his appearance. He’d been gone for amonth. Not that he owed her a note or any bloody sign he was still alive but—
“I’m out of feathers. The peacocks have been most uncooperative. I’m quite despondent.”
Granby stooped a bit as he made his way through the doorway, his hat dangling from one hand. “I was hoping your melancholy was brought on by missing me.”
Romy’s skin prickled in the most delicious manner, warming as he drew near. “Perish the thought, Your Grace.” Didn’t Granby know she carried a piece of him in her soul? Stolen from him that night in the study?
His ebony hair looked a bit longer, curling around his ears and collar in a wild manner. The savage slash of cheekbone and nose were pinked as if he’d been out in the sun for hours without a proper hat. All that sun must have melted the icecaps he usually wore on his massive shoulders, for there was only a hint of chill when he spoke.
Most unusual.
Romy had to grab the edge of the table with her fingers to keep from throwing her arms around him. She’d missed him that much.
Granby came forward, cocking his head at the dressmaker’s dummy along with the sketches strewn about the room. “You’ve been busy.”
“You’ve been gone,” she finally croaked.
“You noticed. But I did mention I’d be gone when last we spoke.”
“For a week, possibly two,” she said, cringing at the needy sound of her words. “How did you know I was here?”
“Youdidmiss me.” Warmth lay banked in the darkness of his eyes. “I’ve missed you too. And Madame Dupree let me know of your whereabouts.”
She sniffed the air, catching leather and horses. “You’re rather dusty,” she said, noting the state of his coat and boots.
“I returned home only today and came straight here.”
Romy gave him her back and stacked the remaining sketches strewn across the table. “Well, you can return home. There is no need for you be here unless it is to watch me do unsuitable things.”
“What if I chose to do those unsuitable things with you?”
She squeaked at the touch of his tongue against the curve of her ear. “There are things I must say, Romy.”
“My position has not changed, Your Grace. If you cannot accept all of me—” She took a shaky breath as the warmth of his chest pressed into her back.
“I can have none of you. Yes, I remember quite well.”
“Then you must also recall I come with a variety of drawbacks, as you call them. Things which may offend your tender sensibilities. You’ve deemed me unacceptable.”
Two big hands landed on either side of her, trapping Romy against the table. Blood pumped through her body, her heart beating wildly. A coil of arousal twisted low inside her with an insistent ache, begging for attention, a common occurrence with Granby in the vicinity. If so much as one wicked thing came from his beautiful mouth, Romy would be lost.
“Terribly unsuitable.” Granby pressed against her, the hard length of him rubbing sinuously against her backside. “I’ve stayed away from you as long as I could. Time enough to allow your anger toward me to mellow.” One of his hands disappeared as he nibbled at the back of her neck. “I was working on my own imperfections, as it happens.”
“I see.” She gasped at the feel of his hand running up the back of her legs, even as the other settled on her waist before sliding up the front of her dress. The dress she wore was one of her oldest. She’d been in a rush to get to Madame Dupree’s this morning and had chosen the dress because it required no corset and only a petticoat or two.
“What are you doing?” Her voice raised an octave as Granby’s finger slid between the crack of her buttocks before cupping her with his hand. His fingers tugged lightly at the soft hair of her mound, sliding back and forth.
“Examiningyourimperfections.” A finger pressed into her heat, circling and teasing at her flesh. “All this wetness is for me. I knew I was missed.”
Romy’s hands trembled against the table. “You should leave. You may call on me later.”
“And run the risk you will not receive me?”
Her forehead pressed against the table as she struggled to retain some dignity, but all Romy could do was shamefully push her hips back against him. His fingers moved purposefully over her flesh as a small moan left her.
“I would.” She gasped as his forefinger flicked gently against a sensitive spot. “Receive you.”
“Can’t take the chance. You seem averse to talking, or at the least, allowingmeto speak.” He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. “I’m hopeful I can persuade you to listen.” His teeth grazed her upper back, nipping at her skin through the worn calico she wore. “I think perhaps I will take all of you.” He pulled Romy’s hips up, exposing her more fully. “Every tiny”—his finger teased against the small, painfully engorged bit of flesh hiding within her folds—“bit of you, Romy.”
