Page 84 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

Leo caught Beatrice’s eye across the room and saw when she excused herself.

She reached them, slightly breathless, her cheeks flushed. “Lady Willowthorn just told me the most scandalous story about—” She stopped, registering Adrian’s presence. “Oh. Lord Tillfield, I didn’t realize you were here.”

“Always where there’s entertainment to be had, Your Grace.” Adrian bowed with theatrical flair. “And speaking of entertainment, I’m going to make myself scarce. You two are radiating an alarming amount of domestic bliss.”

He melted into the crowd, leaving them alone.

“What was that about?” Beatrice asked.

“That was simply Adrian being Adrian.” Leo offered his arm. “Do you want to leave? We’ve made our appearance.”

“Eager to escape?”

“Eager to have you to myself,” he corrected.

Her breath caught. “That’s very direct, Your Grace.”

“I’m done with pretense, remember?” He led her toward the exit, nodding to acquaintances but not stopping. “Besides, I have plans for you.”

“Plans?”

“Mmm. They involve significantly fewer clothes than you’re currently wearing.”

“Leo!” She glanced around, scandalized, but her eyes gleamed with interest. “Someone might hear.”

“Let them.” They reached the entrance and collected their things with efficient haste. “I’m tired of performing for them. Tonight, I want you all to myself.”

The carriage ride home seemed interminable. Beatrice sat across from him, the proper distance between them, but her gaze never wavered from his face. Heat simmered in the tight space, building with each passing second.

“Tell me about your plans,” she said finally, her voice slightly hoarse.

Leo leaned forward, closing the distance until he could feel her breath against his lips. “I plan to remove this gown. Very slowly.”

“And then?”

“And then I plan to kiss every inch of skin I uncover.” His hand found her knee through layers of silk. “Starting here.”

She shivered. “We’re still in the carriage.”

“I’m aware.” His palm slid higher. “Does that bother you?”

“The driver?—”

“Can’t see us. Can’t hear us.” He brushed his thumb across the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. “It’s just us, Beatrice. Like on the terrace. No performance. No intrusions.”

Her hand covered his, stilling his movement. For a moment, he thought she would push him away. But then she guided his hand higher, her eyes never leaving his.

“Then why are you still talking?” she whispered.

The carriage couldn’t reach their townhouse fast enough. They tumbled inside, hands already reaching, mouths seeking. Petersmaterialized to take their cloaks but wisely didn’t comment on their disheveled state.

“My chambers or yours?” Leo asked against her neck.

“Yours. It’s closer.”

They made it halfway up the stairs before he lost patience, pressing her against the wall to kiss her properly. She melted into him, her fingers tangling in his hair, soft sounds escaping that drove him mad with want.

“Bed,” she gasped when they finally broke apart. “Leo, please?—”