Page 13 of Ruby in the Rough (Heiress #4)

Chapter

Thirteen

C ordelia and Jane stood beside each other at the Felton ball, gowns slightly crumpled, cheeks flushed from hours of dancing, their slippers near ruined.

Supper had been as delightful as the ball had been lively, and Cordelia knew with certainty she would not be leaving the house tomorrow, save for being carried out on a sedan chair.

“What a wonderful night.” Jane sighed, sipping her wine as they observed the glittering throng of guests still dancing and delighting in the early hours of the morning. “One of the best balls of the Season, I must admit. And Lord Basing has kept away, which makes it all the better.”

Cordelia smiled. “Your brother told me he’s warned him again. He said I must notify him the moment I see Lord Basing even attempt to speak to me.”

“I hope you do not mind,” Jane said, a little sheepish, “that my brother can be a little overbearing.”

“Not at all,” Cordelia replied, unable to deny the fact that his looking out for her was rather gallant. “In fact, I’m rather grateful there are others who care enough to look out for me. Since the incident outside Hatchard’s, he hasn’t approached me, and I’m glad for it.”

“Perhaps Lord Basing learned his lesson. Or perhaps Christian gave him another set-down. He did mention that it might come to that.”

Cordelia let her gaze drift toward the far side of the ballroom. “I feel sorry for the woman who ends up married to him. He doesn’t seem…settled.”

“No,” Jane agreed, following her gaze. “And look—Miss Meyers is speaking to him now. Doesn’t she look miserable?”

“She does.”

Jane drained her glass and handed it off to a passing footman. “Shall we go rescue her?”

“I think it best we stay out of it. But like your brother, we shall keep our eyes open. He doesn’t get to prey on unsuspecting young ladies any longer.”

Jane nodded. “Hear, hear.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Cordelia said, wincing slightly as she shifted her weight, “I believe this slipper is trying to kill me. I’ll just pop upstairs to the withdrawing room. Hopefully they’ve a bandage I can use.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, no.” She waved her off. “It’s just a blister. I won’t be long.”

Cordelia made her way toward the foyer, hobbling ever so slightly.

As she passed the ballroom doors, her gaze caught—just for a moment—on the tall figure of the Duke of Walpole.

He stood amongst a group of gentlemen, impeccably dressed in his superfine coat, the light from the chandeliers catching his dark hair and gleaming off the heavy gold ring on his hand.

His eyes flicked to hers as she walked by.

That look. It lasted no more than a second, but it struck her like a match.

Heat bloomed low in her belly. Her breath caught. And still, she kept walking, determined not to show the effect he had on her with a single glance.

Up the stairs she went, cursing the slipper with every other step.

The withdrawing room was empty, save for a sleepy-looking maid who offered a bandage with an empathetic expression.

Cordelia sat, removed her shoe, and wrapped the back of her heel with as much elegance as a bleeding foot would allow.

The pressure eased. Not perfect, but enough to make the remainder of the ball bearable. She adjusted her skirts, thanked the maid, and stepped out into the hallway.

A hand reached out and caught her.

She gasped, startled as she was pulled quickly into another room. Her heart galloped, and she went to cry out in alarm. “Shush, Cordelia…”

Walpole.

Her eyes adjusted to the shadowed room, and she stared at the duke who appeared far more serious than she’d ever seen him before. “What are you doing?” she asked, her words breathless.

“Finishing what you started.” His mouth came down on hers, demanding, unrelenting, and oh so deliciously maddening.

And she, God help her, melted into him like a wanton, like some desperate woman who had never had the pleasure of a man.

Which of course was true in her situation, but still, surely since he was so very vexing she could have at least put up a little bit of a fight to deny him.

Her panic of a moment before fled, replaced with a rush of heat that tingled down her spine, pooled in her belly, and made her knees tremble. “Walpole,” she whispered, pulling back enough to speak, his laboured breath hot against her jaw. “What are you doing, truly?”

