Page 3 of A Duchess Bound (Dukes of Dominance #2)

T he night air was cool against Dorothy’s skin, but it did little to calm the fire leaping inside her. His Grace was an incomparable rake, and he had already chosen her young, innocent sister as the next target of his fickle affection!

Worse, Bridget had chosen to indulge him.

Dorothy knew why she had, of course. The Duke of Greenway was a duke and a powerful man.

It was better to appease than to defy him.

Still, Dorothy wished that her sister had not agreed.

The man was likely to interpret compliance as attraction, and he was utterly shameless.

He would let Bridget be ruined and not feel an ounce of guilt.

“A worse man might be offended.” A man’s dark, sly voice drifted through the air, breaking the silence of the night. “Don’t you agree?”

She whirled around. The gardens had been dark and empty, save for herself, but a new figure had appeared. She discerned the form of a tall, fit man. It took her only a heartbeat to identify His Grace, the very object of her frustration.

“Offended by what, Your Grace?” she asked.

He strode leisurely toward her, as though he had no cause to worry. “By your cruel assessment of my character,” the duke said. “A rake .”

Dorothy straightened her spine. “I am only trying to protect my sister,” she said coolly. “I would think that beyond reproach, Your Grace. My sister deserves better than a rake.”

“Is that so? I would think that your sister deserves a man who knows how to give her precisely what she wants.”

Warmth flooded Dorothy’s face. Although she had never once engaged in any amorous encounter, she caught his meaning well enough. “How can you know what my sister wants?” she asked. “You have only just met her.”

“Experience. I know what women desire of men,” he said, his voice going low and husky. “I know all the places to touch her and all the little sounds she will make when in my thrall.”

“You are a vulgar man!”

“I am an honest man.”

Dorothy clenched her jaw. “As if that is some prize! One can be honest without being vulgar, Your Grace.”

“You are the one who has condemned me as vulgar,” he argued. “Perhaps, the fault lies with you, rather than with me.”

“Do you imagine you have won the argument with that feeble, rhetorical trick?” she scoffed. “Besides, you are not honest. You lie to young ladies, pretending to be a respectable man.”

The Duke of Greenway shook his head. “What a cruel accusation.” He nearly purred the words. “Is it my fault that young ladies are willing to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh? You act as though I force them, my lady, and that is untrue.”

Dorothy tipped her chin up, gazing at him with all the fiery defiance that she could muster. “You take advantage of them. You make promises of them that you do not intend to keep.”

“How do you know? Do you have some experience with rakes?”

He took a step toward her, and Dorothy became suddenly aware of how close they were.

His Grace was near enough for her to feel the warmth of his body, and his presence settled over her shoulders like a cloak.

It was too dark to properly see his expression, but still, the sharp intensity of his eyes sent a shiver coursing through her body.

“No,” she said. “I am a respectable woman.”

“What respectable woman allows herself to be alone with a rake?” he asked, gesturing about them.

She clenched her teeth together. “That is unfair. I was alone when I came into the gardens, and you were the one who decided to join an unaccompanied woman against her own wishes.”

“Do you think this little of your own brother?”

Dorothy dug her nails into the palms of her hands, her mind awhirl with the sudden urge to strike him. It was a predictable response, of course, for a rake could not be trusted to debate fairly. Still, the remark struck far more strongly than she wanted to admit.

“My brother is nothing like you.”

“Is that so? From the rumors I have heard about him, he sounds exactly like me.”

“Careful,” Dorothy said. “If Elias hears you say that, he may demand satisfaction.”

“Will he? And potentially leave his poor sisters alone in the world?” His Grace sighed theatrically. “I suppose Sarsen would care for you, though. It is fortunate that your other sister is already wed.”

Dorothy’s breath quickened, and he took another step toward her. She could see more of his expression, then. His lips twitched in amusement, and his eyes gleamed, as though he found her distress to be the most entertaining thing in the world.

“How dare you?” she whispered.

“How dare I speak truthfully? I thought that was what you wanted.”

A lump rose in her throat. He was a rake, and she doubted his arguments had articulated anything reasonable. Still, she found her thoughts scattered and could think of no suitable defense against his words. She took a shuddering breath.

“You are a despicable man,” she said.

He tilted his head, considering her. “Am I, my lady?”

If she had wanted, she could have reached out and touched him.

Heat pulsed in her core, accompanied by a wave of embarrassment.

How could she even contemplate that the man was attractive when he was behaving like this?

She ought to be utterly repulsed by him, but she found herself unable to summon that much disdain for the man.

“You are,” Dorothy said, gathering her courage. “Utterly?—”

Without warning, he seized her wrist and pulled her behind a bush. A gasp tore from her.

“How dare?—”

Before she could finish the question, he had pulled her flush against himself and placed a firm hand over her mouth. His chest pressed hard against her own, and Dorothy’s mouth grew dry.

She could have bitten him or fought to free her wrist from his grasp. She could have even thrown her head back and screamed. A proper lady certainly would have done something . Instead, all her indignation and ferocity seemed to vanish at once.

He pressed his forehead against her own, the warmth sending a shudder through her. “I think you might be fond of rakes,” he murmured roughly.

