A different tactic occurred to him just then. He moved toward her with slow deliberation, stopping only when he was near enough to catch a whiff of violets. “That wasn’t my intention.”
Her eyes widened ever so slightly, her cheeks turning the pale pink of a rose in bloom. “It wasn’t?”
He shook his head. “No.”
Tia licked her lips, staring at him. “Why in heaven’s name are you standing so near to me?”
“What’s the matter, darling?” He reached for her hand, running his fingers over her smooth skin, stopping only when he reached her wrist. Her pulse beat steady and swift. “Don’t you trust yourself?”
She flinched away from him, giving him his answer more surely than any words could. “You’re certainly familiar for a man who isn’t intending to propose marriage. If it’s a mistress you’re after, you can stubble it just the same. I’ll not be a kept woman.”
In truth, he’d never thought of making Tia his mistress. Why would he want her temporarily when he could have her forever? Twice with her hadn’t been enough. He very much doubted that forever would be.
“That wasn’t my intention either,” he told her. He could read the confusion in her pretty eyes. Good. He liked having her thrown off balance. It gave him the upper hand, a position he needed when it came to her.
“Then what was?” she asked, her voice hesitant.
At the moment, all he truly wanted to do was kiss her. Kiss her senseless. Kiss her until her rapier wit was dulled by desire. He planted a hand on her cinched waist and pulled her flush against his chest. “Simply this.”
Before she could protest, his mouth was on hers. She sighed and melted against him, not even bothering to fight it. When she opened for him, he deepened the kiss. His cock went instantly hard, and if he’d had any lingering doubt that marrying the woman in his arms was the right thing to do, they were banished in that instant. She was his. And he was going to show her precisely that.
He kissed her with all the passion raging through him, so thoroughly that by the time he broke away, he felt as dazed as Tia looked. Her delectable mouth was swollen and berry-red. Her eyes glistened. A handful of her curls had come undone. Save for the fact that she remained buttoned up as a temperance spinster, she appeared utterly debauched and utterly delicious. Oh, yes. She was his, damn it.
“Christ, Tia,” he said, his breathing as ragged as hers. “When we’re wed, I’m going to keep you in the bedchamber for a fortnight.”
His words seemed to return her to the present. She blinked, raising a hand to her mouth. “When we’re wed? You just said you had no intention of offering for me.”
“I said I had no intention of offering for you out of…what was it you called it?” He stopped to capture her precise phrasing. “Ah yes, my misplaced notion of being a gentleman.”
She frowned at him once more. “I confess, I’m quite confused.”
He kissed her again, just to erase that frown. “I’m offering for you because I want you.”
“I’m not your first lover,” she said. “That’s rather apparent. Why would you choose me for any reason other than necessity? You seek to avoid scandal, and that is all.”
“No.” Of course, that had been his initial motivation. But he’d had time to think upon it as he awaited her over the course of the last day. He knew that he would never find a more perfect wife than Tia. She was everything he’d never thought he’d wanted. And yet, he couldn’t resist her, didn’t wish to. “I seek a woman who drives me wild with desire, a woman who isn’t afraid to be passionate in my bed, a woman who is beautiful and maddening and in need of a man who knows how to give her pleasure.”
She was quiet, considering him with a searching gaze that he had the distinct impression saw more than he would have preferred. “You speak of desire but not of love.”
Ah. She hadn’t struck him as a sentimental female. He didn’t honestly believe he could ever love again. Losing Bess had cured him of that ailment. Love was for fools and the incurably young. “I won’t insult you by claiming to be hopelessly in love with you in such a short amount of time. But I do believe that we can build a mutual affection for each other.”
“I can’t claim to be impressed by either love or marriage,” she said, surprising him again. “I was in love once, and I was hopelessly disappointed. When I married, it wasn’t for love, and I was hopelessly disappointed then as well. Tell me, why should I give up my independence now when I know I’m bound to be disappointed either way?”
