Page 15 of Kiss the Duke Goodbye
She curled on her side to face him, reaching to sweep his hair from his brow. “Stop it, Knox.”
He blinked at her tone, far from the gentle murmurings during their interlude. Her eyes were dark glimmers of gray surrounded by a circle of violet he’d not yet noticed. She looked like she’d run a race, tousled and damp-skinned, but her gaze was steady. “I want all of you, no half measures. The duke’s usual service. I’m aware of the risk we took. Don’t think you’ve forced me to make any decisions I didn’t want to make. This night, what we have, I desire all or nothing. That scoundrel the papers write about isn’t the man I know or want.”
He swallowed past the emotions streaking through him. The newness of this, ofher, terrified him. He’d never spent time with a woman who wanted to knowanythingbut the duke. Pressing his brow to hers, he held her close to his heart. Tucked herinhis heart. “Just a man, then.”
She smiled, softly, wisely. He had no idea where she’d gotten such knowledge of life. “Exactly.”
Agreed, they drifted to sleep with moonlight and fascination watching over them.
CHAPTER 6
WHERE A LOVE-STRUCK MILLINER MAKES A DECISION
Clarissa glanced up as the door to her shop opened, her heart dropping to see it wasn’t the Duke of Herschel.
Knox. Now, she only thought of him as Knox.
Her exquisite, kind, dreadful-at-chess lover.
He didn’t stop by the Petal and Plume anymore, those random visits that had secretly brightened her day. With a fabricated cough, she concealed her smile behind the length of ribbon in her hand. An emerald green close to the color of a certain duke’s eyes. He made no visits here because he appeared on her doorstep almost everynight. Where they’d kiss until they were dizzy, then sneak up to her bedchamber. Or make their frantic way to the parlor. Once only going so far as the staircase, their clothing littered about her entryway. She’d sat atop his lap like she was mounting a horse.Ride me, he’d directed in that commanding tone he used when he was very,veryaroused.
Clarissa sighed as heat rolled through her, settling between her thighs.
La, just the thought of Knox DeWitt did wicked things to her.
She nodded to let her customers know she’d noted their arrival. Although she didn’t particularly like Countess Wimby and her companion, Miss Trenton. They were gossipy andcondescending, typical of society matrons and their staff. However, Clarissa made bonnets for shrews as well as ladies. The hats sat the same, no matter the head.
Setting her ribbon aside, she picked up her quill and began making notations on a folio for her next order of fabric. Somewhere along the way, she found herself doodlingClarissa DeWittin the margin. Three times before she stopped herself.
With a quick glance around her shop, she closed the folio with a snap.
If their affair had been what she’d envisioned, she would have been fine. Amorous negotiations only, and she might have been able to make it through the day without thinking about Knox a hundred times. However, they’d wrecked it with the meals and the jokes and the discussions about their childhoods. They frequently dined together at the small table wedged in the corner of her cozy kitchen, then climbed the stairs and snuggled beneath her woolen blankets, talking until they fell asleep. Sometimes they’d already made love, sometimes they waited until dawn. It was wonderful. Ordinary pleasures with an exceptional man. They had breakfast together, he readingThe Times, she theGazette. He liked fried eggs, and she was happy to accommodate.
Because her housekeeper, Mrs. Newton, only worked afternoon hours, they were able to share what Knox claimed to have never shared with anyone before.
Solitude.
Clarissa tapped her quill on the counter. He was witty, always making her laugh with stories about his brothers. And amiable even in the wee hours of the morning, a time when she was cranky without provocation. He seemed to find her brief bursts of irritability until she’d had her first cup of tea amusing. Despite having a turbulent past and a vile father, he was the kindestperson she knew. He loved his family and acknowledged his obligations to his staff and his tenants without question.
She’d written three letters to him, absolving him of any responsibility towardher. Expressing in words that could not fully express how much their time had meant to her. Kissing the duke goodbye as she’d once flippantly called it.
Three notes she’d burned to a crisp in her hearth.
“Herschel will be at Lady Templeton’s ball, I’ve been told,” the countess whispered to her companion. “I should like a new bonnet in the event he shows, as he’s been quite cagey of late, refusing most invitations. Something to set me apart from the female hordes in pursuit.”
She snatched herself from her daydream to find Countess Wimby modeling a yellow capote bonnet in a beveled mirror. The color looked ghastly with her ginger hair and freckled skin, but Clarissa wasn’t about to halt this conversation.
Miss Trenton, a distant cousin of some far-flung sort, preened and danced around the countess, giving the hat’s brim a light tap. “Divine, simply divine. If anyone can capture a duke’s attention, it would be you, my lady. Rumor has it His Grace is in the market for a wife.”
The countess offered her companion a cheerless smile while Clarissa’s blood churned. “He’s in the market for a sizeable settlement, dear, his dwindling finances forcing his search for a duchess. The timing is perfect, nonetheless, as I’ve decided that the next time I marry, I’d like a man I fancy versus one old enough to be my grandfather. The Duke of Herschel is”—she sighed and fanned her face with her glove—“more attractive than one has a right to be while holding the oldest title in England. I can picture us being very happy together.”
Clarissa pressed her hand to her stomach to suppress the queasy sensation rippling through it. The woman tying the ribbons of a gypsy bonnet beneath her chin across the roomcould be the next Duchess of Herschel. She would share Knox’s bed. Touch him in the many wondrous ways Clarissa had. Watch his eyes cloud with bliss, his ardent release ringing through the night. She would watch him dip his toast in his tea while he hummed, a breakfast habit. She would argue with him about women’s rights and the future of the House of Lords. She would have his children. Hischildren.
Clarissa swallowed past the dizzying haze that spotted her vision.
These were more than feelings of possession, these were feelings oflove.
She took a deep breath to calm herself, her mind spinning with the probability of misfortune. Unless she made her dreams come true—instead of waiting for a man to do it. Although her mother hadn’t given her many words of advice, there was one statement that rang true.