The Duke Meets His Match (The Infamous Somertons #3)(15)

She started at the familiar masculine voice and turned to see Cameron step onto the stone path.





Chapter Six


“Why trouble yourself to find me?” Chloe said.

The duke walked forward, all lean muscle and power. “We have unfinished business.”

“Do we? I thought everything had been said.”

“Not quite.”

She stood and faced him squarely. “I came to your home and explained that I am a different person than I was in my youth, but you chose not to believe me. You threatened me to stay away, and when that didn’t work, you tried to bribe me.”

“And when that didn’t work, I kissed you,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

She felt an unwelcome surge of excitement. Her memories of the kiss were pure and clear. “I’d rather not talk about that.”

“Why? I can’t seem to forget about it.”

Goodness. She’d felt the same, but she would never admit it.

“Why Henry?” he asked.

Was he serious? Because Henry was young, handsome, kind, titled, and would make a splendid choice for any debutante this Season. Why should she be any different?

At her silence, his expression hardened.

“From what I saw, you already have another suitor. Fairchild’s heir. You can choose him over Henry.”

Was he jealous? The thought should make her turn and flee the gardens like a woman chased by footpads. Instead, it made her skin tighten. “I don’t do well with orders.”

“That’s a shame, because I’m used to having my commands followed.”

She raised her chin and eyed him defiantly. “By men. I’m a woman if you haven’t noticed.”

His gaze raked down her body, then returned to capture her eyes. “Oh, I’ve noticed.”

She flushed as an alarming heat traveled through her limbs. Clearing her throat, she struggled to maintain even ground with him. “That’s not what I meant…and you know it, Your Grace.”

“Don’t call me that. My name is Michael.”

Her pulse skittered. “Why on earth would I use your Christian name?” It was entirely improper, scandalously so. But then, nothing about their relationship was proper.

“I’m new to the title. It belongs to my father and brother.”

She knew about the tragic carriage accident that had killed his father and brother and left him with a dukedom. Was he devastated to come back unscathed from war only to learn his remaining family wasn’t there to welcome him home?

Or maybe he wasn’t unscathed. She recalled the strange episode at Bullock’s Museum outside the room that housed Napoleon’s carriage. He hadn’t seemed well…but rather injured in mind, not body. It had struck her as strange behavior for such a dominant and powerful man.

Michael. The name suited him. Not “Your Grace” or “duke” or “Cameron,” but simply Michael.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and she bit her lower lip.

“You shouldn’t do that. It makes me want to kiss you again.”

She fought the pull. He was bad for her, and heaven knew, she had been bad enough in her past. She refused to ruin her future. “You are just saying that to distract me, to ruin my chances with Henry.”

“I should be, but I mean every word.” Reaching out, he trailed a finger down her cheek and then across her bottom lip. She was shocked by the simple touch, gentle and mesmerizing. How could a man with calloused fingers hardened by battle be so gentle?

“I’ve wanted to touch you all through the conservatory tour,” he said. “And here…now…I finally have you alone.”

Chloe’s eyes widened at his bold words. She opened her mouth to protest, and he dipped his head and pressed his mouth to hers.

Oh God.

He made no move to embrace her. Only his lips touched hers. She was free to step back and end this madness. But she couldn’t move, couldn’t push him away. The press of his lips was a delicious sensation.

“Do you feel the spark between us?” he murmured huskily. Moving his head back and forth, he brushed her lips with his. Gentle…ever so maddeningly gentle. She fought the urge to lean into the kiss. Her fingers clenched into her fists, her nails digging into her palms rather than running up his arms to grasp his broad shoulders.

“Ah, you do.”

Her response was a whimper. This time, when he claimed her mouth, her lips parted on a sigh. He deepened the kiss and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist. The hardness of his chest against her curves was shocking and arousing at once. A frisson of excitement seared through her. Her fists unfurled at his sides and her fingers slid up his arms to delve in his hair. The strands were soft and enticing, in contrast to the hardness of his body. His tongue traced the soft fullness of her lips, warm and sweet.

She sighed. For his cold, battle-hardened appearance, his kisses were as tender and light as a summer breeze. Warm and arousing at once. She should fear him. She should fear for her virtue, her reputation, her very existence in society. But she didn’t. Instead, she feared the rapid beat of her pulse at his nearness. The raw hunger in his eyes. The intense physical awareness of each other. The tremor inside her that heated her thighs and groin.

Drugged by his clean and manly scent, she kissed him back, her tongue tangling with his. He groaned and sucked her full bottom lip into his mouth like a ripe berry.