Page 19 of The Duke of Desire
Miss Forth-Hodges spun her about, and then the game was on. Everyone scattered, and for a moment, Miss Breckenridge simply stood there. When she finally stepped forward, she put her hands up, but didn’t extend her arms. This was going to take forever if she didn’t move more quickly and use her arms to reach for someone. More than ever, West wanted to step in front of her, if only to make this easier. He didn’t want to see her flustered. He imagined she would hate that, especially with an audience. He’d somehow gleaned that pride was one of her most prized possessions.
She came toward him, and he made a show of dashing out of the way, just as he was certain to bring his heel down hard on the marble so she could hear that someone was close.
She spun and lost her balance, tottering for a moment. He resisted the urge to take her into his arms and keep her upright, but she recovered. She thrust her arms out to right herself and it was then that her fingertips grazed his coat.
Turning toward him, she grasped the fabric in her hand. “I’ve got you.”
The low insistence of her voice combined with the ownership those words evoked coaxed his lust even higher. He was going to have to quit the room before he embarrassed himself. Except now it would be his turn to be blindfolded. Unless she didn’t guess it was him.
He stood still, and the room was silent as she moved closer. He felt her warmth as she drew near. She smelled of lemon and spice, a fresh and surprisingly intoxicating scent.
Her hand still clutched his sleeve while the other came up and pressed against his chest. He drew in a sharp breath but was certain only he and Miss Breckenridge were aware of his reaction.
“It’s a gentleman,” she said, stepping even closer. She released his sleeve and put both hands on his shoulders. Her fingers trailed over his collarbones upward along his neck. She wasn’t wearing gloves so the brush of her flesh against his sent heat spiraling through him.
He held his breath while his gaze was locked on her face. The contrast of the black silk blindfold against her creamy flesh was stark and beautiful. He could think of a thousand things he’d do to her while she couldn’t see. If she’d let him.
Her hands continued up to his face, stroking along his jaw. He had to work to keep himself perfectly still. Every muscle in his body screamed to touch her.
Her thumb caught his lip. He could so easily draw it into his mouth or lick the pad. He didn’t dare. The collective stare of everyone in the room seemed like a living, breathing thing, pressing in on him and ensuring he kept himself in check.
She splayed her fingers out and grazed over his cheeks and eyes. He almost told her to be careful, but that would give him away.
She skimmed along his forehead, her fingertips brushing through his hair. Then she inhaled through her nose. She pulled her hands back, her lips parting in a soft gasp. “It’s you,” she whispered.
“It’s me,” he answered softly.
“The Duke of Clare,” she announced loudly.
Everyone cheered and applauded. She reached back to untie the blindfold, but had trouble.
“Let me,” he said.
She turned, and he unknotted the silk. At least one of his wishes came true as he touched her hair while working the blindfold free. He clutched it in his hand. She spun around slowly, her gaze finding his.
“How did you know it was me?” he asked, keeping his tone low.
“Your scent. You smell like sandalwood and pine.”
The desire he was barely reining in threatened to overtake him. “You know what I smell like?”
She dropped her gaze. “Apparently.” She didn’t sound particularly happy about it.
“Your turn, Clare,” Axbridge said from somewhere behind West. His tone was rather smug.
“So it is.” He held the blindfold toward Miss Breckenridge. “Would you mind tying this?”
“You’re rather tall, Your Grace.”
“I’ll do it,” Axbridge offered. He had an inch or two on West. The marquess came to his side and took the silk from his hand.
“Pity,” West murmured. He didn’t take his gaze from her until the blindfold dropped over his eyes, and he was plunged into blackness.
Axbridge tied the silk tight. “There we are. I’ll let you spin him around, Miss Breckenridge. Do your best to make him dizzy.”
West heard the humor in his friend’s voice. He didn’t care what she did to him so long as she touched him again.
Her hands clasped his arms, and she turned him—with his help, of course. Three times, and then she was gone.
