Page 21 of The Duke In My Bed (The Heirs’ Club of Scoundrels #1)

Out, damned spot! Out, I say!

“What? No! Oh no!”

Louisa felt as if the flames of embarrassment started at her toes and raced up her body to her face as fire through dry brush. She would never be able to look him in the eyes again.

“Yes, touched me exactly where I wanted to be touched,” he repeated.

“Dear sweet mercies! Don’t say it again,” she whispered.

Louisa had never fainted in her life, but her legs were so weak, she thought she might crumple to the floor.

“My heart, Miss Prim,” the duke added as calmly as if he were talking about the weather. “You touched my heart.”

Could she believe him? No, his answer was too glib. He was too self-confident.

“You are lying,” she shot back.

“That is a strong accusation from someone reared under the straitlaced hand of a vicar, Miss Prim.”

“But accurate, is it not? You have no heart to touch.”

“That is probably so.” A smile twitched the corner of his mouth. “If I had a heart, you touched me where it would be.”

Did that mean maybe she hadn’t touched him inappropriately? She couldn’t tell by his expression. He was just too good at masking his true feelings and what he was thinking. She wanted to believe him, but should she? Was it best to just let it go?

No—for some reason, she couldn’t. She had to know for sure.

“Did I touch you anywhere else? You know what I am asking, Your Grace. I have a right to know.”

He hesitated.

She stiffened.

He nodded.

Her cheeks flamed red hot again. “Oh, I always knew you were a vile beast. Why did you stand there and let me—let me fondle you and say absolutely nothing to stop me?”

“Why do you think I did?”

Louisa was so livid, it was impossible for her to speak at first. “You are more than a beast. You are a scoundrel of the highest order and should never be allowed anywhere near a respectable young lady—or children, for that matter.”

“Then slap me for my abhorrent behavior.”

That brought her up short and snapped the fury right out of her. “What?”

“Slap me, Miss Prim.”

“You are teasing me, Your Grace,” she whispered.

“No,” he said with deadly calm. “You either slap me, or I will kiss you.”

“What? I don’t believe you.”

“Yes, you do.”

He was right. She did believe him.

“And,” he added, “before you make your choice, remember: Only one of us will enjoy the slap, but I’ll make sure we both enjoy the kiss.”

She whirled to run away, but his arm snaked around her waist and he swung her to face him.

She struggled briefly before he flattened her back against the bookshelves and pressed his body to hers.

Somehow he’d managed to capture both her wrists in one of his hands and he held them behind her.

He had her tightly pinioned, but she wasn’t alarmed.

She was angry.

Their eyes and their bodies were locked in a battle of wills, and she truly had no idea who was going to win.

“Let me go!” she whispered hotly, and squirmed against his pressing weight, knowing it was futile but unable to simply acquiesce to his imprisonment without a fight.

“No, my indignant Miss Prim. If you were so outraged by what happened between us just now, you should have taken your retribution when I offered you the chance.”

Her breath trembled in her throat. His tone, the light of intrigue in his green eyes, made her stomach quiver deliciously. Teasing warmth tingled across her breasts. She was baffled that even though she was furious with him, he could make her feel such pleasing sensations.

She ceased struggling. “I’ve never slapped a man,” she admitted.

He lowered his head, bringing his face close to hers. “You’ve probably never had reason to before now.”

“I haven’t.”

He caressed her cheek with his fingertips, letting them slowly trace the outline of her lips. The pads of his fingers traveled over her chin and down her neck to rest in the hollow at the base of her throat, where she knew her pulse was beating wildly.

Slow curls of pleasure came alive inside her, and without conscious effort, her chest lifted to feel more of the weight of his arm lying against her breasts.

His hand confidently slipped over to her ear, and his fingertips slowly outlined its shape before moving beneath her hair to caress the soft, sensitive skin there.

The warmth and tenderness of his touch seemed to seep inside her soul and weaken her will to resist him.

“I would wager you have never been kissed either, being a properly brought-up vicar’s daughter. You’ve probably never even been tempted.”

Not until now.

“So tell me, Miss Prim,” he asked huskily as his gaze studied hers, his face so close, she felt his breath on her cheek, “do your stillness and your silence mean the kiss wins over the slap?”

Did it?

If there were ever a man who deserved a slap, it was this one, but did she really want to do it?

“You are holding my hands,” she whispered.

