Page 85 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

“Patience, little minx.” But his own restraint was fraying.

He scooped her up into his arms, carrying her the rest of the way, shouldering through his chamber door with single-minded determination.

Moonlight streamed through the windows, silvering the bed, the furniture, her skin as he began removing her clothes with the promised slowness. Each layer revealed more of her, and he worshiped every inch with his hands, his mouth, his entire being.

“You’re staring again,” she breathed as he paused, drinking in the sight of her.

“Can’t help it.” His voice came out rough. “You’re?—”

The words stuck in his throat, the sheer magnitude of her existence something he couldn’t quite quantify. He didn’t even have it in him to try to quantify it at all. She was so much more than…

“What?” She reached for him, pulling him down to her. “Tell me.”

But he couldn’t. There really were no words. Of course, he could try, but every word would simply fall short.

So, he decided to show her instead, with every touch, every kiss, every whispered word against her skin. He showed her exactly how thoroughly she had conquered him, this woman who had seen past his defenses to the man beneath. This woman who had made him believe in warmth again.

“Ah, Leo… more,” she moaned into his mouth, and he lost all that was left of his restraint.

“If your goal was to make me go crazy,” he grunted, tugging at her undergarments, “then consider it accomplished. But know there will be no sleep for you tonight.”

She shuddered against him, a smile lifting the corners of her lips. “Kiss me, Leo,” she whispered against his lips, her fingers threading through his hair.

The weight of his body pressed her deliciously into the mattress, the silk sheets cool against her heated skin.

Leo obliged, capturing her mouth in a kiss that left her breathless.

Outside, London’s night symphony played on. Distant carriages, the occasional shout, the constant hum of a city that never truly slept.

But here in their sanctuary, only their breathing mattered.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Morning came too soon, sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains, painting golden stripes across Leo’s sleeping form. Beatrice propped herself on one elbow to study him—the sharp line of his jaw softened in sleep, the tiny scar above his eyebrow she had only discovered after their wedding night, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks.

How had this happened? This shift from a mere arrangement to… something else entirely?

Her contemplation was interrupted by a knock at the door. Leo stirred, his arm tightening around her waist.

“Your Grace?” Peters’ voice called. “The Duke and Duchess of Windermere have sent an invitation for tonight’s musicale. They request an immediate response.”

Leo groaned, burying his face in her neck. “Tell them we’ve fled the country,” he mumbled against her skin.

Beatrice laughed, the sound vibrating through their bodies. “We can’t avoid Society forever, Leo.”

“Watch me.”

“It might be enjoyable,” she coaxed, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his shoulder. “Georgina mentioned that several interesting guests would be attending.”

“More interesting than this?” His hand slid down her side, settling on her hip with possessive warmth.

“Well—” Her breath caught as his lips found the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “Perhaps not.”

“Mmm. Though I suppose we should make an appearance.” His voice had that gruff morning quality that made her toes curl. “If only to quell the rumors we’ve succumbed to some tropical disease.”

“Is that what they’re saying?”

“According to Adrian’s last note, the current speculation involves consumption, exotic fever, or my having locked you in a tower like some fairytale villain.”