Page 15 of The Duke’s Hellion (Duke Dare #3)

L ater that evening, Mimi was still shaking from the intensity of Sam’s gaze during the rehearsal.

It was if she could feel him inside of her, just from the look he had given her.

She rubbed her legs together, the same move she had done at least once every minute since the ceremony.

She ached there. She needed relief. But her heart was troubled.

If Sam could make her feel this way without doing anything, she was desperate to know how Roger could make her feel.

But every time she thought of Roger, the quickening in her heart slowed. And she didn’t want to feel the normal pace of her heart right now. She wanted Sam’s eyes grazing her body again. More than that. She wanted to feel him on top of her.

God, she needed relief. She had time before the evening’s events started. Quickly she made up her mind, ran to her door and locked it, then threw herself under her coverlet.

Her body was thrumming with need as she pressed her breasts into the mattress.

The friction lit up her body with sparks.

She pulled up her skirts and guided her hand down to her center.

God, she was so wet. She had never felt so wet before.

Her finger easily slid between her folds.

Her slit throbbed in appreciation as her fingers played and glided.

She was coiled so tightly that she knew she would find relief quickly.

Her fingers tapped up to her pearl and started moving in circles.

She remembered his weight on her body. His arms wrapped around her, carrying her.

Feeling the fullness of his chest. Even through his layers, she could sense his strength.

And then she came back to his smoldering eyes during the ceremony, watching her.

Hungry for her, though she knew that was impossible.

She didn’t care if it wasn’t true. She let his eyes call to her, reach through her, and pull her release from her.

She muffled her cry in the mattress. Whether she called Sam’s name or God’s name, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t even want to think about it.

With limp arms and a breath ratcheting through her, she lay in her bed until she regained her equilibrium, but even after her breath had returned to normal, and her arms felt their usual weight, she wasn’t quite sure she had regained that elusive equanimity she desired.

A few hours later, standing in the drawing room, Mimi was irritated.

At herself. At fate. At Sam. At Roger. Life.

Love. The glass of ratafia in her hands.

Anything and everything. But most importantly, she needed answers.

She hadn’t gotten drunk (ahem—tipsy) since the night she suggested to her sisters that they do the duke dare in the first place.

But tonight seemed as good a night as any for a repeat.

No one would miss her with all the activities going on, so she slipped out of the room in search of some whiskey.

Like any good man, she was pretty sure she could find some in Sally’s father’s library.

Undoubtedly, a bottle would be hidden behind some books or in a cupboard.

Sure enough, within a minute of her search, Mimi found a bottle and poured a generous helping in her glass. She wasn’t sure if she was on cup three or four when Roger walked in, but it was about time.

She hiccupped. “About time you arrived.” Had she already said that? The curious expression on his face indicated confusion.

“Me?” Roger asked, pointing to his own chest. As if he would ask me and point to another person’s chest. She giggled at the thought.

“Are you all right, Mimi?”

“Yes,” she pushed herself up from the armchair she just realized she was sitting in. “I’m perfectly gell…erm…well.”

“I’ll go get your sister.”

Oh what a boring thing to do.

“What’s that?”

Did she say that aloud?

“Yes, you did.” Roger looked at her blandly.

This was getting to be too much. Mimi opened her mouth and intentionally produced some words.

“I’m in need of some answers.” This was her chance.

She was drunk. She could appreciate that fact now.

But she still needed answers, and this was a good way to get them.

Absolutely nothing wrong with this method.

Fate told her that Roger was her destiny.

Experience was refuting fate. Now she needed to know how Roger could make her feel. She stood and ambled over toward him.

“I just—erm—came in for a book. I should go.”

“No,” she said a little too loudly as she waved her arm out to the side showing off the room. “Stay. Sit.” She tried to push him down onto the settee. The man didn’t move. He was built quite sturdy. Not as broad and muscular as Sam, but still. No one was really like Sam, were they?

“I must insist—”

“What the hell is going on here?” That voice sounded an awful like Sam if he were to barge in on them and use his whisper shouting voice.

“Sam.” Roger stepped back from her, and she almost lost her balance but Sam caught her around her waist.

“What are you doing?” Sam blasted Roger.

