Page 34 of Duke of Eccess (Seven Dukes of Sin #4)

“No, Your Grace,” Miss Fields said. “This word is ‘ ses seins .’”

The afternoon was gloomy the next day, and it was snowing outside during Octavius’s French lesson. The book he’d been struggling through lay before him on the desk, and Miss Fields’s delicate floral scent was all he could think about as she stood by his side.

He’d been reading some kind of French novel for half an hour now, but he had stopped registering the story.

Octavius kept trying to understand yesterday’s shocking events.

First, Enveigh proposing to Miss Fields against his wishes even when he’d been clear about wanting his friend to leave her alone.

She was his, even if the man didn’t know it.

He’d been the one who’d claimed her. The fact he hadn’t told anyone didn’t change a thing.

Then the note Miss Fields had slipped to him… He should have stayed strong and ignored it.

Miss Fields had wanted him to take her! And instead of happily obliging her, he’d stopped.

“ Ses seins ,” she repeated.

Her breasts?

He blinked. What had he been reading? He looked over the last sentence again.

“‘ He was savoring every delicate curve of her breasts… ’” he read in French.

Oh, the minx knew what she was doing. The sentence had blood shooting straight into his groin as his breeches became uncomfortable.

“‘… his tongue traced patterns until her nipples blushed and peaked under his touch. ’”

The image in his head was clear. The gentleman from the book was him, and the woman, her.

How Octavius ached to sprawl her upon his desk and make her his personal feast, lick every inch of her neck, bite her nipples till she arched for him, suck one breast into his mouth then the other, as deep as he could, and leave the sweetest part of her body for dessert.

“I know what you’re playing at,” Octavius growled.

Her breath hitched and he could feel the heat of her body increasing through her brown woolen gown. He couldn’t stop himself from looking at the curve of her breasts. Would they taste as sweet and salty as he imagined?

Mirth he’d never seen before had her gray eyes sparkling like diamonds. “Am I winning, Your Grace?”

Was she winning? She’d won a long time ago. He’d been hers since the moment she’d caused his horse to almost kill him.

“I will not ruin you, Miss Fields,” Octavius bit out. “There must be a different book that would pique my interest.”

“How many people misspell ‘pique’ P-I-Q-U-E as ‘peak’ P-E-A-K, I wonder?” Miss Fields mused with false innocence. “Speaking of peaks, Your Grace, is there anything nearby with a peak you’d like to explore?”

Oh, the clever minx. Octavius muttered an oath as his gaze was drawn to her chest and his treacherous mind offered the image of two rosy nipples. He must be about to have an apoplexy. A hot wave crashed over his body, his skin breaking into a sweat.

Good heavens, this was all his doing, was it not? He’d created a monster. This flirt, this seductress: he’d tempted her, opened her to the world of pleasure he’d been escaping to his whole life… But now he was holding on to straws of restraint, and she was the one tempting him.

Was it not ironic how the two of them—completely opposite in many ways just weeks ago—had changed sides?

Miss Fields proceeded to the bookshelf. “Has your resolve hardened against me, Your Grace?”

“Everything about me hardens when you look at me that way,” Octavius muttered as he watched her clothes hug her form, his mind racing to picture her body under those layers.

The governess chuckled as she browsed the shelf. “Blame the contents of the book.” She picked a tome and flipped through it. “Perhaps this catalog of Northern French flora would stimulate you less?”

Octavius swallowed as he watched her step closer to him, turning his body towards her without wanting to, his thighs opening to her as she approached.

Miss Fields’s eyes sparkled. “Though I’ll wager it’s not the book you’re reading that demands your attention, is it?”

To his utter surprise she sat on his knee, and he found no words to ask her to stand. Truth was, having her leave his knee was the last thing he wanted. He savored everything about her: her slight weight on his thigh, her scent of lavender, the warmth of her skin.

“You ought not to—” Octavius began.

“Sit on your knee? I’d say this is a much more comfortable position for me than standing next to you. Haven’t you been teaching me the importance of comfort?”

Octavius let out a long sigh.

She opened the book for him. “Please, Your Grace, begin.”

He swallowed, his throat dry and scratchy, gripping the arms of his chair so as not to wrap his arms around her, bring her closer to him, lay one hand on her arse and squeeze the lush abundance of it.

