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He was less than a foot away from her, close enough for her to reach out and touch his bare skin, the thin fabric of his costume sagging from his broad shoulders.

He tilted his head, grinning wider. “Aren’t you going to ask what my expectations of you will be, dear?”

She tilted up her chin, trying to ignore the hammering in her chest. “I really do not care.”

“Well, let me reassure you. All I shall expect is for you to be a good, little wife.”

She barked out a surprised laugh. “I do not think so! I’m quite fed up with being a good girl,Your Grace.”

That was quite clearly the wrong thing to say.

The duke’s gaze darkened. Not with anger, but with something equally dangerous.

“Why? Do you intend to be a bad one?” he murmured, his breath catching in his throat.

For her part, Emily was entirely sure that the air had been sucked out of her lungs altogether.

Abruptly, the duke surged forward, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing her against him. She barely had time to gasp in outrage before his long, cool fingers wrapped around her chin, tilting her face up to his roughly.

He leaned down in one fluid motion and pressed his lips to hers.

Of course, Emily had never been kissed before. Ladies weren’t, not until their wedding night. Wedding nights in general were spoken of in hushed, nervous tones, even the very words capable of ruining a lady’s good reputation.

The kiss was a searing thing, setting her skin on fire and making her mind reel. The duke’s lips were soft and firm at the same time, the scent of his cologne deliciously overwhelming, his hands unyielding on her waist. His teeth scraped ever so gently across her lower lip, which for some reason sent prickles of desiredown her spine. Her hands had found their way to his shoulders, one hand sliding down bare skin to the planes of his chest. She could feel his heart beating under her palm, almost as furiously as her own.

He pulled away just as she was sure her lungs were about to collapse from lack of air. Her lips felt oversensitive and swollen, and she could not have said how long the kiss lasted, for ten seconds or for ten minutes. The duke’s hands still rested on the dip of her waist. Holding her gaze, he moved them lower, slowly and deliberately, cupping the curve of her hips, his thumbs skimming her hip bones.

“I expect my wife to join me in bed,” he whispered, his eyes intent, the dancing candlelight making it impossible to read his expression. “Do you think you would like that, Emily? Or would you act the martyr? Do you think you would enjoy sharing a bed with me?”

“I… I… You cannot ask me these questions!”

He laughed throatily. “Why not? Please, my dear, let’s not pretend that you haven’t been staring at my chest all night. Do you think you would like to see the rest of me? I have it on good authority that I am rather impressive.”

Emily’s face was so red that she felt as though she were about to explode.

“You are a wretch,” she managed breathlessly, “and I would like to leave at once.”

She wasn’t sure what she had expected from the duke, but him releasing her at once and stepping back was not it. He held out his hands to either side.

“I shall not keep you here, my dear,” he said with a faint smile. “By all means, leave at once.”

Emily blinked, feeling dizzy and almost feverish. Without his hands on her hips and his firm, warm body pressed against hers, she felt cold and unsteady. At some point during their kiss, her legs had turned to jelly. She swallowed thickly, reaching behind her to steady herself on the table.

“I didn’t mean that I wanted to leave atonce,” she managed. A shameful, little mumble.

The wolfish smile spread across the duke’s face again, and he stepped forward. Resting his hands flat on the table on either side of her, he effectively fenced her in, the warmth radiating from him sweeping over her again. Emily wouldnotallow herself to look away and blush like a nervy schoolgirl. She was a grown woman, for heaven’s sake, and wasnotabout to be undone by a kiss.

Of course, it was too late to do anything about the blush.

“I think that you do not even know what you want, Miss Emily Belmont,” he murmured, his lips inches away from her forehead. “I think that you have been a very good girl, admirably well-behaved and chaste, but I do not believe that is who you really are. I think I ought to show you what you truly want, and you’d thank me for it. What do you think?”

Emily gulped audibly. “I… I want my book, Your Grace.”

He chuckled, lifting a hand. His knuckles ghosted along the side of her neck, such a thrillingly intimate thing that Emily’s knees almost buckled again. She expected him to kiss her again, and she was prepared to feel that intense, yearning heat once more.

Somewhere deep inside, Emily admitted that she wanted it more than anything else in the world.

“No,” the duke murmured, his eyes softening. “No, I think I know what you want.”