Page 44 of The Scarred Duke's Bride

He looked at her pursed lips and flashing eyes and smiled. “Question.”

She huffed, “Fine. How would you have liked to be kissed?”

“Well, since you ask, I would have wanted to feel your emotion, passion, eagerness, need, hunger. I wanted your tongue in my mouth. I wanted you to cup my face with your hands and hold it tight while you plundered my mouth.”

Freya shivered from head to toe. “Show me,” she rasped.

He held up a forbidding finger. “Uh-uh, only one turn at a time.”

She growled in frustration. “Fine, your turn.”

“Question or dare?”

“Question.”

“Fine. Why did you want me to show you how I want to be kissed?”

Freya frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly that? Why do you want to know what I like in a kiss?”

Freya was stymied. She had no idea why she wanted to know…she just did. She shrugged. “You poo-pooed my efforts. I wanted to know what you expected.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know! Because,” she said irritably.

He smiled and nodded. “Very well, your turn. But first, let me pour us more drinks.”

They moved on to other subjects from favorite childhood foods to the worst ball they’d ever attended. Freya found that she was rather enjoying herself. She had to admit that Eric was an interesting man to be around — intriguing as well as insightful. He kept her on her toes right up until she was too drunk to care.

They moved to the sofa where they sat looking into the fire that Eric lit. “What shall we do about Papa?” Freya asked after a few minutes of maudlin reflection.

“Nothing. I will not force you to do anything with me. Don’t worry,” Eric said passionately.

Freya bit her lip. She was not sure it would be a hardship to lie to Eric, but he seemed so sure, she did not want to correct him. In any case, he was likely to take it as pity. She turned, looking directly at his scar. She reached up and ran a hand along it. “Tell me what happened,” she whispered.

He sighed long and hard before looking her in the eye. “Why?”

“Because it affects you so. I want to know what happened. Is it true you were fighting pirates?”

He huffed in amusement. “Sadly, no. It was just the French. We disembarked at Marseille to take on water and food. It was pitch black in the middle of the night. Our man had brought barrels for us to pick up and disappear before anyone noticed. Unfortunately, the French knew of our rendezvous. They were waiting for us. There was a fight. A bayonet got me.”

She gasped. “A bayonet? That must have been dangerous.” She put a hand on his arm where the scar ended. “You could have bled to death.”

“Yes, I might have. What saved me was an old lady who cauterized my wound closed.”

Freya winced. “That must have hurt.”

He laughed. “The pain was unimaginable.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No need. I am healed now.”

She sat up and looked at him. “Are you really? You still seem quite unhappy about them.”

His lips twisted. “Most of the time, I forget they are there until I see someone look at me with disgust.” He turned his head to look into her eyes.