The lady had a point. She could continue flitting about society as she pleased, taking lovers as she pleased, attending parties and commissioning dresses. But he had a feeling that eventually she’d find that life just as disappointing. She wasn’t meant to be alone, and neither was he. Maybe in each other, they’d found the perfect match.
“I can’t speak for your past,” he said honestly. “But I can promise you that I will do my utmost not to disappoint you as your husband. I’ve also spoken with the marquis regarding your personal funds. They shall remain yours to dispense with as you please even after we wed.”
She looked away from him, lowering her gaze to study the intricate pattern on the rug at their feet. “I don’t wish to be married to simply avoid a scandal. I’m made of stern stuff. I daresay I could weather any scandal that came my way.”
“While the potential for scandal precipitated the situation in which we now find ourselves, I wish to marry you for another reason entirely. And it makes no sense for you to attempt to weather a scandal on your own when I’ve done my fair share to help create it.” He reached out then and tipped up her chin, unable to keep from touching her again. She was too damn tempting. Too beautiful.
“I couldn’t bear to be the object of your pity,” she said quietly, her eyes back upon his.
“I don’t pity you, Tia,” he reassured her, taking her mouth in another long, sweet kiss. “I want you.” He trapped her hand in his and lowered it to his trousers and his rigid cock. “Feel how much.”
“Want can dissipate,” she whispered.
“Or it can grow stronger,” he countered. “Even a fool would know that what we share is rare indeed.”
She caught her lip in her teeth, looking conflicted. “Your Grace, you should be marrying a sweet, innocent girl. Someone like Miss Whitney.”
Bloody hell, she was stubborn. “I don’t want Miss Whitney, and the evidence of that lies beneath your hand, my dear.”
She flushed and snatched her hand away. “To think I once thought you proper and dull.”
She’d thought him dull? He supposed he ought to be offended, but he couldn’t blame her. He’d cultivated his reputation. He’d been careful to throw himself into restoring his estate and forget about painting and the creative force that had once ruled him. But he hadn’t been completely able to stifle the passion in his soul, a passion Tia had wakened into a blazing fire.
“Marry me, Tia,” he said simply, half question, half ducal decree. He couldn’t help it. She would marry him, one way or another. There would be the easy way or the hard way. He hoped she would choose the former rather than the latter.
“I shall think on it,” she informed him as regally as Queen Victoria herself before turning on her heel and giving him her back.
Damn it to hell. She was quitting the room as abruptly as she had appeared—a feat, given her limp—not even allowing him the last word. He watched her leave, not bothering to stop her. She’d think on it? The saucy woman. It would seem she’d chosen the hard way after all.
“I hope we can make a happy announcement at dinner this evening.”
Tia stared at her sister, thinking the grit in her voice belied the outward pleasantness of her words. Cleo wasn’t merely telling her she hoped there would be an announcement of her impending nuptials to Devonshire. She was telling her there would be. Or else.
How to broach the topic in a politic way and tell her sister that she’d just turned tail and run like a spooked horse, le
aving the duke without an answer in the yellow drawing room? She was seated on a Louis Quinze settee in her chamber, her throbbing ankle propped on a pillow, rendering her quite trapped. She didn’t like being a captive audience, especially not when her sister was in high dudgeon.
“Precisely what sort of announcement were you hoping to make?” she asked, hedging. “That you’ve decided to cancel the fish course?”
“That you’re marrying the duke, you dreadful thing.” Cleo’s frown was most ferocious.
“If I told you that you rather resemble Thornton’s mother at the moment, would you attempt to do me harm?” Tia blinked in feigned innocence. Actually, irritating her elder sister was an entertaining and much-needed distraction from the troublesome thoughts plaguing her. And she knew that her sister and the dowager marchioness blended as well as tea and parsnips. Which was to say not at all.
“I should give you a sound drubbing,” Cleo threatened with enough force to suggest she was deadly serious.
“And here I thought our sisterly hair-pulling days were over,” she teased.
