Page 35 of The Scottish Duke's Deal

And the worst part—the part that made her want to scream and laugh and curl into herself—was that her body didn’t recoil. It warmed. Deeply. Shamefully.

She looked at him, heart hammering.

“That’s bold of you,” she whispered.

Ramsay didn’t flinch. In fact, her words seemed to please him. Slowly, he stepped even closer, and this time, Eleanor’s back found the wall as she staggered backwards.

The cool paneling met her spine as heat surged through her. They were touching now. His chest skimmed hers with every breath. Her skirts brushed his legs. And his hands, braced on either side of her face, caged her without cruelty but completely.

The world outside the room dimmed. The laughter and violins, the rustling silk and murmurs of judgment, all fell away. There was only the silence, taut and electric, and the two of them in it.

“You understand what I mean,” he murmured.

She could smell him—warm skin and leather, the faint tang of salt and something darker. There was heat to it, male and elemental, a scent that had clung to him since the ship and now wrapped around her like a second skin. She had never known a man to smell like that. Like sin.

He tilted his head, voice dark and dry. “We are to share a bed, Eleanor. Produce an heir. That is what marriage entails in case no one has told you.”

Her breath caught. Her throat tightened, words momentarily lodged there, but then she found herself again. She shoved her hands firmly against his chest, halting his approach. “I understood the first time.”

He smiled then, but there was no warmth in it. Only danger, sharp as a blade and just as thrilling. It was the kind of smile that warned and promised all at once.

“There it is,” he said. “That spirit of yours. That sharp little tongue. That’s what I like best about you.”

Her pulse roared in her ears. She felt his nearness like a tide. It wasn’t just heat. It was gravity. Her hands slowly sliding down and away from his chest.

Still, she held his gaze. And then, with a breath that felt like breaking glass, she extended her hand between them.

“We have a deal.”

He took her hand but didn’t shake it. Instead, he turned it palm up and traced the edge of it with his thumb, as if he meant to memorize the lines. Her knees nearly buckled. Her breath shivered.

“A deal,” he echoed. “Then let me give you your first lesson as a half-Scot’s future duchess. Leave the stiff English sentiments behind. You won’t need them where we’re going.”

“Is that so?” she murmured, trying to sound flippant. But her voice betrayed her, just slightly. There was breathlessness in it.

“You’ve already begun,” he said. “Look at you. Letting me close. Speaking your terms. Taking mine.”

She tried to break the spell. She had to, or it would swallow her whole.

“Is that all?” she asked, chin lifting.

Ramsay’s eyes glittered, a darker gleam now.

“After our first month, I’m no longer bound to remain in London.”

That did it.

Her brows arched. “What man leaves his wife to manage his house and ward alone?”

He didn’t answer with words.

His hand moved to her face. Fingers firm, he tilted her chin upward. Not roughly but with that same commanding steadiness that ran through everything he did. His gaze fell to her mouth then lingered.

“I’ll show you what a man can do,” he said.

And then he kissed her.

It was not tentative. It was not polite. It was not patient.