Page 57 of A Scandalous Kind of Duke

“Let us lay this unfinished business to rest,” he continued. “I have a cottage in Surrey. We could meet there very discreetly. Spend a few days together, then part.”

She folded her arms, looking spectacularly unimpressed. Had he misjudged her yet again? For all her flirting, it was possible she was still angry and hurt, and perhaps one did not propose an affair with a woman who was angry and hurt.

“Is this how you always conduct your love affairs?” she said.

“I’ve never conducted one before. Likely I never will again.” He sighed and shook his head. “I have new respect for rakes and libertines. The logistics alone are troublesome, and that’s even without securing your consent. How am I doing so far?” She raised her eyebrows and he answered his own question. “Ah. I am not doing very well.”

“You make it sound very rational.”

“It is very rational.” He focused every ounce of his concentration on ensuring he remained rational. He had come dangerously close to losing control back in the study: never again. He would conquer the desire; the desire would not conquer him. “Desire feels urgent because it never lasts. It erupted yesterday only because we know we must part and because we never dealt with it all those years ago. By indulging it, we will get it out of our blood, put this behind us before we say farewell. Scientific fact.”

“Good heavens. You could write a book on the subject. I’m sure the scholars at the Royal Society would be fascinated.”

No, she was definitely not impressed. He should have just kissed her here among the flowers, carried her upstairs to his bed, and had his way with her before she could think twice.

But that might give her ideas, wrong ideas, about being swept away by passion and other impossible things.

There must be some way to persuade her.

He took her hand. “I want you, Juno.” He kissed her knuckles, his eyes not leaving hers. “I cannot put it more plainly than that, and I believe you want me too. Are you not even a little tempted, to have an affair?”

* * *

Juno stareddown at their joined hands. She had always admired his hands—so elegant and strong—and she now knew a mere brush of his fingertips could fire up her blood.

Making love to Leo would be a splendid experience, and suddenly it felt too long since she had had a splendid experience.

Of course she was tempted. Yet if she was to have an affair, she wanted an affair with a man, not with an automaton in pretty clothes.

Tugging her hand free, she followed the path to the small rotunda, planted with pink and white petunias around its base. She climbed the three low steps and leaned against a column, looking out over the garden, aware all the while of Leo at her back. She glanced over her shoulder: He was lounging against the column opposite. Oh, what a delicious painting he would make, titledThe Most Vexing Man in the World.

“I don’t know why you even bother to proposition me in person.” She sounded as disgruntled as she felt. “Why not simply send a gilt-engraved invitation: ‘The Duke of Dammerton requests the pleasure of your nakedness.’”

Lazily, he pushed off the column; hastily, she turned back away. She stared unseeingly at the garden, all her other senses focused on him as he drew near.

His voice was low in her ear. “I think I see. Do you wish to be seduced?”

“I wish for something more persuasive than some nonsense masquerading as scientific fact.”

She kept her gaze fixed on the garden, on the rosebuds bobbing in the breeze, while her skin tingled at the sensation of Leo’s closeness.

One hand landed on her hip. His palm burned her through the layers of muslin. He trailed a finger down the nape of her neck. Helplessly, she arched. His breath tickled her hair. He nipped her ear, nibbled the side of her neck. Delicious shivers danced through her, all the way to her suddenly weak knees. She pressed a hand to the column, her palm feverish against the cool stone. Still encircling her with one arm, Leo edged forward beside her. She tilted her head. Their eyes met.

“Am I to understand, then, that you are amenable to an attempt at persuasion?”

His words were formal, but he colored them with such low wicked tones that they slid over her like warm water. Her clothes felt too hot and tight. If only she could tear them off right here, right now, release her hungry body to the cool breeze, the gentle sunlight, his ruthless smolder.

A few words. All it took was a brush of his fingers and a few words.

How foolish of her to quibble: Of course she would say yes. If this was her only chance to experience him, she would not squander it. He was, after all, the first boy who ever inspired her to daydreams, the first to arouse secret midnight urges in her changing body. “Unfinished business,” he called it. He was not wrong. Her secret drawings told the truth: A part of her was not yet finished with him. Perhaps an affair would give her some peace, make it easier to forget him once he was wed.

“I confess I am curious,” she said coolly. “Though I daresay we shall find the experience a disappointing one.”

He flinched, but she must have betrayed herself, for then his eyes narrowed and a tiny smile twitched at the corners of his lips.

“Yes,” he agreed blandly. “That is the most likely scenario.”

“Dull, even, probably,” she said.

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