Any Duchess Will Do (Spindle Cove #4)(55)
Author: Tessa Dare

Balancing her weight in one arm, he opened the latch, carried her through the entry, and kicked the door shut behind him. After toting her through a sitting room, he dropped her onto a bed.

His bed.

It was an enormous bed—a four-poster of solid mahogany, with velvet hangings on all sides.

She tried to struggle up on her elbows, but her heavy gown worked against her. Before she could make any progress, he had her caged. He knelt over her, straddling her thighs.

Then he framed her face in his strong hands, forbidding her to look anywhere but at him. His eyes were wild and fierce. Her heartbeat slammed against his.

“I am angry, Pauline. I have immense rage for that brigand who dared to touch you. I am furious that you’ve been hurt. And I’m angry with you, yes. For chasing after him, putting yourself at such risk. Do you know what kind of people lurk in those paths and alleyways?”

“I didn’t know what else to do. He took your mother’s—”

“Necklace. What of it? She has dozens.”

“But this is a valuable one. I know she prizes it. That’s why she wanted me to wear it tonight, so . . .”

So you could see me, and look at me as a true lady. So you’d fall in love with me and want me to be your bride. What a laugh.

“You believe I’d value a strand of jewels above your life? I know we’ve had our differences, Simms, but that’s low. You truly think so little of me?”

“I . . . No. I think a great deal of you.”

“I happen to think a great deal of you, too.”

Kind words, but he spoke them so viciously.

“Tomorrow,” he said, “I can buy my mother another necklace. A better one. A half dozen of them if she likes. Jewels can be replaced.”

“So can serving girls.”

“Don’t. Don’t play that game.” His brow pressed to hers. “When I heard you cry out . . . it was like a saber to the gut. I wanted to die.”

I wanted to die.

The words pushed a wave of doubt through her. He couldn’t mean that. Just exaggeration, surely.

“I could have found you broken or bleeding, or—” His voice broke. “Or worse. Don’t tell me I care about polished rocks on a chain. I want to believe you know me better than that.”

“I do.”

“And yet you believe I’d be so upset about a necklace that I’d send you away?”

She gestured uselessly. “You’d just said you didn’t want me at all.”

“I said no such thing. You ran off before I could finish.” He ran a hand down her body. “I said I didn’t need ‘someone.’ Because you’re not just someone to me. You’re remarkable and stubborn and lovely and too damn brave for your own good.” His hand fisted in the fabric of her gown. “You’re you. I want you. From the moment you stumbled through that tavern door, I wanted you.”

She pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling her emotion.

“Don’t.” He pulled her hand from her mouth. “Don’t hide. Don’t ever run from me again.”

He kissed her hungrily, desperately, and she opened herself to his sensual invasion, welcoming his tongue with her own and aching to hold him tight.

With labored breaths of effort, he pulled away. His eyes burned into hers. “If I asked you to stay with me . . .”

“I couldn’t.” Stunned, she went still in his arms. “You know I couldn’t. I must go home to Daniela. I promised her, and you gave us your word.”

“If I offered you a home. A house in the country, with everything you and your sister could ever need.”

“I couldn’t be a kept mistress. Not even yours. I’d lose respect for myself, and for you.”

His gaze clouded. “I can’t marry you.”

“I know.” Sadness pressed down on her heart. “There’s no way this can last beyond week’s end.”

He cupped her face with one hand and stroked his thumb over her cheek. “Well, know this. I am damned well going to make love to you tonight.”

Excitement jolted through her.

Yes.

“Yes, Griff. Please.”

He gathered her skirts, tugging them upward. His fingers curved around her thigh, stroking up and down. “Are you sure you’re well enough? You’re not too bruised or hurting under all this silk?”

His concern for her well-being touched her heart. “I promise. I’m fine.”

“I’ll judge for myself.” He turned her on her belly and began to tug at her hooks and laces. “Off with these things. I’ve been wild to see you naked again.”

Again? “When did you see me naked before?”

“That first night in the library.”

“But . . . I was wearing my shift the whole time.”

“I know.” He pulled the gown down over her hips, then set about untying her petticoats. “But your shift was gloriously thin. When you stepped in front of the lamp, the light shone right through it. I could see everything.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

Pauline didn’t know how to take that. She merely went limp as he unlaced her corset and flung it aside. Then, pulling her to a half-sitting position, he lifted the chemise up and over her head. She flopped back on the bed linens, completely nude except for her stockings.

He sat up and began to remove his own clothing. Waistcoat, cravat, shirt. She watched him as he stripped off layer after layer of elegance, down to the man beneath it all.

“Cor,” she breathed.

He was perfect. Broad in the shoulders, lean at the waist. Muscled everywhere. A sprinkling of dark hair on his chest.

He turned away, sitting on the edge of the bed to remove his boots and unbutton his breeches, giving her ample time to admire the sculpted planes of his bared back.

“There,” he said, tossing the last bit of clothing aside.

He stretched out beside her, and she suddenly felt abashed. He was so perfect, everywhere. The ideal form of a man. And she wasn’t the ideal form of woman. Not at all.

For the first time, she felt truly unequal to him.

His gaze swept her body first, but his caress soon followed suit. He cupped her breast in his hand. She began to hope, foolishly, that he might say he liked what he saw. She didn’t need to hear “Beautiful” or “Lovely” or “Perfect.” Something like his terse “Good” earlier that evening would do.

When his thumb found her hardened nipple, he did something much better. He gave a low growl of satisfaction, deep in his throat. The sound was so primal and unambiguous. So utterly male. It called to everything feminine in her, and the response that welled from deep inside was a faint, sighing moan of relief.