Page 63 of Second Duke's the Charm

Tess nodded, dry-mouthed.

“Go on. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Hannah was waiting in the bedroom, and sent Tess a smile as she helped her out of her dress and into the scandalously sheer silk nightgown and equally flimsy dressing robe she’d chosen from Madame Lefèvre.

Red, of course.

Tess tightened the sash at her waist, hoping the garments would give her a much-needed boost of courage.Dress like a seductress, feel like a seductress.

Hannah caught her eye in the mirror as she brushed out her hair. The girl was almost buzzing with excitement.

“Oh, ma’am, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you with such a handsome new husband, after all you’ve done for us here.”

Tess blushed, touched by her sincerity. “Thank you, Hannah.”

The maid sent her a cheeky grin. “And since I’m a married lady myself now, I can wish you thevery bestof wedding nights this time! I hope you don’t sleep a wink!”

Tess laughed at her bawdy humor and shooed her toward the door. “I’ll see to the rest myself, thank you.”

Hannah winked. “I’ll ’ave Mrs. Ward cook a heartybreakfast for the morning. You’ll need to keep up yer strength.”

When the door closed behind her Tess rose, willing her heart rate to calm. Ellie or Daisy would have distracted her with a silly joke, or an obscure legal fact, but neither of them were here. This was her own hill to conquer.

The door to the shared sitting room opened, and she tensed as Thornton’s footsteps crossed the room and paused outside her door.

When would she start thinking of him as Justin, and not Thornton? Would physical intimacy effect the change?

She took a steadying breath, and then he was there, in her room, looking as breathtakingly handsome as ever.

Whenever she was away from him, she could almost convince herself that he wasn’t as attractive as she remembered, but then he’d appear, and prove her wrong all over again.

She could only pray she had the same effect on him.

He’d removed his jacket, cravat, and shoes, but unlike the old duke, he wasn’t wearing a hideous dressing robe. His white shirt lay open in a deep V that showed an inviting sliver of tawny skin, and his buff breeches conformed to the muscles of his thighs with loving faithfulness.

Daisy was right: it was impossible not to admire the masculine bulges so perfectly outlined by the soft fabric. Tess raised an imaginary glass in salute to Bond Street’s tailors, and whoever had decreed that form-fitting breeches should be the masculine garment of choice. Fashion occasionally had its benefits.

Light from the lamp by her bed warmed the angles of his face as he came toward her with slow strides, and his heated perusal of her own clothing certainly suggested he liked what he saw.

A muscle ticked in his jaw as he stopped less than a foot away.

“Red.” His voice was low, almost a croak, as if he were parched for water, but his lips curved in that self-mocking way he had. “I should have known. I’m beginning to see why the last duke didn’t live until morning.”

He reached up and touched the silk at her shoulder, then followed the exquisitely fine lace down across her clavicle toward her breastbone.

“Are you trying to kill me, Scarlet? Because you rob a man of breath.”

Tess shook her head. His nearness was making her dizzy; she was almost trembling with need. How could she want something so badly, and yet dread it simultaneously?

“There’s something I must tell you.” She said it quickly, before she lost her nerve. She’d come up with this plan of action while she was alone in the carriage.

“Go on.”

“My experience with the first duke was… not the most pleasant.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. But hardly surprised. The man was old enough to be your grandfather. Believe me when I say that I will do everything in my power to makethistime pleasurable for you.”