“I don’t know,” he growled, voice thick and hoarse. “I haven’t the faintest bloody idea.”

“You kissed me this time…”

“You kissed me first,” he said, as if their kissing was now some sort of competition.

It was not. She had kissed him in the carriage with reckless abandon, a spontaneous gesture to aggravate him more after their argument, but it was but a graze of lips, nothing substantial, nothing like what he just bestowed.

A kiss that knocked her off her axis and left her catapulting through space.

“You followed me to the ladies withdrawing room just to kiss me?”

A muscle worked on his jaw before he nodded. “I did. I saw you leave, and I wanted to make sure you were safe. Basing’s here after all.”

“And then?” she whispered. “You decided to haul me into an abandoned bedroom to kiss me?” She couldn’t reconcile the idea. What type of game was his grace playing that she wasn’t aware of.

“And then I couldn’t help myself.”

He leaned in, and she could see him clearer now, the sharp lines of his jaw, his handsome visage drawing her in like it always had. “I wanted to be alone with you. I wanted to kiss you. Properly this time.”

“You did?” Why did she sound so shocked by his actions or declarations? Why would it shock her that a man, a very eligible one would want to kiss her? Should she not be flattered? As much as part of her was, she hadn’t forgotten that he had a mistress on the other side of town…

He reached for her again, wrenching her so close that her breasts pressed against his waistcoat and all sensible thought fled. His warmth, the intoxicating scent of lavender and hard muscular lines made her body ache, and she slipped her arms onto his shoulders, holding herself fast.

“I wanted to see if what you make me feel is real or fleeting. Or if I’m merely losing my damn mind or if I’ve finally found the one thing I cannot walk away from.”

She couldn’t think, didn’t know what to say. She shut her gaping mouth and merely stared at him, wondering if he had any idea of the words he was saying? Did he truly mean what he was declaring? “I did not think you were looking for a wife, Your Grace.”

His eyes narrowed, his hands tightening against her back. “I wasn’t.”

Cordelia reached up, slid her fingers into the hair at his nape and pulled him toward her. She kissed him, words no longer required. If he wished to know if they suited, at least in the passionate sense, then she would help him make that choice all the sooner.

He did not hesitate and closed his mouth over hers.

The kiss was all fire and ruin. She gasped as his hands slipped lower, clutching her bottom and dragging her against him.

She felt the hard length of him pressing against her abdomen.

An exquisite ache thrummed between her legs.

He growled into her mouth, and she thought she may expire on the spot.

Dissolve into a puddle of need right there and then.

He lifted her. She didn’t know how. But suddenly she was against the door, a slipper dangling from one foot, his body rolling against hers with a rhythm that made her cry out. “Christian,” she moaned, unable to make sense of how overwhelming he made her feel. “Oh, God.”

“Say it again,” he demanded, moving to tease her even more.

“Christian.”

His hips rocked against her with abandonment.

His hardness pressing into her most private place, and for the first time in her life, small pleasurable tremors hinted at more to come.

What was he doing to her? What were these sweet yet desirable quivers he was making her feel?

She tipped her head back against the door, his lips moved to her neck, biting, kissing, licking her sensitive skin.

Cordelia was certain she was about to go up in flames. “This is too much,” she admitted.

“I know.” He kissed the corner of her mouth, her jaw, her throat. “And yet it isn’t enough.” He sighed, brushed his lips against hers, before he set her back onto her feet.

Her knees trembled and she used the door to keep herself upright. All thoughts of her sore heel forgotten after the interlude she just enjoyed.

He stepped back, waiting, she assumed, for her to move.

Cordelia shifted to the side without another word spoken and watched him open the door and leave.

She stood alone, fighting to control the wayward thoughts and reactions her body was having.

She reached up, touching her lips. They were swollen, her hair slightly mussed, her heart in her throat.

She could not breathe.

She could not think.

And she would never, ever be the same.