He smiled and nodded once. “In that case.” He let her go and took one step back. “If the lady intends to strike, go ahead.”

She was free of his hold, but she didn’t feel free of him.

She had room to reach back and bring her hand down on his cheek with all her strength, but she didn’t move to take advantage of his surrender.

Instead of feeling calmer and slowing down, her breathing increased sharply.

The seconds ticked by. She was in no danger of him keeping her against her will, yet she remained still except for the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

He waited, giving her plenty of time to slap him and walk away. She couldn’t do either, even though she knew she should. She realized she was more horrified by the fact that she wanted the duke to kiss her than by the innocent conduct of her wayward hands.

How did the duke know she’d never been kissed? Was that why he was tempting her beyond her power to resist? Did he somehow know she wouldn’t have the strength to walk away from the possibility of her first kiss, even if it was coming from an admitted scoundrel like him?

“I’m not going to strike you, Your Grace,” she finally said.

His expression questioned her.

“Though I do believe I have just cause.”

“So do I,” he admitted. He placed one hand against the shelf near her shoulder and leaned in close once again. “Do you trust me, Miss Prim?”

“Not at all,” she answered honestly.

He smiled again. “That’s probably best.”

“I have no doubt.”

“I know the girls are upstairs, hiding from you. Where is Mrs. Colthrust? In the house?”

“At the agency that will be sending maids over to interview.”

“Good,” he said, and brushed a long curl to the back of her shoulder. “You know, they say that if you lose one of your senses, the others will become more heightened. Do you believe that’s true?”

“Perhaps. I don’t know. Why?”

“May I?” he asked, and reached down to slide the black scarf from her tight grasp. She let it go. He untied it and stretched it out and then folded it over several times to form a new blindfold.

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing that you don’t want me to do,” he answered. “Stop me whenever you wish.”

She couldn’t stop him. She was mesmerized.

He slowly placed the scarf over her eyes. “I’m not going to force you to do anything.”

For reasons Louisa didn’t begin to understand, she let the duke place the scarf over her eyes and tie it at the back of her head, completely blocking out her sight and, much to her chagrin, proving she trusted him after all.

She felt him move nearer, though he touched her nowhere once the scarf was in place.

“Can you see?” he asked.

She tried to open her eyes, but the blindfold had been put on too well. “No.”

“What do you hear, other than my voice?”

She listened. “Breathing.”

“What do you smell?”

“Shaving soap.”

She felt him place his face against her temple, and he whispered just above her ear, “I smell soap, too.”

He reached down and picked up her hand and laid it on his face. “What do you feel?”

“Beard stubble,” she said, and then heard him chuckle low in his throat.

“What do you taste?”

Instinctively, she licked her lips and replied, “Nothing.”

“Ah, the most tempting and the most delicious of the five senses. To taste.”

He pressed his body against hers once again. She felt his weight and the firmness of his powerful frame. His hand slid around her neck and cupped her nape. “Do you want to taste my kisses, Louisa?”

“Yes,” she said expectantly, knowing she was throwing caution to the wind and her sensible self out the window.

She felt his breath on her cheek. Her abdomen quivered in anticipation of her very first kiss, but his warm lips touched high on her cheek just below her eye. His lips stayed on her skin, slowly peppering tender, short kisses down her cheek to the corner of her mouth.

“Was that a kiss?” she asked.

“It was many kisses,” he answered.

“I felt them, but I didn’t taste them.”

“You will,” he murmured.

She heard and felt him rest his hands on each side of the bookcase, boxing her inside his arms. He kissed each corner of her mouth again and each cheek before letting his lips travel down her jawline and across her neck to nuzzle the skin behind her ear before moving farther down to kiss the crook of her neck.

And then, without letting his lips leave her skin, he moved back up and placed his lips to hers.

At last!

Her first kiss.

He moved his lips seductively over hers. A soft moan wafted from her. She heard another low, tantalizing chuckle deep in his throat as his mouth continued to move agonizingly slow over hers.

“Open your mouth and taste me, Louisa,” he whispered.

Unsure what he meant, she stiffened.

“No, don’t shy from me now.”

His powerful arms slid around her back and pulled her up tightly against his chest. Louisa melted against him. She had never been held in such powerful arms, and the feeling did strange things to her insides.

“Open your mouth, Louisa. I will taste you first and show you how it is done. Then you can taste me.”