Page 61 of The Duke of Seduction
Beck moved closer. “I was hoping you’d find love,” he said softly. “Have you ever been in love?”
She shook her head, captivated by his sultry gaze and the seductive timbre of his voice.
“I was—as you know. Her name was Priscilla. She was three years older than me, and so intelligent and so beautiful, it stole my breath. I thought of her night and day. I could scarcely eat or sleep for want of her company. I began to write love poetry—horrendous verses of maudlin tripe.”
Lavinia’s chest squeezed, and she knew exactly what he meant when he talked about losing his breath. Jealousy, bitter and thick, clogged her throat. She somehow found her voice. “I’ve never felt that way.”
“Good. When it’s not reciprocated, it’s the worst feeling in the world.”
“She didn’t love you?”
He shook his head. “I was too young, too desperate, too bad at poetry, probably.”
She laughed and immediately clapped her hand over her mouth until she reined in her amusement. “Sorry.”
He smiled. “Don’t be. I love the sound of your laugh.”
Every drop of laughter evaporated. When he spoke to her like that and looked at her as he was now—as if she were Priscilla—she only wanted him to touch her, to kiss her again. “Did you ever kiss Priscilla?”
“Why would you ask me that?” the question was a near whisper.
“If you had, I’m sure she wouldn’t have spurned you.”
He took another step toward her, bringing them so close, they almost touched. “How do you know?”
She couldn’t keep from staring at his mouth. “From experience, of course.”
“Lavinia, you are tempting me to do it again.” He sounded hopeful.
“‘Temptation is the marriage ’tween stark curiosity and need.’” It was a line from the first poem he’d written about her.
His gaze lit with admiration. “You’re quoting myself to me.”
“It’s a beautiful line.”
He reached for the ribbon of her bonnet and teased it between his thumb and forefinger. “I wrote it about you.”
“You barely knew me then,” she breathed.
“And how well do I know you now?”
“Not well enough.” She grabbed his coat by the lapels and pulled him against her. Standing on her toes, she pressed her mouth to his.
His arms came around her and held her tight to his chest as his mouth plundered hers. She’d thought of his kiss for days, and now that his lips were on hers once more, she realized she hadn’t remembered it quite right. This was so much better.
His body was warm and hard, and he smelled of pine and grass. Or maybe that was just that they were outside. No, it was him. He smelled of outside, and damn if that didn’t make him the most attractive man in the history of men.
Well, in her history of men.
Good Lord, could her mind possibly travel down a rabbit hole while Beck was kissing her? Apparently it could, but it didn’t matter. She was drowning in wonder and delight, and she didn’t ever want to come up for air.
She clutched at his shoulders and neck and pressed herself into him. She’d relived that kiss in the library, plotting what she would do if she were afforded a second opportunity with him. And here it was.
Tilting her head, she was vaguely aware that she knocked his hat from his head with the brim of her own. She slid her tongue along his, reveling in the sensation of their coming together. Her breasts tightened and her core heated, and she became aware of other ways in which they could join.
Did she want that?
Oh, for the love of God, Lavinia, stop thinking!
