Page 12 of The Etiquette of Love (The Academy of Love #7)
F reddie looked up from the tally sheet and met the duke’s gaze.
“I am afraid you lost—again. But it was closer this time, Your Grace.”
“I believe you are fibbing to spare my feelings.”
His teasing surprised a laugh out of her. “Well, perhaps a little.”
“You are a very good player.”
“Thank you.” She cast him an appraising look. He did not appear concerned that she had thrashed him soundly in all three games.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I do not think you are especially fond of the game.”
His lips curled into what Freddie had begun to think of as one of his almost smiles , the expression so slight that a person might miss it if they were not watching closely. “Card game are not something I often have time for,” he admitted diplomatically. “In fact, the last time I played piquet was with your brother—when we were at university.”
“You do not go to gambling clubs?”
“Not often. And when I do, it is not piquet that I play.”
“Would you rather play chess?”
“Will you think me a terribly dull fellow if I confess that I am not excessively fond of chess, either?”
Freddie could not help laughing. “I do not think playing chess is generally considered exciting, Your Grace. What do you enjoy doing for leisure?”
“I take pleasure in more physical pursuits.”
Why did such an innocuous statement make her mouth flood with moisture? And were his eyes a darker, smokier gray then they’d been a moment earlier?
Freddie delicately cleared her throat of the obstruction that had come from nowhere and said, “I take it you mean hunting?”
“I hunt, but I also like riding for enjoyment—like today—or with a practical aim, such as inspecting my estates. What about you, Winifred? Other than thrashing men at piquet, what leisure activities do you enjoy?”
“I read a great deal, and I am fortunate that my house is situated within easy walking distance of Hyde Park. I enjoy games of all sorts, even silly parlor games like Speculation or Charades. I must admit to a special fondness for cards, however.”
“And yet you rarely visit card rooms at balls.”
“I am all astonishment. I never would have guessed that you took any notice of my actions at ton functions, Your Grace.”
“Are you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“ Tsk, tsk. ” He lowered his voice. “You are fibbing again, Winifred. You know that I have watched you this past Season because you have seen me doing so.”
Freddie could only hold his gaze for a few seconds before lowering her eyes to the cards still scattered on the table. Pleased to have a purpose, she began to gather them into a neat pile, hoping desperately that he didn’t notice the slight trembling in her fingers.
But then his hand, large and warm, laid atop both of hers, his fingers lightly closing and gentling her fumbling.
Had her mouth been flooded only a moment before? Because now her throat felt as if she had just swallowed a lump of chalk.
He was not holding her tightly and Freddie could have pulled her hand away easily. And yet… she did no such thing. Instead, she reveled in the rare pleasure of skin-on-skin contact. She touched other people so infrequently that she suddenly felt starved for it. She embraced her friends, of course, but it had been years and years since she had felt a man’s touch. And even longer since she had welcomed it. Not since the first days of her marriage, when she had naively believed her handsome, charming, and worldly-wise husband’s promise to cherish, love, and protect her.
“Winifred. Look at me.”
She was unwilling to meet his cool gaze when she was in such turmoil. “No.”
A soft chuckle drifted toward her and he laced his fingers with those of her right hand and stood. “Come here.”
She stood, still unable to look at his face, her eyes mere inches away from his perfectly tied cravat. The pleasant scent of starch, cologne, and a faint hint of port teased her nostrils.
The warm pad of a finger lifted her chin, until she could not avoid meeting his gaze.
Heat and desire blazed in his eyes. Some small part of her brain still capable of rational thought pointed out that this was a true sign of what he felt, not the aloof indifference he’d displayed to her that morning when she had rebuffed his interest in marriage.
He lightly skimmed a thumb over her lower lip, his eyes never leaving hers. “I find you irresistible.” His voice was lower and not as smooth as usual, a faintly wondering tone threaded through his declaration, as if he could not believe what he was saying. “I know you do nothing to cast out lures and yet your mere existence is a siren call.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “I have resisted you for as long as I am able.” That was all the warning she had before his mouth lowered over hers.
Her hands, which had hung limply at her sides after she’d stood, wasted no time sliding up the smooth wool of his snug-fitting coat and twining around his neck.
He gave an approving purr at her eager acceptance and stepped closer, one hand cupping her head while the other moved to her lower back and pulled her body flush against his, her breasts pressed flat against his chest, his arousal a long hard ridge against her belly.
It had been so long since she had kissed a man that Freddie was momentarily at sea, exploring him with her hands, but giving up control of their kiss to his expert ministrations. Not content with just her mouth, Plimpton left a trail of butterfly-light kisses across her cheek to her temple where his nose nuzzled gently in her hair. His chest expanded against hers as he inhaled, filling his lungs until they had to be near bursting.