Cleo crossed her arms over her chest, affecting a posture that was at once forbidding and motherly. “I’m not in the mood for levity, Hypatia. I’m in the mood to hear that my minx of a sister has finally conceded to reason and will put an end to the scandal she’s threatened to bring down on all our heads.”
Tia winced. “You know I detest being called by my full name.”
“Tell me that you’ve accepted the duke’s proposal,” Cleo demanded, ignoring her.
“I’m afraid I cannot.”
“I’m certain I misheard you just now.” Cleo stalked closer to her, within bodily harm-causing range. “You could not have possibly said such a hopelessly dull-witted thing to me.”
“I haven’t accepted Devonshire,” she elaborated.
“A handsome duke wants to wed you. And you’ve told him no?” Cleo’s voice was so high-pitched in her fury that Tia feared for the safety of the windows.
“I didn’t tell him no, precisely.” She eyed her sister warily. “I merely didn’t tell him yes either.”
Cleo threw up her hands, apparently frustrated enough to finally lose her composure. “Why in heaven’s name did you not accept him immediately?”
There was the rub. Tia didn’t know why she hadn’t simply acquiesced and made everyone happy. She’d had some time to think on it, and the prospect of marrying Heath wasn’t at all horrid. Quite the opposite. While they’d only spent a few days together, she couldn’t deny she’d never been drawn to another man in the same elemental way. Not even Denbigh had made her feel such a heady tumult of desire and need, no matter how dangerous or how foolish. She wanted him. Desperately. His kisses in the drawing room had proven that. She’d been all but ready for him to haul up her skirts and bend her over a settee. If he had pressed her, she didn’t know if she’d have been able to resist.
And he’d been painfully honest in his proposal. There had been no careful flattery or honeyed lies. There had only been stark truths. His words came back to her now, taunting her. I seek a woman who drives me wild with desire, a woman who isn’t afraid to be passionate in my bed. For the first time in her life, a man wanted her for who she was, for the flamboyant nature she’d never been able to repress. Denbigh had thrown her over for another for reasons she’d never know. Others had wanted her merely as a bedmate. The duke wanted her as his wife. In his bed.
Marriage to him would not be boring, that much she knew. He’d promised to keep her in the bedchamber for a fortnight when they wed, and she couldn’t say she’d offer much protest.
So why then had she made him wait for her response? She supposed it was because she could. He had seemed so assured of himself, plying her with kisses and standing so near to her that she could smell his delicious masculine scent. Making her helpless in his arms to say anything but yes. The answer he’d wanted to hear had been on the tip of her tongue. But the devil in her had decided to make him wait just a bit more.
“Tia?” Cleo’s voice intruded on her thoughts, bringing her back to the present with a jolt. “Are you going to sit there like a ninny, staring at the wall, or are you going to answer me?”
“I didn’t give him an answer because I wanted to make him wait,” she replied, even though she knew it would only irritate her sister even further. “He seemed so very sure of himself. I took a bit of pleasure in leaving him there, wondering what I shall decide.”
“Blessed angels, Thornton was right. You are the most infuriating female to ever live.” Cleo punctuated her declaration with an unladylike stomp of her foot.
“Thornton said that of me?” She was sure she ought to be insulted, but the urge to laugh overcame her instead so she gave in, tilting her head back and indulging.
“Are you completely mad?” Cleo was staring at her, incredulous. “I find no cause for laughter.”
“Oh, pooh.” Tia waved a dismissive hand. “Pray don’t act as if you’re the soul of propriety yourself. I seem to recall a house party where Thornton was routinely within your chamber. And he was not then your husband.”
Cleo sank down on the settee alongside her with a weary-sounding sigh. “Dearest sister, I’m more than aware that Thornton and I created a scandal of our own. But we’ve done a great deal to repair our reputations. We’ve made things right. You and Devonshire need to do so as well. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other when you think no one is watching. Trust me when I say that, my frustration for you aside, this is a match that was meant to be made.”
Tia considered Cleo’s words for a moment. “Perhaps. But I have much to lose.”
