Page 12 of The Taming of the Duke
An unfathomable sensation pulsed between her thighs. Uncomfortable yet somehow delicious…
“Let me go, sir.”
“Before I do,” he said, “permit me to introduce myself.”
He took both her hands and lifted them to his lips. A spark of longing ignited in her as his warm breath caressed her skin.
“Daxton Hawke, at your service, Miss Parville,” he said. “And, let me assure you that I willneverbe entranced by beauty or wealth in a woman. In fact, I take great enjoyment in the exact opposite of both those qualities.”
His mouth curved into a smile, and he parted his lips, His tongue flicked out, moistening his lower lip, and she fought to suppress the notion of what that tongue might be capable of. What might it be like to be kissed by those lips…
Then he released her again, and she suppressed a whimper at the sense of loss.
He clicked his heels together and bowed.
“Miss Parville—I very much look forward to thegreat enjoymentof seeing you again. Perhaps at Lady Hardwick’s house party next month?”
“H-how did you know…?”
“I know—and see—much, Miss Parville.”
Then he was gone, leaving her alone among the throng of dancers.
Daxton Hawke…
The name suited him. A hawk capable of swooping onto unsuspecting prey.
And how did he know she was attending Lady Hardwick’s house party?
She lifted her hands to her face, closed her eyes, and breathed in the faint scent of spices.
When she opened them again, he’d returned to his friends.
It was only as she joined Blanche and ushered her sister out of the ballroom to wait for the carriage that it dawned on her.
The man who’d captivated her like no other had paid her no compliment. In fact, she’d go as far as to say that he’d insulted her.
If anything, that made him all the more intriguing.
Chapter Five
Hampshire
January 1818
“Petrush, old chap—it’sgood to see you!”
As Dax climbed out of his carriage and admired the frontage of the building before him, a tall man approached, hands outstretched.
“Hardwick!” Dax cried. “You’re looking well. What’s your secret?”
Lord Hardwick might be at least ten years older than Dax, but an aura of vibrancy surrounded him, as if he’d taken an elixir of youth. He could have been mistaken for a man in his twenties, were it not for the graying of his hair around the temples. As for his apparel…
The Augustus Hardwick Dax knew favored jackets in muted tones of grey and brown—not the vibrant green he saw before him, or, for that matter, the richly embroidered waistcoat. The man looked positively rakish.
Hardwick took Dax’s hand in a strong grip. “How long has it been? Three years?”
“Four, I believe,” Dax said. “The last time I paid a call, the house was empty. You were abroad, or so I was told—unless you were hiding from visitors.”
