Page 8 of The Duchess in His Bed
“Alas, I do not mix business and pleasure.” It nearly killed him to say the words.
“Consider it all business.”
“I do not involve myself with my clientele.”
“I’m not asking you to involve yourself. I’m asking you to bed me.”
He was accustomed to being the one in pursuit, not the one pursued. While he appreciated her boldness, was quite taken with it if he was honest, it did make him feel uncentered. It wasn’t that he didn’twantto bed her. It was simply that he was wary of her motives. Did ladies in whom he showed an interest feel the same, worry they might be left with regrets?
Was it even possible to bed her without involving himself? Certainly he’d had encounters that were designed to merely slake lust, but she seemed a lady deserving of more. Did she fully comprehend the loneliness that could strike when the body was replete, but nothing called to the soul? It was an odd thing, having just met her, to realize he didn’t want to bed her and then be done with it. He wanted a bit more time to explore the possibilities of her.
“We can stand here and debate or we can waltz and debate.” Bowing slightly, mockingly, if truth be told, he waved toward the dance floor. “Shall we?”
“I’m not wearing shoes.”
“All the better.”
How often had she considered slipping off her slippers, certain the flow of her skirts would keep her bare feet hidden while she danced? She abhorred shoes, the manner in which they confined, often causing her toes to pinch. So the freedom she now had was as delightful as she’d always thought it would be, with her soles skimming over the polished wood as he swept her over the floor.
It didn’t hurt that a handsome man whose gaze never wavered from her was the one doing the sweeping.
“I shocked you with my bluntness.” Had shocked herself, truth be told. She hadn’t meant to blurt it out, had intended to be a bit more subtle in gaining what she required.
“Not shocked. Surprised, more like. Certainly you’re not the first to come here wanting to dive into the more unforgiving of sins. Unhappy wives, lonely widows, doomed spinsters. Why not spend a night dancing with the devil?”
“I don’t believe the devil would have rebuffed me.”
“I am too familiar with temptation, vice, and addiction. I do not gamble at my own tables. I do not drink of my own spirits. I do not lounge upon my own ottomans. Until this moment, I’ve never waltzed upon my own floor.”
She offered him a small, tentative smile. “So you are open to making exceptions.”
“It would appear so.”
Laughter nearly erupted from her. It had been too long since she’d had a good laugh. “You don’t have to sound so disgruntled.”
“I’m curious. Have you ever been told you’re beautiful?”
“So many times that the word has lost all meaning.”
“Did you marry for love?”
“I did not.”
“He does not satisfy you?”
“Can a woman be satisfied?”
“With proper bedding. And a proper bedding begins with seduction.” With the slightest of pressure from his hand splayed over her lower back, he urged her nearer until his legs were brushing against her skirts and her toes were coming dangerously close to his boots, but she trusted him not to step on them, not to send her hobbling home.
“You’ve been seducing me since you approached me in the corner.”
One side of his mouth hitched up. “Before that, I’d wager.”
She smiled fully then; she couldn’t help it. “Your earlier strutting through the gaming floor? Was that for my benefit?”
“You noticed me, didn’t you?” He shook his head as a small self-deprecating grin formed. “You’re making me break all my rules.”
“You don’t strike me as one who adheres to rules.”
