Page 61 of How to Love a Duke in Ten Days

“Now,” he said. “Do you have anything else, or may I kiss you yet?” His head lowered, this time not intending to wait for an answer.

“Wait!” She reared away, placing the chair between them. “Don’t you think we should remove our clothing before physical contact?”

The dimple returned. “Might I suggest an alternative?”

“Of course,” she breathed. “Whatever it takes to make you more comfortable. It’s your seduction after all.”

He chuckled again at that. “Often during lovemaking, the lovers undress each other. Whilst kissing. Is that anywhere on your list?”

Lovers. A noun. A person having a sexual or romantic relationship with someone, often outside marriage.

That’s what he was about to be. Her lover.

Not her rapist.

“How many lovers have you had?” The question escaped before it had fully formed in her mind.

He choked. Coughed. Then groped about for an answer.

“I don’t need a precise number,” she hurried to amend. In fact, she unconditionally didn’t want one. Why had she even asked? “I was just trying to ascertain if it were enough for you to be considered well educated on the practice.”

“I am, I assure you,” he finally managed. “Let us leave it there.”

“Very well.” Alexandra stepped out from behind the barrier of the chair feeling somewhat akin to Joan of Arc or Ann Boleyn. Brave. Unsure. And… something else. A little curious?

Better to face the gallows now than to dread them for a month. Best to get this over with.

He was a kind man. One with demonstrated protective instincts, gentlemanly conduct, and—as yet unconfirmed—sexual skill. She could enjoy the kisses. She could endure the rest.

He took the list from her trembling fingers, an affectionate fondness tilting his lips. “I almost want to check this for anything else, but I’m afraid to.”

There had been more. So much more she didn’t write down. She’d wanted to ask him not to pull her hair. To request that the moon not shine. To inquire as to how violent his passions were.

She wanted to ask him, very bluntly, not to hurt her.

But then, because he was an instinctively observant man, he’d know what happened to her. He’d guess why she wasso peculiar,as he’d put it.

And she didn’t want him to know. Because then he’d ask who, and when, and how.

She could confess none of that. Not ever.

“It’s natural to be nervous,” he continued, lacing a finger through one of the curls spilling over her shoulder. He watched her with those keen, perceptive eyes. “You don’t have to, if you’ve changed your mind. As difficult as it would be, I could wait until after the wedding.”

Yes, she did. Shedidhave to. The anticipation gutted her with every hour that passed.

“I need to do this,” she told him. “I came to you.”

“So you did,” he murmured. “And before one of us leaves this room, you’ll come for me.”

“Wha—?”

He stopped her question with impatient lips. Impatient yet gentle lips.

This,she thought as a foreign, electric sensation poured through her. This intimate thing. This melding of mouths and breath and skin. She’d been unprepared for it before. It had tangled her up inside, amalgamating fear and enjoyment into a complicated and overwhelming array.

But this time. This time…

It was just a kiss.