Page 62 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

Chapter Twenty

“Ithink,” Beatrice said, her voice barely above a whisper as they ascended the stairs, “I’ve lost my mind.”

Leo’s fingers tightened around hers. “Then we’re well matched, Duchess. I lost mine the moment you walked into that garden folly.”

Heat flooded her cheeks at the memory: him rising from that bath, water streaming down his naked body, her inability to look away. And now she was following him to his chambers, to share a bath, to…

God, what was she doing?

The door to his chambers closed behind them with a soft click. Beatrice’s pulse hammered in her throat as she took in the masculine space. All dark wood and leather, the scent uniquely his.

“Having second thoughts?” Leo asked, turning to face her.

The lamplight caught the planes of his face, casting shadows that made him look almost dangerous. But there was something else in his eyes, something that looked almost like vulnerability.

“I’m trying not to,” she admitted. “But I’m here, regardless.”

A smile ghosted across his lips. “Honest to a fault, wife.”

“One of us should be.”

His eyebrows rose. “And what does that mean?”

Beatrice lifted her chin, meeting his gaze squarely. “It means that whatever this is between us, I won’t pretend it is merely physical attraction. I’m not built for such detachment.”

Leo studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he crossed to her in three strides, his hand cupping her face with surprising gentleness.

“Neither am I,” he murmured. “Though I’ve tried all I could to convince myself otherwise.”

Not waiting for her to respond, his mouth found hers, hot, demanding. This was hunger unleashed, restraint discarded.

Beatrice gasped against his lips, her hands fisting in his waistcoat as her knees trembled.

A knock at the door forced them apart. “Your bath is ready, Your Grace.”

Leo’s jaw clenched, but he stepped back, running a hand through his hair. “Leave it,” he called. “I’ll see to it.”

Footsteps retreated down the corridor.

Silence settled over them again, thick with anticipation.

“Turn around,” Beatrice said, her voice steadier than she felt.

Leo’s eyebrows rose. “I beg your pardon?”

“My dress. The buttons are impossible to reach.” She presented her back to him, and he could see her pulse racing at the base of her neck. “Unless you’d prefer I bathe in my traveling clothes?”

His voice came out gruff. “So, you are asking me to turn around for what reason?”

She looked over her shoulder at him coyly and watched him suck in a sharp breath.

“Well, the obvious answer is so I can get them off,” she said.

Twin red spots bloomed in his cheeks. “Ah, you’re taunting me now, aren’t you, you little minx?” he groaned.

She couldn’t help the giggle that slipped past her lips.

“Let me do that for you,” he requested.