Page 63 of Noble Scoundrel

He tilted his head and lowered his voice for the next words. “Have I frightened you, luv?”

“Of course not.”

She answered a little too quickly. Even to her own ears, the declaration sounded false.

But she wasn’t frightened. At least, not in the way he’d meant. Unfortunately, her swift denial seemed to incite a challenge in the man.

He started toward her. Though she would have chosen to stand her ground, she reacted without thinking and took a step back. There was something different about him tonight. A direct contrast to the vulnerability he’d displayed that night in the kitchen. Maybe it was because he was fresh from physical exertion or maybe it was something else, but there was a distinctly heightened intensity about him. In his subtly stalking movements and in the predatory gleam of his eyes.

“Am I frightening you now?”

His voice—so thick and rich and rough—stirred the heat inside her.

“You don’t intimidate me,” she managed to reply, though her chest had gone tight and her mouth dry. She was excited. Invigorated. Aroused. But not intimidated.

His eyes were dark as he swept his gaze down the length of her body. “Thank God for that,” he murmured softly as his focus landed on her mouth. He paused for a long moment, then his rough whisper slid sensually through the room. “Are you ready to admit it, then?”

She lifted her chin. “Admit what?”

His laugh made her low belly clench. “Come on, duchess. I know lust when I see it. Your eyes are practically devouring me. It’d be my pleasure to provide what you’re needing, but you better be damn sure you want it.”

Deny it. “I do not lust after you.”

“No?” he prodded. She took a half step back, then another as he continued his slow, hunting stride toward her. “Are you going to tell me you’re not wondering if I’m as hard to the touch as I look?” His eyes darkened. “You’re not curious to discover if you can make me even harder?”

The low texture of his voice triggered a rush of heat through her core.

Harder? Was that possible?

Her focus fell to the muscled contours of his chest and abdomen. There wasn’t an inch of softness on him anywhere. His arms and shoulders bulged. His chest was broad and solid and his narrow abdomen was ridged with more muscle before flattening below his navel. His breeches rested low on his hips, revealing two intriguing lines that angled down toward his groin.

His low laughter pulled her gaze upward. His expression was hard to read, his tone even harder as he murmured thickly, “Is that what you want? You know I’d be happy to oblige your curiosity, dove.”

She didn’t realize he’d been subtly backing her away from the door until her hips came up against a decorative table placed against the wall beneath the portrait of the first Duke of Northmoor.

He was close enough now that she could feel the heat coming off his skin. She could smell the sweat of his previous exertion.

Taking her wrist in his hand, he lifted her palm to his chest. “Do it. Feel me. Touch me.”

His words and what they suggested swirled heavy and hot in her core. His skin was hot and damp beneath her palm. And so hard.

She knew what he was doing. Using his physical size and strength—his brutish attributes—as a means of keeping her from looking beyond his rough, impenetrable exterior to what lay beneath.

“Your strength is evident,” she finally replied as she pressed her fingertips into the bulge of muscle covering his heart. The breathlessness of her voice revealed how intensely he was affecting her, but there was nothing she could do about that. There was no point in trying anyway. He already knew she desired him despite her denial. But desire wasn’t all she felt. Lifting her chin, she stared intently into his eyes. “But what of your gentleness? Your tenderness?” she asked in a low murmur.

His laugh was gravelly and hollow, yet somehow the sound of it reached deep inside her. Churning up new emotions.

“I have none,” he replied bluntly.

“That’s not true,” she argued. She’d seen him with his daughter and with Frederick and had felt his care when he’d tended her injuries and massaged her sore muscles.

His jaw clenched. “You don’t want me to prove it.”

Something inside her flared to life in response to his challenge. It possessed her then. And urged her to be bold. To test his limits as he did hers. Bracing herself, she met his glare full on. “Maybe I do.”

There was no mistaking the sound that rumbled from his chest for anything other than a growl. It was low and raw and frightening. Katherine sucked in a swift breath as he stepped into her, encircled one thick-muscled arm around her waist, and cupped his other hand to the back of her head. In one smooth, easy movement, he lifted her up against him and dropped his mouth to hers.

The kiss was an obvious attempt at convincing her he was everything he claimed to be and nothing more. Hard, brutish, an ignoble scoundrel. Katherine could feel his ferocity and intention in the way his hands gripped her body and his mouth crushed her lips.

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