Page 91 of Dukes All Night Long

All she could do was nod. She wanted him so badly that her entire body quivered, anticipating his touch.

Finally, he made his move. His fingers trailed along her jaw, the barest brush of skin against skin. He thumbed her lower lip softly, as if to give her one last chance to turn away.

She didn’t.

“Arabella, you are more beautiful than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

And then he kissed her.

The moment Lucian’s mouth claimed hers, everything vanished.

The locked room. The past. The walls she had so carefully rebuilt around herself.

It wasn’t a kiss of politeness or restraint.

It was fury, longing, hunger, and regret all tangled together.

He framed her face, thumbing along her cheekbones, kissing her gently.

But there was nothing gentle about the way he pulled her closer.

So close she felt the solid warmth of him, the power beneath his clothes.

She gasped into his mouth. Lucian took advantage, sliding his tongue against hers in a way that made heat coil deep within her belly.

She thrust her fingers into the back of his coat, gripping him as if she might steady herself.

But nothing could steady her now. His mouth left hers—only for a moment, only long enough to make her whimper in protest. Then his lips found the line of her jaw, the hollow of her throat.

“Lucian—” It was supposed to be a warning, but it came out as a plea. For more. To never stop.

He groaned against her exposed skin, his breath warm as his teeth grazed the sensitive spot just beneath her ear. Her knees nearly buckled. He noticed. Of course, he noticed.

He pulled her into his arms and crossed the room, tossing her onto the couch and falling next to her. His mouth returned to hers, deeper, slower, more deliberate this time.

His hands—oh his hands—traced down the bodice of her gown, lingering at her waist, his grip tightening as though he was fighting something within himself.

“Tell me you forgive me.” He spoke without taking his mouth from hers. “Tell me you’ll put me out of my misery and marry me.”

His voice was raw, almost desperate.

She wanted to say something cutting, something clever, but she could not form a single thought while his mouth teased the curve of her throat, his teeth scraping, his tongue soothing.

“Why do you make me lose all sense?” she whispered against his mouth.

But it was not a rejection. And he knew it. He tangled his fingers into her hair and brushed his lips against her ear as he whispered, “I have never wanted anything in my life more than I want you.”

A shuddering sigh escaped her. “I am the same.”

*

Lucian was not a man accustomed to losing control. And yet, here he was. With her beneath him and warm, willing, half-wild, her gown askew, silk slipping over her shoulder, exposing more of her and driving him mad.

Her lips were kiss-swollen, her breath coming out in little, uneven gasps. He would take her now if he could. But no. He needed to leave this room with her promise to stay by his side forever more.

Her fingers were still curled in his hair, as if she wanted to pull him back down and take him with her into this madness. But he needed more than her touch. He needed her.

“Say it,” he rasped, his forehead pressing to hers. “Tell me you love me, Arabella.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, her body tensing beneath him. But she did not pull away.

Lucian kissed the corner of her mouth, then lower, his lips grazing the line of her jaw, the frantic pulse at her throat.

“I love you,” he murmured hoarsely between reverent kisses.

“I have loved you from the moment I first laid eyes on you. I never stopped. Not when I left. Not when I thought I was dying. Not when you married another man. Not even when I swore I would forget you.” His hands tightened on her waist, as if holding on for dear life.

“But I can’t. I never could. So say it, Arabella. ”

Her breath caught. Her fingers tightened in his coat.

“Tell me how you feel. Please.” He brushed his mouth against hers in a whisper of a kiss. “Give me that much before I lose my damn mind.”

A tremor ran through her. “Yes, I love you.” The words were barely more than a breath, but they were there.

“I have always loved you. I’ve tried to forget you and move on with my life, but it’s impossible.

I almost didn’t make it when you left me.

I thought I would die from grief. If my sister and mother hadn’t needed me so desperately, I might have done just that.

But if you hurt me again, I shall not recover.

You cannot tell me you love me and then disappear again. ”

Lucian exhaled sharply. The words alone might undo him. “I shall never leave you again. Not unless you asked me to.” His lips found hers again, deeper this time, more desperate. “Let me prove it to you. Marry me, Arabella.”

“Yes. I will marry you. As soon as we can.” She arched beneath him, fluttering her lashes shut as he pressed a kiss to the soft, vulnerable skin where her pulse raced wildly.

