Chapter 13 #4
Eleanor’s hands moved without conscious thought, one fisting in the fine wool of his evening coat, the other sliding up to tangle in the dark silk of his hair.
She felt his powerful arm snake around her waist, hauling her against him until the boning of her corset pressed into his chest and the expensive silk of her skirts bunched between them.
The carriage rocked around them, but Eleanor was lost in the storm of sensation—the intoxicating taste of him, the way his hand spread possessively across the small of her back, the heat of his body burning through layers of fabric to brand her skin.
Damien’s kiss deepened, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she opened to him with a soft sigh that surprised even herself. Heat bloomed low in her stomach as his hand skimmed up her back, fingers splaying across the bare skin exposed by her gown.
A whisper of reason penetrated the haze of desire. This man had upended her carefully ordered life, had violated their agreement by returning to London, had complicated everything with his insufferable charm and knowing smiles.
Eleanor pulled back slightly, her breathing ragged. “This changes nothing,” she whispered against his lips.
Damien lifted his head to capture her gaze, his eyes smoldering with desire while his expression held both predatory hunger and wicked amusement. “It changes everything,” he countered, his voice a low rumble that she could feel vibrating through his chest where it pressed against hers.
“You broke our agreement,” she reminded him, yet even as the accusatory words left her mouth, her fingers were threading through the hair at the nape of his neck, belying her protest.
“And you’re breaking every rule of propriety in this carriage,” he murmured, his lips tracing a burning path along her jaw. “We appear to be evenly matched in our transgressions, Duchess.”
Eleanor gasped as his mouth found the sensitive spot below her ear. “I still intend for you to leave London when our month is concluded,” she insisted, tilting her head to give him better access.
“Do you?” His teeth grazed her earlobe, sending shivers cascading down her spine. “Your body seems to be negotiating different terms entirely.”
The truth of his statement only irritated her further. “I like nothing about you,” she declared breathlessly as his hand traced the curve of her waist. “Especially the way you try to manipulate me with a half-hearted kiss.”
Damien chuckled, the sound vibrating against her throat where his lips were pressed. “Such vehement dislike,” he teased. “Is that why you’re trembling in my arms? Why your pulse is racing beneath my touch?”
His fingers found the pulse point at the base of her throat, confirming his observation. Eleanor made a sound of frustration that transformed into a soft moan when he reclaimed her mouth in another searing kiss.
“What I do like,” he murmured against her lips between kisses, “is your brilliant mind. Your fierce independence. The way you stand your ground against me when most would yield.”
His words were as intoxicating as his touch, and Eleanor struggled against their effect. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Your Grace.”
“You shall call me Damien when my arms are around you, Wife,” he replied, drawing back to look into her eyes. “You’ve surprised me at every turn, Eleanor.”
The genuine admiration in his voice caused an unfamiliar warmth to bloom in her chest. “I still want you gone when our month concludes,” she repeated, though the conviction in her voice had weakened.
“You don’t seem too displeased about my return at this moment,” Damien observed, his hands sliding to her hips and pulling her fully onto his lap with sudden decisiveness.
Before she could form a retort, his mouth claimed hers again, harder this time, with an urgency that matched the growing desperation in her own body. Eleanor surrendered to the kiss, her arguments temporarily forgotten as sensation overwhelmed reason.
Her hands framed his face, feeling the slight roughness of evening stubble beneath her fingers.
Something about this man had got under her skin from the moment he’d appeared in her drawing room, drinking her brandy with that infuriating smile.
Now he was consuming her with the same casual confidence, and worse—she was relishing it.
The carriage lurched as it turned a corner, momentarily breaking their embrace. Eleanor found herself staring into Damien’s eyes, both of them breathing heavily in the intimate darkness.
“This is madness,” she whispered.
“Perhaps,” he agreed, his thumb tracing the slopes of her cleavage. “But I find myself increasingly drawn to madness where you’re concerned.”
A sudden, sobering thought pierced through Eleanor’s desire-fogged mind.
What if this was simply another strategy?
Another battlefield in their ongoing war?
He was a man who wanted something in London.
What better way to gain leverage than to seduce her into emotional vulnerability?
One moment of weakness on her part, one misplaced trust, and everything she’d built could be at his mercy.
She pulled back slightly, studying his face in the dim light. His desire seemed genuine, but then, he’d proven himself a master of manipulation since his arrival. “Is this how you plan to gain control of my wealth, Your Grace? Through seduction rather than legal means?”
Something flickered in Damien’s eyes—surprise, perhaps even hurt—quickly masked behind his usual composure. “You think me capable of such calculation?”
“I think you a man who pursues what he wants with considerable determination,” she replied, though she remained within the circle of his arms. “And I still don’t know what that is.”
Damien’s hands tightened briefly at her waist. “At this moment, Duchess, what I want should be abundantly clear.” His voice had roughened, the cultured tones giving way to something more primal as his grip firmed around her hips, drawing her closer until she felt his steely rod pressing against her. A gasp left her throat.
A ragged breath escaped him, his eyes hooding with undisguised want as he gazed up at her. The raw hunger in his expression sent a corresponding heat surging through Eleanor’s body.
She knew she should move away, should reestablish the boundaries between them. But if she truly wished to maintain the upper hand in their delicate negotiation, her most powerful weapon now was not anger or schemes, but the very feminine charms that had him at a disadvantage.
With deliberate slowness, Eleanor placed her palms against his chest and withdrew her mouth from his searching lips.
Rather than pulling away entirely, however, she shifted subtly in his lap.
She moaned helplessly at the delicious hardness of his arousal while the movement created a friction that drew a low groan from deep in his throat.
“Cunning wench,” he murmured, admiration warming his voice.
“But then, I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.
” His grip relaxed, one hand boldly gathering her skirts upward, his fingers finding the silk of her stocking.
He traced a tantalizing path along her calf, stopping just behind her knee to draw maddening circles against the sensitive skin there.
Eleanor covered his wandering hand with her own, arresting its journey before her resolve crumbled entirely. “The enjoyment would be short-lived if we were to squander all possibilities in one evening,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
His large hands returned to her hips, adjusting her position with confident familiarity that both thrilled and alarmed her. “I know countless ways to entertain you, Duchess,” he promised, his voice a rough caress against her senses. “You need not concern yourself with limited possibilities.”
In the dim lamplight filtering through the carriage curtains, his eyes had darkened to obsidian, reflecting a desire that matched the insistent heat building within her. For a breathless moment, Eleanor hesitated, her mind racing with the forbidden images his words conjured.
But she hadn’t survived this long in a man’s world by surrendering to momentary impulses. With a discipline that cost her dearly, Eleanor slid from his lap and resumed her seat on the opposite bench, smoothing her rumpled skirts with trembling fingers.
She felt his gaze upon her like a physical touch but refused to meet it, though she could sense the amused appreciation in his expression. Neither spoke as they adjusted their clothing, the silence filled with the rhythmic clatter of hooves and the uneven cadence of their breathing.