“I came in for a book, and she was here already three sheets to the wind.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

At this particular moment, Mimi wished her eyes weren’t so glossy because she really would like to see the glances passing between the two men. Pfft. She didn’t need to see them. She knew what they would be. Roger with his imperviously bland look and Sam with his intense death stare.

But this was the moment Roger could step up. They had been caught in a scandalous moment together. This was fate. This was fate’s method and she didn’t even know it. Roger would speak up and offer his protection. Love was to come after marriage. That must be it—

“Nothing,” Roger answered. “I’m not going to do anything. And I suggest you see her to her room before anything else happens.”

And then he was gone. And fate…what the hell was fate’s problem? Didn’t she know how to pick the right man for her? This was not going according to plan.

“Let’s go,” Sam said gruffly.

“No.” She didn’t want to go anywhere. Not with him or anyone. She needed time to let the haze clear so she could process the absurdity that was fate.

“I said, let’s go. We’re leaving now.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, y-you…ogre.”

“I didn’t ask. I’m telling you that we’re leaving,” he growled.

“Oh no. Now I’m scared.” She meant to say it in a taunting tone but she ended up giggling. Sam was so ridiculous. If he thought he could scare her, he had another thing coming. The man was nothing more than a hot smoldering duke.

“What did you say?”

“I said I’m not scared of you.” She was pretty sure that’s all she had implied. But what had she actually said?

He grabbed her by the waist and hauled her up on his shoulder, and she was pretty sure she heard him mutter, “Hot smoldering duke.”

Bah! This was not good.

“Sam, this hauling me around is getting a bit tedious. I can walk.”

“Fine.” He dropped her unceremoniously to the ground and walked to the door. He didn’t stop there like she expected, instead, he walked all the way out and didn’t come back. Ever.

Well, at least a few minutes must have passed because he came back carrying a glass. “Drink this.”

“No.”

“Stop being a child. Drink this so that you sober up.”

“Fine.” And just to be defiant, she gulped down the drink as fast as she could. Then, to prove she didn’t need to be a lady around him (for God knows what reason) she wiped her mouth along her forearm.

But all he said was, “Good. Now let’s go.”

“Where?”

“I’m taking you to your room and locking you in there.”

She stamped her foot.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Mimi.”

“Don’t be such a duke, Sam.”

He stepped toward her and her breath shifted direction, causing her to cough.

“I wouldn’t have to be the responsible one if you took it up a time or two.”

“Hmph!” was her mature reply. And to make it worse, her body chose that moment to yawn. Drat. Of all the times to feel particularly fatigued. “Fine,” she said, swaying her arms in whichever direction they felt like going. “Lead the way.”

He grunted and walked to the door. This time he waited for her to follow. When he peeked out into the hallway, she stopped behind him. Her hands hovering at his back, not allowing herself to touch him.

“No one’s here. Come on.” He reached back and grabbed her hand, tugging her out of the library, practically dragging her to her room.

When they arrived in her room, she locked the door behind her out of habit. She felt exhausted, but no longer tipsy. “Can you tell my sister I had a megrim?”

He nodded distractedly.

What made the next words pop out of her mouth, she couldn’t be sure because she really couldn’t blame the whiskey now. “Help me out of this dress,” she said, turning her back to him and waiting.

“What?”

“You want me to sleep this off? I need to sleep. I can’t get out of this dress myself. And I can’t sleep in this dress.”

“Mimi—”

“Just close your eyes, Sam.”

She felt him move toward her and she knew she had made a catastrophic mistake. There was no acting indifferent around Sam as he undressed her. She couldn’t even feign indifference when he looked at her, never mind when he held her.

But his fingers were already working the buttons.

Light brushes of his fingers grazed her (burned her) through her corset.

There was no turning back. And no turning around.

She had to remind herself of that. Don’t twist around in his arms and kiss him.

Do not do it. Just breathe. Like a normal person.

“Stop moving,” he reprimanded, but his breath was too warm on her neck and she shuddered.

“I’m not moving, I’m breathing.”

“Then stop breathing.”

She felt his fingers linger and then move on. “There. It’s done.”

The cool air on her back rushed through her.

Without thinking, she turned around and put out her hand requesting his assistance out of her skirts that had pooled at her feet.

It was a movement out of habit. One she had done countless times with a lady’s maid, but never once with a man.

Yet there he was, mouth agape, eyes wide open.