Page 94 of The Duke of Desire
She glanced around and saw only the footman. She stood on her toes and whispered, “I’d rather you kiss me in private.”
“Then let us find somewhere private.” He put her arm over his and started down the street toward the footman. “I’ll see Miss Breckenridge home, thank you.”
The footman looked at Ivy, who nodded her agreement. He turned and departed. She leaned close to West, seeking his heat. “I’d rather not go home.”
“Where would you like to go?”
“Your house. If you’re amenable.”
“I’m more than amenable, I’m bloody ecstatic.” He quickened his pace. “Let’s hurry.”
A giggle erupted from Ivy’s chest, and she walked faster to keep up.
“Are you laughing?” West asked as they turned onto Alfred Street. “And smiling excessively. I’m not sure I recognize you.”
Ivy schooled her features into a somber mask. “Is this better?”
He stopped halfway down the street and stood her beneath a lamp. “No. I want you smiling and laughing and screaming my name when I take you to bed shortly.”
Heat flooded Ivy’s body, and she arced toward him. “I love you.”
His brow furrowed slightly. “Damn it.”
She pulled back, startled.
He curled his arm around her waist and pulled her against his chest. “I wanted to say it first. I love you.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you.” He kissed her cheek. “I love you.” His lips settled against hers for a long, lingering moment.
When they parted, she sighed against him. “You’re kissing me in public again.”
“Yes, and privacy awaits.” He put her hand over his arm again and started off toward Lansdown Road.
“West, who was that woman in the cardroom?” Ivy suspected she knew, but didn’t want to guess. She felt him stiffen beneath her hand.
“That was the Duchess—soon to be Dowager Duchess—of Clare.”
His mother. She’d thought so. “Does she live here?”
“No, she lives in Cornwall. Someone on my staff at Stour’s Edge alerted her that I was interested in courting a woman.” He turned his head toward her briefly. “You.”
Ivy’s insides warmed. “You came to Bath to court me?”
“I’m going to be perfectly honest—which is how I want our marriage to be. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I only knew that I missed you dreadfully, and I couldn’t just let you fade from my life.”
She was glad for his honesty and giddy with his love. She still wanted to know about his mother. She wanted to know everything about him. “Why did she—the duchess—come from Cornwall?”
“Let me see if I can start at the very beginning,” he said, intriguing her. “I explained to you about why I…help women, just as I told you that I enjoy sex and always have. That started when I was rather young.” He stopped abruptly as they turned onto The Paragon. “Wait. I’ll show you.”
He led her across the street to his town house. When the butler opened the door, he introduced her as his new duchess and immediately swept her up two flights of stairs directly to his bedchamber.
As soon as he closed the door, he turned and pressed her against the wood, his body searing into hers. He kissed her, his lips and tongue exploring hers with heady precision. She clutched at his shoulders, holding him close while he plundered her mouth. When he pulled away, his lips curved into a sultry, masculine smile. “I couldn’t wait another moment to do that.”
He turned from her and went to a desk in the corner. He returned with a parchment in his hand.
She stared down at the drawing, her lips parting with wonder. “That’s me.” She looked up at him briefly before studying the portrait once more.
It was a sketch of her lying on his bed, her hair spread over the pillows, her limbs sprawled in a seductive pose. She was entirely nude, and the details were exact—from the tips of her pointed nipples to the curls between her legs. Heat crept up her neck and settled in her cheeks. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. “This is merely me trying to recall every plane and contour of your body.”
