Page 140 of Never Besmirch a Wallflower: Dukes and Wallflowers

“You’re injured,” she protested against his mouth.

“I’m not dead.”

She leaned back. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” His eyes blazed. “I intend to finish what we started before we were interrupted by Roxburghe.”

“You swore to my brother that we would wait until our wedding.”

“I almost lost you again tonight, and unless you demand that we adhere to his strict rules, I intend to break my promise to him.”

Her stomach clenched, desire flooding her body. She scrunched her face as though considering her options, then grinned, leaned forward, and brushed her lips across his.

“I’ve never been one to follow my brother’s directions,” she said, repositioning herself on his lap.

He groaned. His arms wound around her and crushed her body against his torso, his hips already moving against her. His tongue thrust forward, sliding past her lips and gliding along her tongue.

Moaning, she placed her hands on his chest, grinding against him.

One arm released her and slid between their bodies. The Duke of Lennox unfastened his trousers and worked them partially down his legs.

Without instruction, she lifted up, waiting until he grasped hold of himself, and then she lowered onto him, gasping as he slid into her warmth. Her fingers tightened around his shoulders, drawing a low groan from him, and she paused, concerned she’d reinjured him.

“Doesn’t hurt,” he murmured, grabbing her hips and guiding her into a slow rhythm.

His tongue plunged into her mouth, matching the speed of her body as she ground herself against him. Hands curling around her hips, he increased their pace, thrusting when she rolled forward.

She cried out, her fingers digging into his muscles as her head tipped back. His mouth brushed over her throat, leaving a trail of burning kisses across her skin. Her body caught fire. His name fell from her lips, the word only serving to increase his ardent assault. Every inch of her skin aflame, she wound tighter and tighter, her stomach clenching as she sped toward release.

Her body jerked, and she exploded, vibrating as the orgasm ripped through her. He held her tight, thrusting and drawing out her release until she screamed herself hoarse and sagged against him.

Sighing, he wrapped his arms around her and brushed his mouth across her forehead. When she returned to her body, she realized her current position, still straddling the Duke of Lennox, and gasped, pushing away from his chest.

“Did you…?” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word aloud.

“Find release?” He tilted his head.

She nodded, the heat returning to her face.

“I did.” He lifted her chin. “Are you concerned about a possible child?”

“Ernest will kill you if I become pregnant prior to our marriage.” She gingerly touched the side of his eye. “He’s made that intention quite clear.”

“I’m stealing Roxburghe’s wedding date.” The Duke of Lennox sucked in a sharp breath when her fingers passed over the bruise.

Eveline lowered her hand, unwilling to upset Miss Webb after all the kindnesses she and her sister showed Eveline. “There’s no need to inconvenience your friends. We can’t marry until Ernest is freed from prison.”

“Then, we should solve that matter immediately.” The Duke of Lennox leaned his forehead against hers. “However, I suggest you change into something a bit more appropriate before we return to the Venning’s ball.”

“How will that free Ernest?” she asked, a modicum of hope fluttering in her chest. “He admitted to the crime.”

“I discovered a piece of lace near the banister on the second-floor landing,” the Duke of Lennox said and pulled back, his eyes searching hers. “Mr. Hughes thinks the portion came from the killer’s gown.”

“Miss Drummond was killed by a woman?” Eveline gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “What kind of lady would murder Miss Drummond?”

“A desperate one,”—the Duke of Lennox’s grip tightened around Eveline—“and until we discover who that person is, none of you are safe.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT