Page 60 of The Duke is Wicked

They passed a row of timber-framed dwellings with various shops on the first floor, then a set of medieval buildings made of bleached stone. Headington stone, she remembered from her research, sourced from a nearby quarry and used to construct many of the university’s towers, cathedrals and colleges.

Delaney waved to a group of students who, after a stunned moment, waved back. A rather imprudent young man even whistled. She winked and pulled herself back into the carriage as it halted in front of a set of buildings across from a large park. Keble College was easily identifiable, the crimson brick differing vastly from the sedate limestone typical of Oxford’s architecture. Controversial for its incorporation of color, the college stood out boastfully, exalting in its distinction.

Rain began to fall, plinking the carriage roof in noisy pops. The steps lowered with a creak as the door opened, then a footman’s hand shot into the interior. But it wasn’t a footman’s hand, gloveless, the scar on his wrist snaking into his neat cuff. Delaney leaned forward and peered out. And there he was, her duke. Dressed in black, except for his snowy-white cravat, looking impermeable and ducal. Glancing down at the faded gown she’d worn to dig in the garden, she shrank back against the squabs in horror. She should have changed. Must healwayscatch her unaware?

“Oh, no,” he murmured and climbed a step, took her arm and brought her off the seat and against his body. “You’re not getting away from me. Never again.” Tilting her head, he looked into her face with a gaze gone misty. “Christ, you look good enough to eat. More than. My eyes sting at the sight of you.”

The kiss was tender, then frantic, filled with so many layers of emotion she couldn’t untangle them. Her lips parted beneath his, her hands rising to grip his shoulders as she moaned softly into his mouth. His tongue tangled with hers as they shared their loneliness without words. Her toes curled inside her damp slippers, her fingers wrinkling his linen coat in a brutal grip. Chest hitching, he whispered her name and drew back to stare at her, his lashes dotted with raindrops, his attention fixed and holding, as if she were crucial to his existence. After a moment, the smile bloomed across his face with such power it took her breath. Seeing her had proven something to him, though she wasn’t sure what.

“I missed you, Temple,” he finally said, his voice rough.

Her heart gave a fierce thump in her chest.Ah, so that’s it.

“You’ve cut your hair, Tremont,” she returned, pleased her words were strong, when her knees were weak.

He frowned and went to touch. “Is it too much? I told my valet to go easy.”

She laughed, staying his hand. “No, it’s perfect.” Wrapping a silken curl around her finger, she gave the strand a light tug. “But you know I like it long enough to knot my hands in when…” Tracking his reaction, she licked her lips and let him finish the statement in his mind.

Blowing out a tense breath, he rolled his shoulders and moved out of reach, stepping into the rain, lifting his face to the sky. “Easy there, Bastian. Number three has to be flawless,” he whispered to himself, though the charming statement journeyed directly into her ear.

Delaney’s skin tingled, her body flushing. As inproposalnumber three. Glancing at the hands she’d twisted in her lap, enchantment over this rare show of uncertainty in a man who always seemed certain flowed through her.

He’s letting you in, Delaney. Push the door wide before he closes it again.

“Are you assisting me out, Your Grace?” she asked, when she could articulate the request without her voice trembling.

“I was. Until you mentioned yanking on my hair and…” His words trailed away as he stalked to the front of the carriage, only to return with an umbrella. “Come,” he urged, and held out his arm, the height of decency when she could see from his searing look that he wanted to kiss her again.

She nodded to the tiara. “Would you like me to wear that?”

He leaned in the carriage, his brow wrinkled in question. “What? Oh.No.” Laughing, the umbrella knocking the side of the carriage. “I simply thought you’d like it.” He flicked his fingers at the tiara, like a centuries-old piece of jewelry was trivial in the extreme. “Your fascination with antiquities. The dungeon, the moat. That damned oaken door. It’s the oldest thing, besides some very tasteless artwork in the house in Wales, I have to offer.” His head tilted, a frown growing as if he’d erred in his gift-giving.

She took the requisite pause before telling him, unable to hold the admission in for one moresecond. “I love you, Sebastian Fitzgerald Tremont. You know that, don’t you? It’s very simple.Youare what you have to offer.Youare all I want.”

He stilled, the umbrella wobbling in his grip. A drop of rain cut across his cheek and down his hard, square jaw. His lips parted on a sigh. “I’d hoped, my darling Temple, but you’ve no idea how bloody marvelous it is to finally hear you say it. You’re saving my life with these words, no bee’s venom involved this time.”

Grabbing the tiara, Delaney jammed it on her head, then grasped his hand. “How does it look?”

His smile was wobbly, his eyes moist. Shaking his head, he glanced at the sky, seeming to ponder, then he leaned into the carriage, seized her lips and murmured an unintelligible sentiment against them.

When she could locate her breath, she whispered, “I didn’t catch that, Your Grace.”

“I love you. More than you can imagine.” This said, he drew her into another kiss that left them winded, his hand going to cradle the back of her neck, bringing her as close as possible with him standing outside in the rain. Thoughts of what they could do in a carriage, a first for her, swirled through her mind as the mist sprinkled down on them.

“Climb in,” she urged, patting the seat.

Stepping back, he grinned. Brought his hand to his lips and pressed his knuckles to them. “Delaney Temple, you knock me from my socks every time I touch you.”

She glanced down at the bulge beneath his trouser close. “What can I do to knock the rest off?”

“Down girl,” he admonished, but he was smiling. Then guiding her from the carriage, tucking her against him beneath the intimate shelter of the umbrella and continuing down a gravel path cutting diagonally across the neat, lush university quadrangle. The library—she realized where he was taking her—loomed before them. They entered through an imposing gatehouse, strolling through a tunneled expanse. Students passed, but no one gave them a second look, which was liberating, after the pointed scrutiny she’d faced on London’s streets.

Free of the misting shower, Sebastian angled the umbrella aside as they crossed the portico. She leaned into him, his heat warming her chilled skin. Part of his magic was that he created firesinsideher. And the ones he created around her, she could accept.

“You realize you chose what is considered the ugliest set of buildings at Oxford as inspiration for your attic. This particular college is impossibly new, only opening two years ago, and the brick the architect selected is universally loathed. Very gothic. Black stripes mixed in to cap off the design.” He gazed up as they stepped into the courtyard. “We’d never have constructed anything like this at Cambridge.”

She laughed, charmed by his smugness, the return of the rain against her face invigorating. Letting go of his hand, she spun in a circle, taking it in. This man, this day, this life. Her heart was light, buoyant,hopeful. The tiara wobbled on her head, and she reached to adjust it. “It’s beautiful. Different. Bold. Unique. That’s the kick in the teeth. I chose it because it doesn’t look like the others. Why must itlooklike the others?”