Page 4 of The Duchess in His Bed
“And you are proper, are you?”
“I have been. In the past.”
“And now?”
“Not so much, obviously.”
He detected a bit of remorse in her tone, perhaps even shame. It would lessen in time. She would become addicted to what he offered. He had yet to welcome a lady into his lair and not see her return. “You might not be in want of wine, but you should at least absorb the atmosphere of the parlor in a bit more comfort.”
Chapter 2
As he began guiding her toward an immense ottoman in a back corner, she considered objecting, but her plans were dependent on retaining his interest. Besides, it would no doubt behoove her to become more comfortable with him. The velveteen-covered piece of furniture was larger than any ottoman she’d ever seen, designed to allow room for sprawling. He lowered her to its edge, and when she would have sat there primly and properly, he lifted her feet onto it, gently twisting her in such a way that she found herself lounging against a mound of pillows. She’d never been in a prone position with anyone other than her husband. “I’ll get it dirty.”
“It can be cleaned. Or we can remove your shoes.” Unlike hers, his words came easily, as though he’d murmured them a thousand times.
She noticed then that several of the women had done exactly that, bare toes peering out from beneath skirts, stockinged feet clasped in attentive hands. “I’ll leave them on.” They wouldn’t be here for long, surely.
He spoke to a footman before sitting so his hip buttressed hers. She hated that she gave a little start at his nearness, wasn’t acting nearly as sophisticated as she’d hoped she would.
“You’re tense. Would you like me to rub your shoulders?”
Her gaze darted nervously to those large hands and strong fingers. “Not at the moment.”
“Why are you tense, sweetheart?”
A different endearment, and she wondered how many he possessed, if he would use them all on her, if he used them on all the ladies, and she found herself wishing he would reserve one for her and her alone. Silly to expect to mean anything to him other than business. “The truth?”
“It’s always easier to recall than a lie, should the subject come up again.” He leaned back on his elbow, and with his free hand, he skimmed a finger along her calf. Only then did she realize her skirt had not fallen properly to cover her ankles as it should. Her first instinct was to shoo his hand away and tuck her toes up beneath the hem, effectively hiding what he should not be touching. But he would hopefully be touching a good deal more before the night was done.
Through her stocking she could feel the gentle and remarkably intimate swipe of his skin over hers. Swallowing, she strove not to become lost in the lovely sensations. She had to keep her head about her and not do anything improper in front of witnesses, no matter that she was disguised. “I’ve never done anything remotely naughty.”
His gaze shifted from the exposed calf to her eyes. “Why tonight?”
Shaking her head, she was grateful the footman interrupted the conversation by returning with a tray bearing a glass of red wine. Aiden Trewlove straightened, took the glass, and offered it to her. While she’d stated her lack of interest in it earlier, she decided a sip or two might go a long way toward calming her nerves. “Aren’t you going to join me?”
“It wouldn’t do for the owner to get foxed.”
“I won’t be getting foxed either.” Still she sipped the wine, smiled at how smoothly it went down, how it warmed and gave her a sense of familiarity. “A fine vintage.”
“My sister Gillie owns a tavern. She’d have my head if I didn’t serve the best.”
“She married the Duke of Thornley.”
“Another detail with which you’re familiar.”
“As I said, you’re all the talk.”
He stretched back on his elbow. “Which puts me at a disadvantage as I know so little about you.”
“You know nothing at all about me.”
“I know you’re someone’s wife.”
She tensed, but his finger again trailed along her calf, distracting her, easing her back toward a more comfortable place. “You’re guessing.”
“Although you’re wearing gloves, I can see the outline of a ring on your left hand. You would have been wise to remove it before you came.”
She should have, but she’d worn it for nearly seven years now, hadn’t even thought about it. Unsettled to realize she hadn’t taken the simplest of precautions to protect her identity, she took another sip, striving—
