Page 30 of The Taming of the Duke
“Daxton.”
His manhood twitched in his breeches as her tongue curled over his name, as if she relished each syllable.
“Should I describe you as delectable, perhaps?”
“Or virile?” he suggested.
She let out a snort. “Mayhap vainglorious is more appropriate.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Such an adjective would only be appropriate if I was guilty of having over-exaggerated my talents,” he said. “Thus far, I promised to give you pleasure, and I believe I succeeded—unless my ears deceived me.”
She gave a sharp gasp, and her blush deepened. His blood surged with desire as her chest heaved, and he ached to run his finger along the creamy flesh at her neckline, which hinted at the plump softness of her breasts.
“Very well,” she said, her voice tight, as if she, too, struggled to contain her desire. “Virileit is.”
The curricle turned a corner, and the chimneys of Hardwick House came into view.
“Such a beautiful building,” she said.
“It’s very much like my country seat,” Dax said, “at least in style, if not in size.”
“Don’t tell me—yours is larger?” She gave a saucy smile.
He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “Are you still referring to buildings?”
“Your Grace!” she cried in mock horror.
“I thought I’d told you to call me…”
“Ah, yes,” she interrupted, “but if I cry out your name too loudly, someone might hear and draw certain conclusions.”
“Conclusions with respect to what?”
He reached for her hand, and his heart leaped when she laced her fingers through his.
“Oh, I say—old chap!” a voice cried. “I wondered where you’d been! Gallivanting about the place, were you?”
Horton stood alone in the center of the lane.
“Where’s your companion, Horton?” Dax asked.
“Miss Blanche? Inside with the rest of the ladies. Sewing hems—or stitching cushions, or something or other. It seems I was surplus to requirements.”
“You were?”
“Apparently, I kept blocking the light each time I went to look out of the window. I swear Lady Hardwick was going to smack me with her fan.”
Miss Parville let out a soft laugh. “Lady Hardwick’s a woman after my own heart,” she said. “She doesn’t suffer fools—or obstructions.”
Horton glanced at her, and his eyes widened in astonishment.
“You seem in good spirits, Miss Parville,” he said. “I trust my friend hasn’t plagued you too much.”
“On the contrary, he’s taken great pains to ensue my comfort.”
“Ha!” Horton cried. “I bet he has. How much do I owe you, Petrush?”
Dax frowned at his friend. “We’ll discuss that later, Horton. If you hurry, there’s time to join the rest of the gentlemen for the shooting.”
