Chapter 3
The wild promise of power about him was so intense that Celia did not know if she should run or give in to it.
But whichever, she could not deny the rising desire for him coursing through her veins.
There was something about the turn of his lips that made her suddenly wonder if he kissed as well as he talked.
She had never met a man so full of contradictions. She did not know what to make of him, but she did not want to leave him. Still, she felt a growing storm inside her.
He let out a soft curse. “I have been most foolish,” he lamented.
“Have you?” she breathed, captivated by his determination, a determination that mirrored her own. Though he had clearly known more suffering, despite his grandness and seeming joviality.
“I have told you too much too soon,” he said softly, even as his gaze danced to her lips then back to her eyes. “I can tell you are judging me, and you are about to dismiss me.”
“How dare you say so, sir? I am not judgmental at all,” she exclaimed.
“Of course you are,” he murmured. “It’s one of the reasons I like you. You judge everyone in that ballroom out there, just like I do.”
He was right. Good heavens, he was, though she liked to think she wasn’t cruel about it.
How did he know her so well?
“All right then. Perhaps you’re correct,” she allowed. “But you haven’t told me too much too soon. You’ve been splendidly honest, and I admire you for it.”
“Oh?” he rumbled. “Then shall I tell you more? Shall I tell you that I wish to kiss you right now?”
Everything about the way he stood, the way he looked at her, and his energy had indicated this, but she had not yet truly allowed herself to think it. But the moment that she did? Oh, how she desired it. Yes, she wholeheartedly approved. For how often would she be alone with a man like this?
Never. There were no other men like him.
“If that’s what you wish to tell me, you certainly may,” she said, her voice rich with her own growing desire. She was a spinster, but not unfeeling.
“And will it result in anything?” he asked, slowly lifting his fingers to stroke her cheek.
“I don’t know,” she teased, her breath all but catching in her throat as she swayed towards his towering form. “Will you kiss me? I can’t make you do so.”
His eyes darkened with desire, and his sensual lips parted. “You could ask me to kiss you.”
“Yes, I could,” she said, lifting her hand, daring—for she was a Briarwood through and through—to place it upon his finely cut coat. “But you’re the one who wants to kiss me. Why should I ask? Should you not ask me?”
He gazed down to where her hand pressed upon his chest, and he seemed to flex his muscles under her touch. “Shall I take that as a yes?”
“Take it any way you choose,” she murmured, stunned by the hunger for him building in her core. “And you shall find out what it is that I want.”
But she did wish it. Much to her surprise, she did.
He seemed to know it too.
And so slowly, deliberately, his gaze hot, he took her hand from his chest, slid it up his shoulder, and hooked it around his strong neck so that her fingers wove into his dark hair.
His own hands then went to her waist. He paused, his eyes traveling over her face, lingering on her lips.
Then he dipped his head, hovering just above her mouth, giving her a chance to escape.
But she didn’t wish to escape. Instead, she rose up onto her slippered toes, and he stole her mouth in a wild kiss.
His strong hands held her to him, pressing her body into his, until she felt every hard hill and valley of his physique.
She clung to him, stunned at how quickly she longed to give herself over to him.
But there was nothing to hold her back. She didn’t need to follow the rules that so many other ladies did.
And so she shoved all rules aside, opening her mouth to him, drinking in his touch, his taste, his power.
She wanted to feel it all, feel him and what made him unique in this world, through his embrace. He didn’t hold back. He slid a hand to her jaw and angled her face so that he might kiss her deeper, slipping his tongue to delve into her mouth.
That hot dance between them deepened until her thoughts began to slip away and only her feelings reigned. But it was that, that very loss of thought, which caused her to tense.
She wanted him in a way she had never wanted a man. Ever. And that gave her significant pause.
Sliding her hands from his hair and shoulders, she tilted backwards and caught his gaze, a gaze that looked consumed by a wild need to possess her.
“Alas, sir,” she panted, “I must leave you now.”
“Why?” he asked. “Wasn’t that the beginning of something rather lovely?”
“The beginning, the middle, and the end,” she breathed, knowing she should push away from him. But it was almost impossible, as if they were two magnets drawn inexplicably together.
“I have no use for gentlemen,” she explained quickly.
“It seems you do,” he teased.
She groaned. “They are perfectly affable and pleasant, but they do often get in the way of things.”
His brows arched. “I should hate to be in the way.”