Octavius tore his eyes away from her and blinked to focus on the text. “‘ Le nord de la France…a plusieurs…variétés de…plantes différentes ,’” he read slowly in French. Northern France has many different types of plants…

“Well done,” Miss Fields purred. “You’re doing so well.”

His attention was focused on all the places they were touching. Her thighs on his, her hand lying on the juncture between his hip and his stomach…so close to where he really wanted her to lay it…his cock.

He read about several other plants, none of which he knew the English translations for, while his body grew hotter and hotter, his cock harder, and his mind kept racing with one question…

How can I resist her?

Perhaps it was her ability to capture his complete attention, or her praise that helped, but the more he read, the faster and smoother it became. Another miracle she had performed.

Octavius had stopped drinking alcohol. Stopped racing. Stopped gambling. Stopped whoring.

And yet none of those temptations had been as strong as the urge to give in to this woman’s seduction and throw all caution to the devil.

Miss Fields was hardly educated in the art of seduction, and yet, because it was her and he wanted her and she was the most beautiful woman alive, it all worked. Goddamn it.

Innocently—or perhaps not so innocently—she ran her knuckles down his cheek, bringing a sensation like warm honey trickling down his spine.

“‘ Trifolium pratense ,’” Octavius read, his voice dropping an octave. “‘ Trèfle rouge .’”

“Red clover,” she murmured, and he felt her gaze on his lips like the anticipation of a ripe cherry—sweet, sharp, and intense. “Very good, Your Grace. You’re an excellent student.”

Her encouragement and support warmed his body, settling broken, misplaced parts of him back where they belonged.

Do not think about her lips, cherries…not even about red clover!

Octavius directed all his energy into keeping his hands locked on the arms of the chair, his eyes on the page, and he commanded his cock to stop twitching with an urgent need to be touched by her. Any part of her body would do.

“‘ Brassica oleracea ,’” Octavius pronounced as she leaned against his chest with the elegance of a cat, with all the confidence as if it was her born right to do so, and he had to stop a groan of delight at the deep connection their bodies created. “‘ Chou sauvage …’”

Miss Fields touched the edge of his jaw with her soft lips.

Octavius closed his eyes, his world shrinking into the bliss that simple brush of her lips brought to him. It was as though his entire body sighed with pleasure and protested sharply when her lips disconnected.

“Woman,” he growled, “I am hanging by my last thread of restraint.”

“Wild cabbage…” she purred, her breath caressing his skin.

And that was when his self-control snapped like an overstretched bowstring.

“I’ll show you a wild cabbage,” Octavius growled.

Taking the book from her hand, he threw it somewhere with the sound of a crash against the wall and a flump to the carpet, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed the minx.

She tasted better than any food or drink he’d ever had.

There were so many nuances and notes in the taste of Miss Fields on his tongue, in the smell of her skin and hair, the way she felt so right against him—it was like he was falling into a new galaxy with myriad aspects of pleasure he couldn’t even begin to count.

Octavius’s mind raced as he claimed her mouth and she responded enthusiastically. Her tongue met his as eagerly, her body arching into him as he ran his hand down her spine, moans of need and delight escaping from her mouth into his.

He hadn’t been able to tell Enveigh she was his, already claimed. He couldn’t take her virginity. But he felt her need, her hunger. It was his fault—he’d awakened it in her, after all.

So it was up to him to bring her satisfaction. She wanted a taste of sexual indulgence and he’d give it to her.

Octavius broke away from her lips and searched her eyes. They were dark and wild like the dance of wind before a summer storm. Gathering strength, unstoppable, as primal as his need for her.

“Fine,” he growled. “You win, Miss Fields. I will show you pleasure—but I will not ruin you. Tell me you want this…or tell me to stop. Whichever you choose, so it will be.”

She was panting against him, trembling; her skin was flushed just like he wanted.

“Is that possible?” she breathed. “Pleasure without ruin?”

He chuckled darkly. “Oh, yes, Miss Fields, very possible, indeed. But it would be just this once. Are we clear?”

His governess nodded. “Just once? If you say so. I’ve been good at resisting temptations my whole life…but can you say the same, Your Grace?”

Octavius cupped her breasts through her corset and gown, found a nipple through the corset that he circled, and she moaned and arched her breasts into him in response.

“You minx,” he murmured as his fingers found the buttons at her throat, working them free with desperate urgency until her high collar was open. “I suppose you’ve been teaching me restraint this whole time.”

“And now your learning will be put to the test.”