He exhaled a low groan along with air. “You smell and feel every bit as delicious as you look.” Heat and hunger infused his words and Freddie would not have believed the voice belonged to the Duke of Plimpton if she didn’t currently have his arms around her and his lips on her skin.
When he nibbled her jaw, Freddie tilted her head so he could reach her throat, shivering as he explored the underside of her chin, a spot she would not have believed to be so sensitive until right then.
He caressed down her back, until his hand was firmly cupping one buttock. Freddie shivered when one of his fingers accidently grazed her cleft. But then it settled in place, as if it belonged there, and she knew it had been no accident.
Emboldened by his wicked exploration, she did some investigating of her own. The body beneath the exquisitely tailored garment was warm and hard and divinely muscular. She privately rejoiced at His Grace’s love of physical pursuits over piquet.
Freddie used both hands to learn the shape of his broad shoulders and muscular back, following the taut line of his body to his narrow waist. She hesitated only a second before allowing her hands to migrate lower and cup his rock-hard buttocks.
His body shook and her hands froze. When she raised her eyes to his she saw from his amused expression that it was silent laughter she had felt.
“Wicked Winifred,” he whispered approvingly, caressing up the curve of her lower back, following the knobs of her spine with one hand while his other hand closed lightly around her throat in a possessive gesture that should have felt threatening but instead made her quiver with desire.
She caught her lower lip, biting back a gasp of delight when he cupped her breast, his thumb lazily circling her nipple while his lips returned to her mouth, his tongue delving deep as his clever hands and fingers flooded her with body with sensation. Pressure built inside her, a hollow aching need to be filled, and Freddie ground her hips against him in wordless demand.
As suddenly as the kisses and caresses had started, they stopped.
Freddie blinked up into eyes that were twin black pools. His lips were no longer a stern slash, but pink and slick and slightly swollen, softening his austere features.
Only when both his hands closed lightly around her waist did Freddie realize that her fingers were still gripping his buttocks, as if to keep him close.
She jerked her hands away as if he had burned her and would have backed away, but his fingers tightened on her waist.
“No.” He gave a slight shake of his head. “Do not run away, Winifred.”
“It was you who—” She broke off, unwilling to utter the rest of the mortifying and reproachful words.
“I did not stop kissing you because I wanted to. I did it to give you an opportunity to consider what will come next.”
His calm words irked her into retorting, “ Me ? What about you? Or do you not require time to consider?”
“No. I already know what I want. I have known for a while.” He did not smirk or gloat, he just observed her with the relaxed, confident gaze of a predator eying its next meal, his thumbs lightly, absently, stroking the sensitive flesh of her abdomen over the thin muslin of her gown.
What was wrong with her that she could find him arousing and infuriating at the same time?
“Tell me what you want, Winifred?”
“I meant what I said this morning, Your Grace. I do not wish to marry.”
He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and then cupped her jaw as he had done earlier, the gesture making her feel cherished, though she had no idea why. “I know,” he said, and then lightly kissed her.
His quiet acceptance confused her. “Then…what does this mean?”
“What would you like it to mean?”
Freddie gave an exasperated huff. “What would you like it to mean?”
“I would like it to mean you will come upstairs to my bedchamber and spend the better part of the night indulging our mutual desires,” he said without hesitation, kissing her again to punctuate his shocking words.
His shocking and appealing words, she amended.
While she gawked up at him in openmouthed stupefaction, he lightly massaged her waist, his eyes flickering over her in an openly hungry way that caused more of the erotic pulsing and swelling that overwhelmed rational thought.
But why did she need to be rational? He knew she did not want marriage, which only left one other possibility. She knew he’d taken ton widows as lovers. Why should she be treated any differently? And he was the one who had made the suggestion, so…
He has conveniently forgotten that he is a gentleman right now, but what will he say after you have consummated your passion? That is when guilt will seep into his thoughts. That is when he will remember that your brother is his best friend. That is when he will decide that to save your honor you must marry.
His hands fell away from her waist and her eyes snapped to his face; his expression was so gentle that she scarcely recognized the haughty, aloof Duke of Plimpton.
“What is it?” she asked, baffled by the sudden change.
He gave a slight shake of his head, brushed the back of his fingers across her jaw, his eyes dark and mysterious. “You are conflicted. You should have all the time you need to make up your mind so that you will not regret anything later. I want you. My mind is made up and will not change. Come to my chambers if yours does.” And then he bowed and strode from the room without another word or glance, leaving Freddie standing there, stewing in her own indecision.