My Last Duchess, стр. 10

The kiss didn’t end. She and Peter had kissed each other; of course they had. But not like this. Peter had never devouredher, never kissed her as if time had stopped. The duke’s kiss was a decadent kiss, unhurried, hungry, sensual.

Her heart began thudding in her chest, and under her fingers, the duke’s heart was thudding too. She had the sense they couldkiss all night and he wouldn’t complain.

This was a get-to-know-you kiss, which was such a disgraceful thought that Ophelia shook off the erotic haze that had luredher into kissing him back and started to draw away.

“Please?” he asked. His voice rumbled from his chest, soft and dark. His hands shaped her waist and slid up her back. Hishands were so large that it felt as if they covered her like a blanket.

Ophelia lost her breath again. She opened her lips and fell back into their kiss, letting it melt her, letting feelings thatshe’d forgotten unfurl in her body, touching her here and there with fire.

Her breasts woke up, as if she were still nursing. She wrenched her mind away from that thought. It wasn’t just her breasts.Her skin was prickling to life all over, her neck, her legs, her . . .

Everything.

She didn’t even think about what came next, not that there was a “next,” obviously. There was just this kiss, a kiss witha stranger, that was somehow ravenous and affectionate.

That thought shocked her and she pulled away again, sharply.

He let her go instantly, his hands falling away and leaving her back cool and uncaressed. She met his gaze and saw the samesurprise in his eyes that she felt. But there was a faint smugness as well.

Confidence.

He thought he had her, because he was so good at kissing. As well he should be, given the number of wives he’d had.

Ophelia took a deep breath. “That was pleasant,” she said, willing her cheeks to stop burning.

“I found it so,” His Grace said amiably.

The smile playing on his lips made her want to scowl at him, but that would be too revealing. “If you would please take yourleave—”

As the words left her mouth, she realized that her carriage was swaying back and forth, presumably on its way to her house.

“Your coachman couldn’t block the street, so when I didn’t leave the carriage immediately, he set out.”

Ophelia did scowl. “Don’t read my thoughts. I don’t like it.”

The duke’s laugh was husky, joyful in a masculine way.

“When we reach my house, Bisquet can return you to the ball,” Ophelia said, noticing that the duke had a dimple. A dimple!In that strong face it was like a private jest.

He was so much a duke. It was easy to imagine him bowing before the king in snowy stockings and a powdered wig. She could picture him addressingthe House of Lords, or stepping out of his ornate carriage, or doing other ducal things.

But a little dimple? A husky chuckle? Dukes weren’t supposed to have those—nor the mischievous look in his eyes. Not thateither.

They weren’t supposed to kneel before plump widows of no particular status. The notion made her feel suddenly vulnerable.It was so tempting to imagine throwing away the propriety, the rules, that had governed her entire life.

No.

Viola’s reputation was tied to her own. She couldn’t have an affaire with a duke no matter how alluring his kisses, and she didn’t wish to marry him. Time to get rid of him.

“It’s been very nice to talk to you,” she said, “but there is nowhere . . .” She stumbled to a halt. “I do not wish to knowyou further.”

“Not at all?”

She couldn’t read his eyes, but that couldn’t have been a flash of vulnerability—could it?

Or was it certainty: that’s what she saw most clearly. A kind of deep, knowing certainty shining from his eyes. As if he knewsomething about her that she didn’t.

“No,” she said sharply. “My life is very pleasant. I do not wish to be a duchess. I certainly do not wish to mother six morechildren.”

“Eight.”

“Eight!” She felt indignation rising up her spine. “No one should have so many children.”

He cocked his head. “The world does seem too small for the number of the bawling, squalling Wildes I have dropped into it.I apologize.”

“You should not marry again,” she said, less severely. “What if you had even more?”

The lines of his face were sharp, almost fierce, and yet they softened into a smile and that dimple appeared again. “I toldmy twin sister as much.”

Ophelia stared at him in fascination. “You have a sister?” It was hard to imagine a female version of him.

He nodded. “Louisa.”

The carriage was silent except for the rising whine of wind. As if gravel was thrown at the glass, a flurry of snow hit thewindows.

He pulled back a flap of her silk curtains. “That came on fast.”

“Has it turned into a snowstorm?” Ophelia frowned and plucked open the curtain at her side. In the light cast by the torchesattached to the sides of her carriage, snow swirled thick and glossy. The fairy tale–like fluff that she had glimpsed overthe duke’s shoulder when he first joined her had turned into a howling dervish. The carriage was progressing at a crawl.

“Bisquet was concerned about snow,” she confessed. “I don’t live far from Lady Gryffyn’s house, though, just on the otherside of Hyde Park.”

“In my experience, coachmen generally favor staying tucked up in a warm stable feeding their horses hot mash and themselvesa hot toddy.” The duke dropped the curtain.

Outside, the sudden storm battered the carriage, and Ophelia knew that if he hadn’t been there, she would have felt risinganxiety, if not pure terror. How would she get home to Viola? What if the carriage overturned?

Instead she felt rosy, hot, and unsure after their kisses. Her stomach clenched, wanting more—more kisses, more caresses,more. That unusual sensation, put together with a wave of anxiety due to the quick-rising storm, made her uncertain and off balance.

The duke looked utterly calm. It was only when she met his eyes that she saw emotion there, and