Page 3 of Kiss the Duke Goodbye
He frowned. Coughed into his fist. Let his molten gaze touch every corner of the room before returning it to her. “Who the hell propositions someone courteously? It should involve a kiss that makes one question their nextbreath. Then no words, not one.”
Blood skipping through her veins, Clarissa fidgeted, shuffling her slippers beneath her skirt. A silly habit. Anoldhabit. “A nice man. An ordinary man. Not one with a page inDebrett’s.”
He laughed, a sound she’d come to know fairly well. Although this utterance had an edge. “So you want ordinary, do you?” Before she could answer, he held up his hand, haltingher. His gloves were a dark gray kidskin, the color of mist off the moors. She wished for them to sweep her skin, grip her in tantalizing places, and pull her to him. “I wasn’t propositioning you, by the by. I was merely inquiring about your hesitation after I asked inappropriate questions. I let emotion get the better of me. A DeWitt inclination I detest, even as I’m in the midst of doing it.”
She sipped, gazing at him through the faceted crystal. The glasses had once graced the manor of an infamous viscount. She wondered what he’d say if she told him how she’d come to own them. “I shall be honest. I’m considering the offer.”
The duke rocked back on his heels, his jaw muscle ticking.
“You don’t agree, Your Grace?”
He blew a breath through his teeth. “Wouldn’t I be the biggest hypocrite in England if I said anything against it? Not everything they write about me in the scandal sheets is false.”
His admission made her furious, without reason. She’d read about the actresses, the widows, the stunning comtesse whose family had fled France. The DeWitts had stopped in her shop with their greatcoats reeking of perfume, smudges of rouge on their collars, grins of delight on their faces. This, of course, before Cort and Damien had fallen for their wives. Now, Knox was the only remaining member of the club. A lonely club, she suspected.
He took a step forward, and paused, scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck.
Damn him,Clarissa thought, charmed to her toes. He was nervous.
“What if I made the same offer, Miss Marlowe? Courteously and with every pledge of respect and discretion. What if I promised to make you cry out in pleasure the likes of which you’ve never, I pray, experienced before? And if you have, I’ll vow to surpass it.” He blinked, his breath hissing past his lips,his cheeks taking on a rosy tinge. “I promise to leave your legs unsteady, your heartbeat wild, your skin afire. Reason in a realm beyond. If you say yes, I will give you all I have for every second we’re together. I’ll let you go when you wish to leave. You’d retain your freedom, your independence, your good name. I don’t want to own someone or have them own me. Nor do I want to wreck anyone, including myself.”
She set her glass on the counter. This wasn’t anything like Clarence Henry’s politely worded suggestion that they meet at his Belgravia townhouse if she was amenable. A widower uninterested in securing another wife, Clarence had been her friend since childhood. She found him pleasing and witty, compassionate and reasonably attractive. He had most of his hair and a trim form. He smelled like bergamot and the leather of his cobbler’s trade. His fingers were stubby, not the sleek, long digits of a duke, but she could overlook this.
He wassafe.
Clarence was a raindrop when she was now faced with a deluge.
“Who do youwant, Clarissa? If you know, take it.”
She jerked her head up, stunned to hear her name on his lips. His voice was deep, a sensual echo threaded through her dreams. She didn’t want to desire a breaker of rules and hearts. A blasted peer, when a peer had ruined her mother. Herschel would bring her nothing but anguish unless she was very, very careful.
When she wasn’t sure she was up to the task. The duke made her want to throw bloody caution to the wind.
Nevertheless, she was finished pretending she didn’t have needs. She wasn’t going to tell Knoxville DeWitt, but there had been other offers. Whispered suggestions on multiple occasions since her sixteenth year. Only recently had she been tempted to accept, her mostly successful attempts at self-pleasure no longerenough. The Duke of Herschel’s weekly visits had gotten to her, a needle of awareness beneath her skin. She felt feverish when he left her shop. Bewildered and unfulfilled. He was pushing her toward an indeterminate future.
She’d worked hard to ensure her liberty—but she was also a woman. With a curious sense of wonder about her body and the mechanics of sexual congress. There were only so many ways she could satisfy that interest in a world that provided females few choices.
Actually, His Grace was giving her a rather grand option.
Clarissa studied him, holding nothing back. Broad-shouldered, long and lean, with a face suited to the gods. Hair the color of rosewood with just enough curl to make her long to plunge her fingers through the glossy strands. And those eyes…glittering in the loose beam of light piercing the windowpane. Testing her, urging her. She’d seldom seen a set that green in all her days. They pulled her in without hesitation, every time. And she’d wager a thousand pounds that the body underneath those expensive garments was incredible.
She tilted her head in challenge. “You said a kiss that makes one question their next breath is key.”
The Duke of Herschel’s mouth parted on a sigh. She stifled the quiver of yearning that fluttered through her. “Yes, yes, I did.”
Clarissa pressed her lips together to hide her smile, realizing how hard she was going to make him work for her. In repayment for his visits, the teasing, the laughter, the dance. The times she’d gotten nothing, absolutelynothing, done when the door closed behind him. Admittedly, she felt a prick of irritation that he’d accepted how inappropriate she was and followed the only course of action available to him.
She was a woman he’d ask to tup, not marry.
But she was also a girl who could face the reality of her situation.
“I appreciate your offer, and I shall think on it.” Clarissa trailed her finger along a jagged scratch on her counter that she’d meant to gloss over months ago. “Nevertheless, in all fairness, I have to let Clarence have a go. Since he was first out of the gate.”
The Duke of Herschel frowned, sending adorable creases shooting from the corners of his eyes. “Like it’s some sort of competition?”
A bubble of laughter popped through despite her restraint. “A competition. Hmm, I love the sound of that. I should enjoy being a prize in a contest where I’m also the judge.”
He shrugged his wide shoulders beneath his superfine coat as if he were preparing for a boxing match. “I bet you would.”