She swallowed, shocked by the feelings bubbling up inside her. And for the first time she could ever recall, she felt most afraid of herself. Of her feelings and what they might mean.
Startled by the power of her desire for him, and not just his body but his mind, she pulled back from him. “I will still help you, but this…”
She licked her lips, dazed, and headed towards the door.
“Wait,” he called softly.
She didn’t. She couldn’t. If she did, who knew what she’d do next?
Her thoughts were unmanageable. He had literally kissed her senseless! How?
Her heart was pounding as she headed out into the cool, dark hall decorated with paintings of far-flung wars, busts of old aristocrats, and plants of many varieties.
Drat, drat, drat, drat!
She had not been so affected by anyone in a very long time, if ever, nor did she wish to be.
“Where are you going?” he asked, following her.
“Gentlemen are not supposed to follow ladies when they make dramatic exits,” she said over her shoulder.
“You mistake me,” he said. “I am not necessarily a gentleman.”
“You’re a duke,” she replied, trying to catch her breath, despite the fact that she began to walk more swiftly.
“Do they have to be the same thing?”
“No, I suppose they do not,” she said, striding down the hall as he kept pace with her.
“Where are you going?” he asked again.
She searched for a reason and then a very obvious one hit her. The truth.
“It is time for me to give my sister a respite.”
“Your sister needs a respite?” he queried, seemingly unperturbed by her flight. He was more flummoxed by her answer.
Perhaps he was accustomed to kissing young ladies out of their wits.
She nodded, clearing her throat. “Yes, from the ballroom. We take it in turns, you see. Usually we don’t even go to balls at all, but we made an agreement that we would come to this one as our sister-in-law, who is very dear to us, asked us to.
So you see, my sister, Emilia, takes a turn away from the fools in there, then I take a turn, and then she takes a turn, and I take a turn, ad nauseam until we can go home.
That somehow makes the evening much more bearable. ”
He laughed. “If only there was someone I could take a turn with.”
She stopped and pivoted to him, her skirts swinging about her legs. “I’m so sorry there is not, despite the fact that you are a duke.”
“Yes,” he said, “I am.”
She let out a long sigh. “Don’t do that.”
“What?” he said.
She clucked her tongue. “Make me feel sorry for you.”
He stared at her quite innocently, which was something, since he was clearly free of innocence. He was a master of sin, she’d wager. At least in the bedroom.
“It is not my intention to make you feel sorry for me,” he defended. “As a matter of fact, I should dislike that immensely, because I wouldn’t want you to do anything out of pity for me.”
“Then don’t look at me like that,” she insisted, folding her gloved hands before her.
“Like what?” he asked, his brows drawing together.
She pursed her lips. “With those great big eyes of yours, and those lush lips of yours turned down, and that hair of yours tumbling about your face. You look positively sympathetic, and it’s most annoying.”
He smiled then oh so slowly. “You find me to be annoying? I somehow have trouble believing that.”
She rolled her eyes and allowed, “Yes, I find it annoying how appealing I find you.”
He laughed, a slow rumble of a laugh. “Why can’t you find me appealing?”
“Because that will get in the way of my very busy life,” she explained.
“Well, my life is very busy too,” he said.
“Not busy enough, because you were in there talking to me,” she said, pointing back to the room where they’d kissed.
“Well, you were in there reading.”
She let out another long sigh. “This is a most frustrating conversation.”
“Yes, but it’s also enjoyable,” he said.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because you are enjoyable.”
She dropped her arms to her sides as another sigh slipped past her lips. “There you go again.”
“You don’t like our conversation?” he asked.
“Oh, I do,” she said, “But I don’t have time for anyone like you.”
“Like me?” he exclaimed.
“Someone complicated,” she said.
“I am not complicated,” he protested. “I am incredibly simple.”
She stared at him for a long moment and then let out a note of humor. “You keep telling yourself that story, Your Grace.”
“It’s the English who are complicated,” he argued lightly. “They’re the ones who don’t seem to know what they want. Saying one thing and doing another.”
Again, a long sigh passed her lips. As fascinating as he was, he was exhausting to her usually well-regulated world.
“My goodness,” he said, “it’s almost as if there is a gale in this house with your continued sighing. Are you ill?”
“You are making me do it, Your Grace.”
“I apparently have a great deal of power over your emotions then.”
She arched a brow at him. “Perhaps you do.”