“You have no idea how I’ve longed for you,” Lucian said.

“I do, though. For it is how I’ve longed for you.”

He skimmed down her side, gripping her thigh over the heavy skirts of her gown, feeling the heat of her beneath the layers.

God help him.

He wanted to drag those layers away, to feel her—

The sound of a key turning in the lock shattered the moment.

Arabella gasped, shoving at his chest, her eyes wide with frustration and fear. Caught in such a way could be scandalous. Except they were marrying. As soon as we can. She’d said the very words that he craved more than anything else in the world. Other than her body next to his.

Lucian barely had time to straighten his coat before someone called from the other side of the door.

“Duke Rothmere, Lady Kingsley, may I come in? Or shall I allow you a few more moments to compose yourselves?”

Lady Bellamy.

Lucian closed his eyes, swearing silently.

Arabella was already on her feet, adjusting her gown, cheeks flushed.

And damn it all, he still wanted to drag her back down and finish what they started. Instead, he swiped through his hair, glancing toward her with a slight smile. “Shall we pretend we don’t hear her?”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” Arabella brought her hands to her swollen lips. “What have you done to me?”

“Not nearly as much as I’d like to,” Lucian drawled, his eyes burning into hers. “But I’ll get the door. In a second. Once I calm down.” He glanced downward at the bulge in his pants.

This made her giggle, which made him grin.

Soon, he crossed the room to yank open the door. Lady Bellamy stood there, appearing utterly pleased with herself. “Tell me, dear friend. Have I been successful in my reconciliatory matchmaking?”

“I’d say so. And you’re a wicked, wicked woman who I now love even more than I already did. This was a risky game you played.”

“Not really. I knew true love when I saw it.” Lady Bellamy whisked by him and into the room.

He turned just as Lady Bellamy reached Arabella.

With a mischievous smile on her lips, she moved her gaze up and down Arabella, clearly taking in her flushed cheeks and slightly askew gown.

“Darling, perhaps you should freshen up before we go out to the salon? You look like you’ve just been properly ravished.

Shall I send in my lady’s maid to help you with your hair… and other things?”

To his amusement, the always composed Arabella flushed a deep, pretty pink and giggled like a schoolgirl.

“Yes, thank you, Lady Bellamy. That would be most welcome.”

Lady Bellamy threw back her head, laughing uproariously. “This has turned into a wonderful party indeed.”

“You really shouldn’t look so happy with yourself,” Lucian chided.

“Oh, but I disagree, my friend.” Lady Bellamy grinned. “I think I may just have earned enough points to enter the pearly gates when it’s my time to go.”

*

As Arabella was whisked away to be righted, Lucian remained in place, exhaling slowly.

He should have felt smug, victorious. Victorious.

But the truth was he was nervous. He had spent years loving Arabella from afar.

Spent the last hour tasting the future he had thought he could never have.

Now, with Bellamy’s meddling, it seemed he might have it after all.

If Arabella didn’t change her mind.

“Relax, Duke Rothmere,” Bellamy said, watching him closely. “She won’t run.”

“You seem awfully sure of yourself,” Lucian huffed.

“I always am.” Bellamy patted his arm, then looped hers through his, leading him back toward the ballroom. “Besides, I didn’t bring a vicar here for nothing.”

Lucian halted in his tracks. “You what?”

Lady Bellamy chuckled. “Oh, did I forget to mention? How dreadfully careless of me.”

When Lucian reentered the ballroom, all conversation stopped.

Every head turned toward him, speculation crackling through the air like a lightning strike.

They all knew. Or at the very least, they thought they did.

Lucian couldn’t care less what anyone thought.

Arabella would be his wife before dawn’s light.

A moment later, Arabella appeared, gliding into the room like nothing was amiss. She was composed, radiant, except for the slight rash on her tender neck.

From him. He’d done that to her and planned to do a lot more of it. Every instinct in him growled at the thought. But before he could cross the floor and claim her properly, Bellamy lifted her glass and rapped a delicate silver spoon against it.

The room fell silent.

“It seems,” Lady Bellamy began, smiling at Arabella and then at him, “that the Duke of Rothmere has finally made his choice for a wife.”

Excited gasps and whispers of speculation rippled through the assembled guests.

Arabella snapped toward Bellamy with widened eyes. “You have already told her?”