Page 12 of Master of Games
As a rake, he knew all sorts of tricks to keep a woman touching him, keep her engaged even when she wasn’t certain she wished to be.
He’d use every one of those tricks now.
“Yes, mum. Right away.”
His hand settled on her other hip, keeping her tight to his body. “Bring pastries,” he called to the footman.
“Yes, Your Grace,” the man said with a bow and then disappeared, his quick footsteps thudding down the hall despite the thick carpet.
“Pastries?” Tabbie asked, her brow furrowing in the most adorable way. “You should be drinking broth, not eating sweets.”
“The sweets are for you,” he answered, closing his eyes and trying not to smile. “You need your strength after last night.”
“I am fine, I have plenty of strength.”
“Oh good. In that case, tell me about your novel idea while we wait.”
“You remembered that?”
“I did. And I’m dying to know, well, hopefully not literally, what you plan to write about?”
She shook her head. “I have no idea. I’d sincerely only just considered the notion when a rake arrived at my door on horseback.”
He gave her hip the smallest squeeze. “Is that the beginning of your book? Or will it be about the vapid debutantes who fill ballrooms?”
“Do not speak about them that way.”
“Why not?”
“Because one of them will surely be the woman you actually marry.”
He snorted, because he’d never marry one of those women, but also, he could see that Tabbie had a terribly low opinion of him. Which he deserved. Yet another hurdle. Good thing he’d come to like a challenge. “Not a chance.”
But he’d have to go about changing her opinion all the while giving her a bit of fun. It was a difficult needle to thread to be certain.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ironheart. You’re a duke, you’ll have to marry.”
“Of that you are correct. I shall have to marry a woman of excellent birth.”
“And she’ll need to be beautiful and accomplished.”
“Indeed, she shall.” He slid his hand down her leg, feeling the shapeliness of her thigh through the layers of her skirts and petticoats.
“And likely everyone will think you’ve made the most excellent choice.”
His eyes opened at that. “What does that matter? Most people are fools.”
It was her turn to snort. And then smile. “Too true.” And then he felt her relax deeper into his side.
The footman returned with a tray in both his hands, loaded with tea, cakes, broth, and biscuits. He set it down on the table next to the bed and Tabbie rose, her body leaving his.
He was famished, and food would help return his strength, but he still missed the feel of her as she poured him a steaming mug of broth.
He pulled himself up into sitting, taking the mug with his good hand and bringing it to his lips.
The broth felt amazing on his throat and with every sip, more of his strength returned.
She poured herself tea, taking several large swallows.
