Page 7 of The Lady's Guide to Well-Endowed Dukes
“But if some diplomat didn’t intervene on her behalf, how did she escape?” Estela couldn’t begin to imagine.
“Quite against her will, apparently. She persuaded the sultan that his wives ought to be educated and volunteered her own services, beginning with Latin and the early philosophies of the Greeks, as well as a course in mathematical theory.” Margaret shook her head. “The poor things tried poisoning her several times.”
“Well, Pythagoras isn’t for everyone.” Estela conceded.
“Fortunately, Flora’s heightened nasal capabilities alerted her in good time,” Oona tapped her nose.
“They then left a deadly asp under her pillow, but Flora has a wonderful way with animals of all sorts, and made it her pet. The women were left with no choice but to pounce upon her one night and gag her. Then it was only a matter of concealing her in the linens sent for washing. After an arduous few hours, she found herself deposited on an outgoing cargo ship and—”Margaret stopped in mid-flow, her eyes fixing upon something behind Estela.
Oona, similarly agog, blinked and stared.
Twisting about, Estela understood why. If she hadn’t been sitting, she’d have been at risk of her knees giving way.
A shiver overtook her.
Her pulse sped.
Desire took hold of her, deep inside, sending a flood of wetness between her thighs.
To cap it off, her nipples shot to attention, as if someone had given them both a sharp tweak.
The man striding across the plush Persian carpet of the ship’s dining salon was the most god-like specimen she’d ever laid eyes upon. He exuded raw, delicious sex-appeal, and he was headed straight for their table.
CHAPTER 3
Lord Rockley would have turnedon his heel without a second thought, if it weren’t for the fact that he was ravenous. Not a single table remained vacant, and he was in no mood to make the obligatory small talk with strangers if he was forced to share.
He should have ordered supper to his room, but he was here now and the sooner a plate of roast beef was in front of him the better.
A sharp survey of the salon showed him a seat no more ten steps hence, where three ladies appeared deeply engrossed in conversation. It was far from ideal but, if they were talkative among themselves, he might manage the meal in relative peace. Nodding his intention to the Maître d', Rockley strode out and had almost reached the table when the dark-haired woman with her back towards him turned.
His breath caught.
Did they know one another?
He thought not, for an introduction to a woman as handsome as the one before him would not slip his mind.
Yet there was something familiar in her features, or perhaps it was her hair: a cloud of ebony above an elegant neck, with wisps curling upon her nape.
He was looking into eyes of languid softness.
Her chin lifted, and her lips parted. The desire came upon him to press his thumb there, to the center of her plump lower lip. He imagined her drawing it into her mouth and sucking upon it. Another image came fast upon that, and it was impossible to prevent the swelling stir of his cock.
A mere twelve months prior, he would have paid her every attention but, as alluring as she was, the last thing he needed was an entanglement. He wrenched away his gaze, making himself address the older ladies.
“I beg your pardon. May I seek the favor of joining you?”
“Please, do.”
“It would be delightful?—”
The welcoming responses came without hesitation. The Maître d' had now caught up with him, in time to hear the matrons’ invitation. The vacant chair was pulled out to receive him.
Without delay, he sat. “You’re too kind.”
The Maître d' was hovering. “Lord Rockley, you are joining the Misses McTavish, and Mrs. Bongorge.”
Rockley inclined his head in recognition of the introduction.