Cleo gave her shoulder a sisterly pat. “But you also have so much to gain if you only allow yourself to take a chance.”
“I dislike chance immensely,” Tia grumbled, fearing she was being won over. “I prefer the absolute to the possible.”
“And I dislike tarrying immensely,” her sister returned. “Go to him, Tia. You know what you must do.”
Tia knew it was the hour that he would have returned to his chamber to dress for dinner. And she knew her way to his chamber by heart. “I shall think on it,” she promised Cleo.
“Excellent.” Cleo rose and settled her silk skirts back into place. “But do be quick about it. You haven’t that much time left before the dinner gong, and as I said, I expect to make a happy announcement.”
Tia certainly hoped it would be a happy one. And that marrying the Duke of Devonshire would be the right decision. If he would still have her, that was.
Heath had just dismissed his valet when a furtive rap on his bedchamber door startled him. He raked a hand through his hair, undoing all the attempts his man had made at setting it to rights. Christ, he hoped it wasn’t Thornton come to deliver a flogging for his failure to acquire a betrothal. But when he stalked across the chamber to see who had knocked, he was pleasantly surprised by the stunningly lovely woman staring at him with big green eyes and a sweet Cupid’s bow of a mouth.
“Tia,” he said, shocked as hell to see her but every bit as delighted. She was dressed for dinner, wearing a red silk gown that showed off her mouthwatering bosom to perfection. Her hair was perfectly coifed, twin diamond stars twinkling at him from their place nestled in her curls instead of the lone star she’d worn earlier. He couldn’t look at her without wanting her.
His cock rose to attention instantly, and he knew the moment her gaze lowered to discover the effect she had upon him. Her nostrils flared ever so slightly. “Devonshire. Let me in, will you? I can’t very well have someone see me standing in the corridor outside your chamber or Cleo shall have my head on a pike.”
He stepped back, gesturing for her to enter. Ever the saucy one, his Tia. He could honestly say he’d never met another woman quite her equal, and he wasn’t certain if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Heath watched her as she cast a glance both ways before gathering up her skirts and hurrying over the threshold. This was certainly an interesting turn of e
vents. He hadn’t expected to see her so soon and not in his bloody chamber of all places. Didn’t she know he couldn’t very well be near her without wanting to strip every inch of fabric off her delicious body and take her until they were both mindless with release?
Damn. He took a deep, calming breath. He couldn’t very well take her to bed again. Not here and not now. If she was to be his wife, he little wanted to cause any more tongues to wag than they already had. He forced himself to think of something that would cure his raging hardness. Lord Trotter’s bulbous nose. Thornton’s fist crashing into his jaw. A pheasant. Anything but how much he wanted to tear open her bodice and suck her pink nipples until she came.
Double damn. Nothing could force his cock to soften or his mind to stop replacing boring thoughts with thoughts of seducing the woman before him. It was a hopeless task.
“Your head is far too pretty to be on a pike,” he quipped, trying to distract himself with dialogue instead.
“Not in my sister’s draconian estimation.” Tia said with a raised brow. “I assure you, she’s quite the virago ever since I was caught without a stitch of clothes on in an abandoned hunting cabin with a wicked duke.”
He found himself grinning at her, probably like the fool that he was. “A wicked duke, was it?”
“Very wicked indeed,” she said, slowly sidling closer to him until her skirts brushed against his trousers. “He came upon me in the woods and ravished me.”
Ravished her, had he? He caught her waist and pulled her against him, unable to resist touching her. “You were completely unwilling?”
She nodded, tilting her head so that her lips were just a breath from his. “Of course.”
The urge to kiss her was strong but he refrained. “Do you know what I think, my lady?”
“No,” she whispered, her gaze lowering to his mouth.
“I think you’re lying,” he told her.
She feathered her lips over his in a delicate, tantalizing kiss. “Perhaps just a bit.”
Heart's Temptation Series Box Set: Books 1-3: A Steamy Historical Romance Collection (Heart's Temptation Box Set) Page 66