Page 25 of His Auctioned Duchess
“Unyielding. Arrogant. Terribly proud.”
Richard’s lips curved, slow and dangerous. “And yet, you sit here alone with me. No chaperone, just you and me.”
It was true—and the realization sent a thrill of alarm through her. She wanted to rise, to laugh, to throw up her walls again. But she couldn’t move.
His hand slid forward, brushing aside a captured pawn. The sound of the piece striking marble was loud as thunder in the stillness. Then he was leaning across the board, the space between them dissolving.
Caroline’s breath hitched. Her hand, resting upon the table, trembled ever so slightly. “Your Grace,” she began, meaning to stop him—though what words she would have used, she didn’t know.
Her protest died as his lips brushed hers. It was not gentle. Nor was it cruel. It was real, a collision of restraint and desire, of challenge and surrender. The kiss burned through every carefully drawn boundary between them, searing away the last pretense that she could remain unmoved.
For one reckless heartbeat, Caroline forgot to breathe. She forgot pride and propriety, forgot the weight of her name and the sharp edge of her vow never to marry.
She only felt his warmth, his nearness, the rough brush of his breath against her cheek. The orangery’s humid air pressed close, thick with the scent of crushed orange blossoms and heated glass, and every inhalation drew him deeper into herlungs.Her fingers gripped the edge of the table, knuckles whitening against the polished mahogany.
The wood was cool beneath her palms, a stark contrast to the furnace of his mouth. Richard’s hand lifted to the back of her neck, steady but not forceful, thumb stroking the fragile skin beneath her pinned-up hair. A shiver raced down her spine; the pins loosened, and one heavy curl tumbled free, brushing his wrist like silk.
He made a low sound, part groan, part prayer, and angled his head to fit their mouths more perfectly. The kiss turned molten. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, not demanding entry but coaxing, tasting the faint sweetness of the orange she’d eaten earlier. Caroline’s lips parted on a soft exhale, and the tip of his tongue slipped inside, slow, deliberate, devastating.
Heat pooled low in her belly, a liquid ache that made her thighs press together beneath layers of muslin and petticoat.
She should stop this. She knew it the way she knew the sky was blue, but her body had other ideas. Her free hand rose of its own accord, fingers trembling as they settled against his chest. Through the fine linen of his shirt, she felt the rapid thud of his heart, matching her own frantic rhythm.
It was as if their pulses had synchronized in this stolen moment, a secret language spoken in beats and breaths. Richard’s other hand found her waist, pulling her closer until their bodies aligned, the hard planes of him pressing against her softness.
The layers of fabric between them, her gown, his waistcoat, everything felt like an intolerable barrier, yet they amplified every sensation. She could feel the heat radiating from him, seeping through silk and cotton, making her skin flush from her cheeks to her décolletage. A bead of perspiration traced down her temple, and he caught it with his lips, trailing a path along her jawline, down to the sensitive hollow beneath her ear.
“Caroline,” he murmured against her skin, his voice a gravelly whisper that sent sparks skittering across her nerves. The way he said her name—like a plea, like a possession—made her knees weaken. She clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into the broad muscles there, feeling them flex under her touch.
He nipped gently at her earlobe, then soothed it with his tongue, drawing a gasp from her lips. The sound echoed in the glass-domed room, mingling with the distant patter of rain on the panes. The orangery was a world unto itself, alive with the lush greenery of citrus trees and the heady perfume of blooming flowers, but right now, it narrowed to just them: the press of bodies, the tangle of breaths, the electric hum of unspoken wants.
Her head fell back slightly, exposing the column of her throat, and Richard took the invitation. His mouth descended, lips grazing her pulse point where it fluttered wildly. He kissed her there, open-mouthed, tasting the salt of her skin mingled with the faint floral scent of her perfume.
Each press of his lips sent waves of heat cascading through her, pooling in places she dared not name even to herself.Her breaths came in shallow pants, her chest rising and falling against his, the friction of fabric against her sensitized skin nearly unbearable.
“God, you’re exquisite,” he breathed, his hand sliding up her back, fingers splaying wide to hold her steady.
The warmth of his palm seeped through her bodice, and she arched into it instinctively, seeking more. His thumb brushed the edge of her corset, just shy of where her breast swelled against the confines of lace and whalebone. The almost-touch made her whimper, a soft, needy sound that surprised even her.
Emboldened, Caroline’s hands explored him in return. She traced the line of his jaw, feeling the faint stubble that rasped against her fingertips, then down to the open V of his shirt where a glimpse of tanned skin teased her.
Her fingers dipped inside, brushing the crisp hair on his chest, feeling the heat and vitality of him. He shuddered under her touch, a full-body tremor that vibrated through her, and it ignited something fierce within her—a desire to unravel him as he was unraveling her.
Their mouths found each other again, the kiss deeper now, more urgent. Tongues danced and retreated, a rhythm that mirrored the push-pull of their bodies. His hand at her neck tilted her head back further, exposing more of her to his exploration.
He kissed down her throat, across her collarbone, lingering at the swell of her breasts where they strained against her neckline.His breath was hot against her skin, each exhale a caress that made her nipples tighten painfully, aching for something she couldn’t articulate.
Caroline’s fingers threaded into his hair, thick and slightly damp from the humid air, holding him there as if afraid he might vanish. The world outside—the expectations of society, the scandals that could erupt from this indiscretion—faded into irrelevance. There was only the slide of his lips, the grip of his hands, the way his body molded to hers like they were two halves of a whole, finally reunited.
But even in the haze of desire, a thread of reason tugged at her. She pulled back slightly, her lips swollen and tingling, eyes meeting his in the dim light filtering through the rain-streaked glass. His gaze was dark, pupils blown wide with want, and it mirrored the storm raging inside her.
“Richard,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, “we mustn’t...”
He didn’t release her, but his hold gentled, fingers tracing soothing circles on her back.
“I know,” he replied, though his voice betrayed the lie—rough, edged with the same hunger that clawed at her. He leaned in again, not to kiss her mouth, but to press his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling in the scant space between them. The intimacy of it was almost more potent than the kisses, a silent admission of the fire they’d ignited.Yet the heat didn’t dissipate; it simmered, coiling tighter with every shared breath.
Caroline’s body thrummed with it, every nerve alight, her skin hypersensitive to the slightest brush of air or fabric. She could feel the evidence of his arousal pressed against her hip, hard and insistent, and it sent a fresh wave of liquid heat through her core. Her thighs clenched again, involuntarily, seeking friction that wasn’t there.
