Page 52 of A Virgin to Tame the Duke
She tightened her fingers around his lapels. “So, what do I do to you?”
“You entice me entirely. You have captivated my very mind.” He bent so his lips were pressed to her ear, and he kissed the delicate skin leading to her jaw. “When we are apart, I can think of nothing but you. When we are together, I find myself watching you even when I ought to be concentrating on other things.”
His lips were working magic on her neck, clouding her thoughts and replacing all her protests withhim. Aaron Brighton, the Duke of Hexham, the man who at this present moment seemed intent on rendering her utterly speechless.
“And that is to say nothing of your admirable kindness, your selflessness, your inner strength. I wish to know all of your secrets, to know each inner working of your mind. You make me a better man, Charlotte.”
“And?” she whispered.
“And, my dear, sweet girl, I love you more than any man has a right to love another woman. I love you beyond thought, beyond reason, beyond all possible control.” His mouth made its way to the softly beating pulse at the base of her neck, and her breath came out in a shudder. “In short, Charlotte Calore, I am madly in love with you, and I wish to spend the rest of my days endeavoring to deserve you.”
Charlotte was certain that, at this juncture, she should say something, but she could only stare up at him in wonder. There could be no doubting him—he was sincere, and so he must love her. He, the Duke of Hexham, lovedher, the daughter of an impoverished deceased Earl. In so few ways, they were not equals, but he seemed not to care.
They were engaged. She would not have to break things off with him and disappoint her mother and provide Marcella with more ammunition against her.
Aaron drew back to look at her. “This is a moment of great delicacy,” he said, “and I do not wish to be forward, but I should very much like a response before I go mad.”
Charlotte gathered what little breath she had left in her body and said, “I thought you would never say it,” before reaching up and kissing him again. For a moment, his arms wrapped around her and near enough lifted her off her feet with the heat of his embrace. But once she had enough time to sink into the kiss, he released her.
“You cannot think that you will get away that easily,” he said, brushing an errant curl back from her face. “I require utter transparency.”
“What do you mean?”
“Say it,” he urged, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “You asked me to say it, and I was as precise about my feelings as I know how to be. Surely you do not think the same is not required from you.”
Charlotte looked up at the playful light in his eyes and drew away. “Ask me to marry you,” she said. “Properly. Ask me to marry you, and in my response, you shall know my true feelings.”
“Ought I to be nervous?”
“Ask me, and you will find out.”
“I rather feel the onus has been put unfairly on me,” he muttered, but possessed himself of her hand with grace, nevertheless. “Very well. As you are cruel enough to make me pour my heart out to you and ask you to be my wife without once giving me hint as to your feelings, so be it. Charlotte Calore, my sweet love, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
“With the intention of seeing it through to the wedding day?” she teased.
“And the rest of our lives, if you’ll have me.”
“Such a turn of phrase,” she said, squeezing his hand. “You almost had me fooled into thinking you possessed a romantic disposition until that ending.”
His eyes twinkled. “I have many talents, but an inclination toward the romantic is not one.”
“So I see.” She looked down at their intertwined hands and back up to his face. “It is time to give my answer, and—” She paused, and his face tightened. Just a little but enough that she could tell under his bravado, he was nervous. “You are a fool if you can look at me now and not think my heart is yours. I have loved you longer than I have admitted to myself, and at the thought of marrying another man—” Her throat closed, and she shook her head. “You have now made me the happiest woman.”
The relief that crossed his face was chased by wicked amusement. “You were not tempted by Lord Routley? You appeared to find him quite charming.”
“Oh dear.” She pressed a hand to her lips. “He will be disappointed to learn I am less amenable to a flirtation than I gave him reason to suppose.”
“You minx,” he told her, sealing the words with a kiss. “And will you, my dear, consent to marrying me?”
“I do,” she whispered. He pulled her close to him, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Their kiss blazed through her. He was everything she could have imagined, and now that they were bound by words, if not ring, she needed not feel guilty for the passion that overcame her whenever they touched.
Their engagement was real. They were to be married. He loved her. It felt hardly as though it could be real, but there was nothing to doubt in the way his hands slid down her back to her bottom and pushed her more tightly against him. That rod twitched against her in a physical demonstration of his lust, and she—
“We should stop,” he said, every word strained. “We should stop now because if we don’t, I won’t—ah—I won’t be able to hold back.”
“You are so fixated on holding back,” she said, wiggling against him and glorying at the low sound he made at the back of his throat.
“You are a temptress,” he said, rubbing a thumb across her cheek, “but we are all too easily found here.”