She tried to shake her head, but he pressed his fingers into the side of her jaw and held her in place. His grip was firm but not painful.

It was not entirely unpleasant either.

Dorothy stared at him with wide eyes. His own gaze was dark with lust. The realization struck her like lightning. It had been a long time since any man had looked at her with such obvious desire, and her mind raced to make sense of the situation.

It was as though she was caught in the clutches of an incubus, unable to muster even the feeblest of defenses for herself. They should not be alone in the garden. He should not be touching her. Worse, she should not be relaxing into his touch, but she was .

He caressed her cheekbone with his thumb. “What do you think, my lady?” His Grace asked. “You accused me of taking advantage of young ladies, but you are not young. Do you also not realize there are consequences to your actions?”

That place between Dorothy’s thighs began to ache, all her unfulfilled desires emerging at once. It was the privacy of the garden, she reasoned. Everyone knew what might occur between a rake and a lady in a place where no one was about.

She could not let herself be seduced by him, but she understood with sudden clarity why young ladies were so taken with rakes.

Everything inside her was coiled tightly and hotly, and she imagined His Grace dipping his hand—the one still clasped around her wrist—beneath her skirts and touching her in that secret place.

A woman’s laughter cut through the air, and Dorothy’s breath caught in her chest. There was someone else in the gardens.

His Grace leaned forward, his lips pressing just barely against her ear. “Quiet,” he whispered. “We do not want to be caught.”

Of course, they did not wish to be caught! Icy dread filled Dorothy’s veins. To be caught with a rake would be an unparalleled scandal! Worse, she would be forced to wed this terrible man. She shivered, fighting down the impulse to flee.

“But did you see Lady Elmsworth?” The woman’s voice drifted into Dorothy’s ears.

“She appears quite well.”

Another voice, another lady whom Dorothy did not recognize.

“Yes, and so soon after the death of her husband! It is unseemly!”

“Well, there is no love lost between them. How could there be? Lord Elmsworth was a lecher, and everyone knew it.”

“True…”

The voices grew fainter, at last disappearing entirely. Dorothy let her muscles relax.

“Good girl,” His Grace said, his breath warm against her neck.

Girl ! As though she were a child!

He lowered his hand and tilted his head. Dorothy’s heart was beating so loudly that she heard its echo reverberating inside her skull. She had discerned his intentions, and his nose brushed against hers?—

Dorothy had so much time to turn away or refuse him?—

But she did nothing. His lips pressed against hers, and the scent of him filled her senses. He smelled like orange blossoms and lavender, and his mouth was warm and gentle. Her fingers curled, and longing overcame her.

She could stroke his hair or put her hand at the back of his neck and draw him closer to her. Dorothy moaned into his mouth, her body coming alive, and then?—

She could not do this .

It was impossible to say what caused the change, but it was as if the sun had suddenly risen and cast her misdeeds into horrifying clarity. Dorothy jerked her head back, glaring at him.

What had she been thinking? Had she let her bodily wants make her take leave of her senses?

“How dare you?” she hissed.

“How dare I ?” He laughed incredulously. “Do not chastise me for my behavior. You were more than ready to accept my affections. Otherwise, you would have fought.”

He was right.

Dorothy’s face burned with shame and anger. She pulled her wrist free from his grasp. “This is your fault!”

He smirked at her. “I daresay we share the blame. Again, if you were a respectable lady, you would have already left .”

She bit back her protests. How could she possibly explain the truth, which was that she had found herself feeling charmed by him? That she had been unable or unwilling to fight him? Those excuses sounded ridiculous even to her, and she could imagine too well how His Grace would laugh at them.

Unthinkingly, Dorothy raised her hand and slapped him hard.

The sound was startlingly loud, and her hand burned from having struck his cheekbone.

Her breath came in ragged pants as the reality of what she had done sank into her.

“You should not have—you should not have done this!” Dorothy exclaimed.

But what manner of justification was that ? She had just struck a man! And not just any man. A duke!

Worse—or was it better?—he did not even seem particularly wounded. The Duke of Greenway merely lifted a hand to his cheek and smiled at her, looking at Dorothy as though she had performed some amusing trick for him.

“Well, this has been an interesting surprise,” he drawled. “I suppose you will be accompanying Lady Bridget to all the events this Season? I would very much like to argue with you again.”

She curled her hands into fists. “The only interesting thing about this encounter is learning that you are far more of a rake than the rumors said!” Dorothy exclaimed.

“I think it best that you stay far away from my family, Your Grace. I will not let my sister fall to your rakish charms, and nor will I.”

She stormed away, accompanied by the ringing sound of his laughter. Dorothy knew that if she had tarried longer, His Grace would have likely noted that she had not exactly fought his charms.

And why not? She had acted against all reason and self-preservation. Dorothy pressed her hands against her face and found that her skin was hot. She was likely blushing as red as a sunset! Someone would notice how flustered she was, but there was no help for it.

It was better to be flustered inside the ballroom than to remain outside in the gardens, where she might fall prey to another detestable rake. Or worse, the one she had just left.

Remember why you are here, Dorothy! You are to see Bridget married, not to find some fleeting pleasure with a man.

She breathed in deeply. Then out. If she just kept breathing and thinking of Bridget, she would survive.