Page 23 of Duke of Eccess (Seven Dukes of Sin #4)

He took the glass and inhaled, closing his eyes.

“Ah,” he murmured, lost in the scents. “Apricots. Lemon peel. A touch of honey, like fertile wildflowers.” He swirled the glass again.

“Sweet at first, but it sharpens on the tongue. A fine wine. Austere yet elegant.” He handed her the glass. “Try this for me, please.”

The governess took the glass and placed it on the table. “I’ve had wine before.”

“Not the way I will tell you to.”

Her eyebrows rose. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Your Grace, but indulgence is simply not among my priorities.”

Octavius chuckled. “You are certainly teaching me abstinence. I’d like to show you my ways. Just for tonight, please. For lack of a better expression, Miss Fields…indulge me.”

She chuckled as he spoke and allowed herself a full smile before cocking her head. “Very well. Just for tonight.”

He inclined his head gratefully, doing his best not to show how her simple agreement sent a pull of sweet need through his stomach. “Very well. Thank you for your openness. Now please remain open to the experience.”

Octavius picked up an untouched crisp white napkin and stood up. Her eyes were tinged with surprise as he stepped behind her. He folded the napkin into a thin line, put it against her eyes and tied it behind her head. She gasped, shooting pure delight through his veins.

Heavens, she was more intoxicating, more delicious than wine.

As he leaned close to her ear, loose hairs from her tight chignon tickled his lips. “Trust me with this, Miss Fields,” he murmured softly against her ear. “Please.”

She nodded, giving him an even bigger thrill than racing down dark London streets on a prized stallion with fireworks exploding all around him.

Octavius forced himself to his seat. “You didn’t really taste the food during dinner. What were you thinking about?”

She swallowed. “I have certain matters on my mind.”

“I noticed. What things, if one might inquire?”

He was getting quite distracted, seeing her with a blindfold over her eyes before him, vulnerable and trusting, himself her teacher now, guiding her in the art of pleasure…

It was quite good that she didn’t see the way the sign of his enjoyment began to press against his breeches.

“I have…a certain date on my mind.”

“So you think about the future? Not here and now?”

“No, not here and now.”

“Hmmm. This is your problem, Miss Fields, isn’t it?” Octavius leaned even closer and picked up her glass of wine. “Are you ever in the present moment?”

The governess licked her lips, damn it, making them wet and glistening, and the pressure in his breeches increased.

“Only when I’m performing my electricity experiments.”

He frowned. Her electricity experiments? Something about that sounded familiar, though he supposed she’d mentioned her experiments before. Or perhaps one of the Duchesses—Rath, Luhst, or Pryde—had because of their Misses with Microscopes club.

Well, he couldn’t think of that now. It was pleasure now: pleasure or nothing.

Octavius exhaled slowly. “You will now taste this wine. Do not swallow it. Draw air through pursed lips. Do not be shy at the scandalous slurping sound you’ll be making. Concentrate on the flavor, temperature, texture, sensations, smells, and notes. Nothing else exists. Ready?”

Miss Fields nodded. “My father told me to ignore the tastes and smells; the pleasures of food are distractions for a true scientist, he told me. I’ve always thought of food as just sustenance, something necessary for social function or health. This concept is strange to me.”

“I’d die if I only ate food for sustenance.”

“That is impossible. It’s the exact contradiction.”

Octavius chuckled. “I suppose you’re right. I’m almost dying from jealousy now that you’re about to discover this. Ready?”

“Y-yes.”

Gently he placed the edge of the glass against her lips and tilted the drink. A little too much, and a drop rolled down the edge of her mouth and down her chin. It took an enormous effort to stop himself from licking the drop off her skin.

She sipped then, as he instructed, and drew air through her lips, making scandalously unfashionable slurping sounds. Octavius noticed his own lips parted as he imagined her tasting it, exploring the notes of the wine. Then she swallowed.

“More,” the governess whispered.

He felt a slow grin stretch his lips. “Most certainly. Simply drink it this time, concentrating on the notes in the taste.”

