Page 8 of The One With the Scoundrel of a Duke (Wicked Widows’ League #31)

I T WAS A STRANGE thing to consider the power of touch. The power of a dance. The power of music and connection.

Carnal pleasure was nothing compared to this moment of simply holding her in his arms. As if she fit.

As if she were made for his hands to be around her, holding her, guiding her, letting her shine for all the world to see.

Except he was jealous of all the world looking on.

Jealous? Perhaps. He wanted this light for himself.

This light. Her light. Her. This was an entirely different power surging through his hand.

It jolted from his hand, up his arm, down his shoulders, pranced down his spine, and finally teased the edges of his toes.

And this was just from leading her onto the dance floor and taking their positions.

Of course he had asked her to dance the waltz with him, and of course that had kept them close.

And if anything, proximity made the heart grow fonder.

In this case, it seemed to be affecting some other parts of him as well, which was a bit disorienting for Lucas.

For the first part of the dance he had to count the steps in his head, which he hadn’t had to do since his youth.

Since his youth had not been among the happiest times in his life (not even close), he quickly wanted to veer himself away from those memories.

So instead of counting the steps, he studied the woman before him.

How the soft glow of candlelight lit her face, but left some shadows, almost as if accepting their fate, the shadows danced under her eye and along one of her cheeks.

She was indescribable. Why couldn’t he put it into words?

Were there no words? Had he just misplaced them?

Or did he not trust himself to label them?

For all the women that Lucas had been with in his lifetime, he never had the sensation that deep in his soul there was some rope tied to whatever made his soul pulse, breathe, exist and that that rope was tied to something else.

That there might be something on the end of the other end of that rope that, if disconnected, might affect his own soul.

Might damage it. Might prevent its next pusle, breath, or very existence.

The thought was downright ridiculous. He was his own man.

His own person. He needed no one else to survive and find his way in life.

That wasn’t entirely true. He needed other things and people to survive, as in, take a breath, eat food, but what he didn’t need other people for was to have purpose and have a place in this life.

No needing…

He wasn’t that dependent. He never wanted to need anyone. Growing up an orphan reinforced in his mind his utter reliance on himself. When he had the man of business issues of his estate settled, and only after which, would he even consider settling down and working on his heir.

All the same, those thoughts felt weak and muddled in his mind as he held Audra in his hands.

Pure grace. Softness. Pliance. And he only wanted more. Privately.

This was his chance to see what she was looking for as a widow. But just as he was about to open his mouth and charm her, the only thing he could think to say was, “The room I’m staying in is quite comfortable. As is the bed. I’m looking forward to the house party that follows this wedding.”

Her quirked brow told him that she wasn’t sure why he was telling her that fact.

And, truth be told, even though he knew why he was telling her that, he had to admit that it was probably one of his least charming attempts at flirtation.

In fact, it ranked right up there with lines such as, What are you doing later tonight?

and You look good, but you’d look better on my bed.

And really, he could only hope it was mildly better than Do you want to meet in my room later to have sex with me?

For God’s sake, had he really just opened the discussion on his room? He needed to corral his thoughts before any more pigs got loose and rolled around in the mud.

But another beat passed before he heard, “That’s nice.” Unable to read the tone in her voice, he studied her eyes. Was she smirking? Amused? Curious? Disgusted? He couldn’t tell. But he was in it already, and he wanted his intentions—as salacious as they were—known.

“You can visit me anytime.”

When her eyes widened he caught the flicker of curiosity.

“What does your hum mean?”

“It means I’ll think about it, but since I know every room in my family home, I doubt my curiosity in your comforts will win out.”

On the next step of the waltz, he twirled her.

Maybe he needed the space to inhale a deep breath.

Maybe he wanted to take a second to admire her form.

Maybe both. Not a fraction of the way into the twirl and he caught a glimpse of her smile.

A rush of warmth flooded him, like the sun’s rays.

Like warm pudding after dinner. Like a cozy fire on a cold winter night.

“But I do wonder if the comforts of your room would match the comforts of the new meditation cabins Phyllis has set up.”

“Meditation cabins?”

“Yes. For people seeking a reprieve.”

“Reprieve from what?”

“Life?” Audra shrugged. “Anything really. It’s a place for people to get away and restore themselves.”

“That sounds like quite the place. I should pay them a visit.”

“Whenever you like, you may visit.” Her tone conveyed nonchalance, but he also caught a glimmer of a smile. Perhaps one of appreciation.

Meditation cabins? That sounded very interesting.

He also thought it was interesting that she hadn’t said no to him when he offered her his own comforts.

He could have been facing outright rejection.

Instead, he was merely facing a likely not.

And having very little experience with likely nots he couldn’t precisely pinpoint his own internal reaction to it.

But if he had to define it, he would say he really didn’t mind it… coming from her.

Then when he caught her back in his arms, he knew his next move—or rather moves.

She was a cautious widow, but she wasn’t completely closed off to the idea.

He would have to woo her. Charm her. Show her his interest and commitment.

To the challenge and to bedding her, not commitment to her for a lifetime.

Nothing so permanent. Just committed to here and now.

Surely if mentioning the comforts of his room and bed were enough to not sever her interest, he could do better next time with more preparation.

He had years of experience. Knew all the lines, all the moves, all the small gestures that could get a woman to open up and trust him.

Just enough. And of course, he had his own rules about how to win a woman, along with what kind of woman to win.

At the forefront of which was that she had to be willing.

If she wanted him, then he knew he could make her happy.

And her happiness was a priority. After catching her smile, witnessing her boldness with her singing toast, and her loyalty in being the decoy at her sister’s wedding, he wanted—almost with desperation—to know what else made her happy.

What would put a smile on her face? What would make her delirious with pleasure?

What would make her say yes to him? And not just once, but over and over again.