Page 84 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
Her breath, what she had left of it, hitched. Then her heart beat faster, and she murmured and shifted, leaning in to press her breast—firm mound and aching tip—into his waiting palm.
And suddenly, his kiss grew hotter, more heated, his lips more demanding.
His fingers drifted, oh-so-delicately tracing the swollen curves of her breast, the upper, then the lower.
Then he cupped her breast, and she ceased breathing.
He closed his hand, and her senses reeled. His clever fingers found the tight bud of her nipple and gently squeezed, then tweaked. Then he kneaded the mound, and every last iota of her mind locked on the sensations evoked—provoked—by his lazy knowing exploration, by his artful, expert pandering to her senses and, even more, her desire. Feeding it. Stoking it.
Sending it soaring to new heights.
Lost in whirling pleasure, her wits tantalized by the promise of what might come, she only distantly registered theclickof the door latch.
“Ahem!”
With a start, she opened her eyes. Over the top of the raised back of the chair, in the doorway, she saw Angelica outlined against the faint light in the corridor.
“I daresay you’re absorbed at the moment, but the pair of you need to reappear in the ballroom without delay. Your elders are growing restive.”
Meg couldn’t marshal sufficient wit to make any reply.
She looked down at Drago, only to see that his shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.
Angelica tsked. “You both must know that Drago’s reputation is such that there’s no way Honoria and Patience, let alone Flick—let alone Demon—will countenance you both disappearing for long. However, because I remember how being in your situation feels, might I suggest that you take the roundabout route via the terrace to return to the ballroom? If you continue along this corridor, you’ll find a door at the end. If you go through it, you’ll be on the far end of the terrace. I’ve already left the ballroom’s terrace doors open, so you’ll be able to stroll in and claim that you’ve merely been taking the air.”
She paused, then amended, “Not that that is any guarantee of avoiding suspicion, but it’s better than saying you’ve been sampling forbidden delights in the back parlor.”
With that, Angelica turned to leave. “Just hurry up before someone else comes looking for you.”
Drago roused himself to call, “Thank you, Angelica!”
She huffed and departed.
Rather bemused, Meg looked into Drago’s dark eyes, then grinned. “She’s always had a soft spot for handsome rakes.”
Drago helped her up off his lap. “Just as well I qualify, then.”
“Don’t grow conceited.”
“With Cynsters all around, I doubt that will happen.”
He waited while Meg shook out her skirts and straightened her bodice, then he offered his arm. “Angelica’s right. We should take the terrace route back.”
They set out at a brisk pace.
He had far too much experience with illicit encounters not to have kept a tight rein over his own desires. The chances of actually sating his hunger had been distant at best, so he wasn’t perturbed by the slow burn of desire and unslaked passion; both would keep, and indeed, the end to such necessary restraint was in sight.
As they slipped onto the terrace and into the cool night air—which would help cool both their ardors—he was conscious of a feeling of lightheadedness. It was, indeed, heartening to learn that his chosen bride wanted him as much as he wanted her.
That much, she’d made abundantly plain through her kisses, her insistent lips, and her inviting actions.
Despite the interruption—in the circumstances, very likely necessary—in his estimation, the evening had gone exceedingly well.
* * *
Friday evening broughtthe final formal event that Drago and Meg were expected to attend prior to their wedding. As that event was a dinner for their combined families hosted by Meg’s grandmother, Lady Horatia Cynster, and as all the family members had already met, in some cases multiple times, although technically still a formal affair, the evening wasn’t as tension-inducing as it might otherwise have been.
Nevertheless, Drago remained alert and focused as, before dinner, with Meg on his arm, he circulated among the guests in the drawing room. There were several far-flung Cynsters he hadn’t met before—such as the branch from the Scottish Lowlands and others from Devon—and by now he’d learned that each and every Cynster was potentially an ally. Some in estate business, some with investments, and others in a host of endeavors including horse breeding, wolfhound breeding, jewelry, antiques, and artworks.