He gave her more and watched her throat move as she drank, imagining drawing his tongue up her neck, feeling her pulse beating, the sweet, salty taste of her, the silky texture of her skin.

When he placed the glass back onto the table, he asked, “How are you liking it?”

Miss Fields licked her lips, and he had to suppress a real groan as he watched the tip of her tongue dart out. “It’s…it’s delicious.”

He chuckled. “Good. That is a different ‘delicious’ than the polite one you offered about the turbot.”

She beamed. Heavens, she had a beautiful smile.

Octavius reached out to the crown jewel of his plan: the bowl of fresh strawberries. Right from the hothouse up on the terrace. It cost him a small fortune to maintain, yet for this, it was worth it.

He dipped the biggest strawberry he could find into fluffy cream whipped with powdered sugar.

“Open your mouth,” he rasped.

Miss Fields obeyed— good girl —and he had to stop and let out some tension through a long and deep exhale. The sight of her full lips parting had his cock straining against his breeches even more, becoming painful now.

He brought the strawberry to her lips and put it in her mouth. Heavens help him, he wanted to put something else between her lips and watch them tighten around it.

As she bit, the cream spread in an unruly manner, and Octavius fought the urge to lick it off her lips—leaving no self-control to prevent himself from murmuring, “That’s right, Miss Fields, take it in…

The taste of strawberries…decadent…impossible in the middle of the winter…

forbidden, just as forbidden as a kiss could be…

As the taste of cream on lips, mixed with strawberry juice… ”

Damning every forbidden thing, he leaned close and wiped the pink juice from the corner of her mouth.

As his thumb touched the edges of her plush, soft lips, he almost fell to his knees in worship.

Velvety, decadent…those lips weren’t made to recite Latin or instruct on proper French. No. They were made for sin.

Even if she didn’t know that.

Following an impulse, Octavius brought his thumb with the droplet of strawberry juice to his mouth and sucked on it, closing his eyes, and savoring the taste of the berry…and her.

He shifted closer to her still, unable to stay away, So close he could smell strawberries and cream mixed with the scent of her feminine skin, the heat of her body.

Octavius watched her slim throat move as she swallowed.

He fed her more strawberries, one after another, and after that, ices, guiding her through savoring the delicate tastes.

Her voice changed as she described the sensations, became throaty and full.

Her breathing changed; he could see the slow rise and fall of her flesh under the folds of her gown.

Finally Miss Fields took him by surprise when she reached out to the back of her head and undid her blindfold, and there they were, only inches away from each other.

A jolt of yet another unanticipated pleasure shot through him.

“How was it, Miss Fields?” Octavius asked, unable to look away.

“Good,” she replied.

Neither of them were moving, perfectly aware of how close they were to each other. He was leaning towards her, his arms on his knees, his knees touching the folds of her skirts.

He’d already kissed her.

He could kiss her again.

And he wanted to.

But the ache in his belly, the tug… This was something else.

He wanted more than physical pleasure from her. He wanted to see her happy. With any other woman he’d be inside her by now, seduced by his own plan, by his own coaching.

But for her…he only wanted Miss Fields to enjoy, to feel happy, to discover what she was missing. This desire to please her was like torture, like a hunger he could never satisfy…

And it terrified him.

He’d never felt that way before towards a woman.

And she was the only one he couldn’t seduce, couldn’t compromise, couldn’t show more pleasure than that of gastronomic delights.

The credo.

Octavius shifted back, the connection between them breaking.

What was he thinking? He’d lose her as a governess and he needed her. The children needed her. She had almost left already—he couldn’t do anything so untoward.

Maybe after he gained the position of president of the Board of Trade, restored his family’s name and reputation…then he could afford to lose her. But then there was Enveigh’s claim on her. Could Octavius ever let her go and let him have her?

Never.

She was his, even if Enveigh and the rest of the world didn’t know.

His to kiss, to spoil with strawberries and wine, his to please and protect.

What a selfish brute.

“Then again,” he said, taking the napkin from her hands to cover his erection, “the pleasure sometimes comes not from the present moment…but from anticipation.”