By Way Of A Wager
Page 22
The duke’s eyes softened as he placed his arm around her waist and drew her closer. “He may have my whole cellar, for all I care! He deserves it! He brought you back to me.”
His mouth was very close to hers, and Cassandra could feel her senses reeling. The duke’s tone was as tender as silk, and his firm mouth looked tantalizing. She felt her body stiffen with a strange, unfamiliar but quite delightful sensation and she moved yet closer, her eyes closing almost by themselves.
“Forgive me for being such a toplofty old gudgeon?”
She nodded, her mouth offering a most tempting reply.
The duke moved closer still, and the tension was unbearable yet piquantly exciting. His fingers lightly caressed her bodice, and she felt on fire. He played with her laces, and the thought never once crossed her mind that she should slap him, as she had on that first day. Instead, she wantonly moved closer, her cheeks flushed and yielding.
“I have something for you!”
“What can it be?” His Grace looked surprised, but continued playing with the tips of her emerald ribbons. They were of the softest satin and deliciously frivolous. She ducked out of reach, however, and removed one of the dainty lime gloves she had affected for the trip. She shook it out, but with no evident success. Undaunted, she squinted deep inside and removed her other glove so that her fingers were free to explore.
With a satisfied dimple she found what she was seeking and placed it in the palm of His Grace’s elegantly jeweled hand. He turned it over in puzzlement. Then a gratifyingly slow smile spread over his face as comprehension dawned.
“Vixen! Do you say you have kept this all the time?”
She nodded. “In my ribbon drawer. Hidden among a wealth of baubles and childish treasures. You can have no notion of how many times I have looked at it!”
“Has it brought you any of the good luck I promised, my sweet?” There was a gleam in the duke’s eye as he pocketed his penny. Cassandra found she could only nod, though for some strange reason, her heart was beating far quicker than it strictly ought to have. The duke cursed under his breath, afflicted in the same curious manner. Then in a sudden unexpected movement, he lifted her chin so that he was looking deep into her dark, midnight eyes. It would fascinate him always how the vivid blue mirrored her every mood.
He murmured something, and for a moment she did not understand. His whisper was tickling her ear far too outrageously to concentrate. Then light dawned. Her lips formed a curvaceous, sultry, “Oh.”
The earl waited patiently as his lady love emitted her characteristic, thoroughly beloved gurgle of laughter.
“Yes,” she said. “Oh, yes, my dear lord! Cherry ripe themselves do cry.”
The earl silently thanked the poet Herrick before setting aside all literary concerns and kissing Miss Cassandra Beaumaris so thoroughly that she could quote no more. Miss Beaumaris, it must be reported, did not appear to mind in the least. Rather, she curled her arms about the duke and returned his favor in kind.
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