Page 58 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
Awareness—full understanding—of what he was saying glowed in her eyes. Impulse prompted, and he raised a hand and gently cradled her cheek. “As for being drawn to you…”
Slowly, drawing out the moment and the anticipation, he lowered his head, then swooped the last inch and pressed his lips to hers.
Hunger roared, and for the first time, he allowed it to seep into the exchange, and was gratified by the soft sound she made in her throat and the immediate response of her lips against his.
She parted the luscious curves and brazenly invited him in, and the taste of her captured him, utterly, indescribably, and he swept deep and gloried in the astounding sensation.
Gently, so as not to startle her, he drew her closer. Urged her nearer, and eagerly, she came.
She pressed into him, her breasts impinging, firm and warm, against the hard planes of his chest, her hips sinking against his long thighs, cradling his already rampant erection.
He sensed she noticed, but wasn’t at all disturbed. Far from it. She seemed to purr low in her throat, then she pressed even closer.
Instinctively, his arms locked about her, and he angled his head and deepened the kiss.
Their tongues tangled and dueled, and sensation and longing and need and want wound together in a compelling incitement demanding oh so much more. Hungrily and greedily demanding satisfaction.
He was so consumed by the moment that his hand was gliding up toward her breast when a mental jab from his own self-interest jarred him and jolted his mind back into the ascendancy.
Into comprehending the reality of what he and she had, between them, wrought.
A situation that—as she’d plainly realized—needed to be carefully navigated.
Even more so now that love had been dealt into their equation.
Not that she seemed in any hurry to step back from the rapidly-approaching-conflagration kiss.
Seizing the reins he hadn’t even noticed he’d let slither from his grasp, calling on the extensive expertise of his rakehell years, he eased—gently, carefully—back from the exchange.
When transparently reluctantly he raised his head, she stared up at him. “What’s wrong?”
Gently, he grasped her shoulders and forced himself to step back, to create a gap of at least six inches between her alluring curves and his tense frame. He continued to gaze into her face; this time, it was he who was lost for words. He released her shoulders and lowered his hands. “I…” She’d had the courage to speak of love to him. So… Briefly, he closed his eyes. “This is going to sound so conceited, but”—he opened his eyes and looked into hers—“I know, and you know, too, that I could easily take this further. A lot further. Indeed, to the point where there would no longer be any question of whether we would marry or not.”
Faint color rose in her cheeks, but mercifully, she didn’t argue.
He felt his features set in grim lines and forced himself to go on. “While on the one hand, that would undoubtedly be extremely pleasant for us both, such an occurrence would only compound our problems regarding the issue we were discussing earlier.” Love. When she simply stared, faintly uncomprehendingly, at him, he felt compelled to spell it out. “Yes, I want you to marry me, but I want you to choose me out of love and commitment, not because of lust.” He paused, then added, “Cynsters aren’t the only family who know the value of love.”
She tipped her head, studying his face. “Your parents?”
“A love match that lasted until my father’s death. And even then…”
“I see.”
He wondered how much she truly saw, but being alone with her in such tempting surroundings was fraying his already much-tried reins; they needed to get back to the ball. He cleared his throat. “So to summarize. At this point, we’re in agreement—we go forward and see what comes. You want—or at least would prefer to have—love as the foundation of our marriage, and I want or at least would prefer the same thing. Given that, I think it’s reasonable to suppose that our married life will be all that we wish it to be. However, to allay all doubts as to our feelings, we’ll give ourselves until June before making our final decision.” He arched his brows at her. “Is that an accurate statement of where we stand?”
She nodded. “Yes. That’s our situation and our agreed direction.”
“Good.” He felt as if they’d negotiated a major battlefield and emerged alive and unscathed. He reached for her hand. “I have no idea how long we’ve been absent from the ball, but I’m fairly certain we should get back.”
“Indeed.” Meg led the way, this time sticking to the hallways and principal corridors of the house. While her lips still throbbed and her skin prickled with unsated need, she was content with what their short interlude had revealed and, even more, with what it had achieved—a far clearer understanding of each other on both their parts.
She felt a great deal more reassured and confident as to where they were heading and what their shared future might hold.
They emerged from a minor corridor into the rear of the ballroom’s foyer to find several couples departing, and in the general melee, she and Drago were able to tender their farewells as if they’d stepped out of the ballroom for that purpose.
Once those guests had left, they reentered the ballroom only to be met by more of those intent on departing. Good manners kept them by the open door, thanking guests for attending and sharing their big night.
“Good.” Meg’s mother materialized beside them and absentmindedly patted Drago’s arm. “Your mother and I wondered where you had got to, but apparently, you’ve been ahead of us.” With a nod of approval, she moved back along the lines of departing guests, joining Drago’s mother as co-hostess in thanking everyone for their company.
