The Duke Meets His Match (The Infamous Somertons #3)(38)

She sucked in a breath at his primitive words. “It isn’t wise.”

He pulled her into his arms. “You’re right. Nothing about us is wise. But tell me that you didn’t dream of my touch last night.” He slid his hand around her neck, his thumb stroking the underside of her jaw. His lips hovered above hers.

Her skin instantly heated and tingled. She could feel the warmth of his lean body and smell the richly masculine scent of his skin. She did want more, craved it with every cell in her body. Yet she was highly conscious they were in the hall of the orphanage. Mrs. Porter or Mr. Whitleson could come upon them at any time. “I did dream of it,” she breathed.

“Then say the word, sweet Chloe. And we’ll both have what we crave. I’ll protect your privacy. Say yes.” His lips grazed her throat, and his tongue traced the wildly throbbing pulse at her neck. Her senses spun, and her breasts strained against the fabric of her chemise. Just knowing he still desired her even after they’d already been together was an aphrodisiac. Each moment that passed, she fell deeper under his spell.

Madness.

She struggled to keep hold of the fragments of her control. She shook her head. “I cannot risk an unwanted child.”

“There are ways to prevent an unwanted pregnancy. Trust me.”

Trust him.

He’d possessed the wherewithal and control to withdraw from her body when they’d been together. She hadn’t even thought of it at the time—she’d been consumed by lust. Neither had he revealed her past to her sisters or their husbands. She would most certainly have heard from her family if he had. And as far as she knew, he hadn’t whispered a word to the gentlemen at his clubs, or to the patronesses of Almack’s, or the influential ladies of the ton at their balls. Such scandalous gossip would have reached Huntingdon or her sisters. Never in her wildest dreams did she think she’d trust the Duke of Cameron. But somewhere along the way, she had grown to trust him.

She could no longer deny the truth to herself. She wanted this man. Desperately.

But she also wanted the security of a wedding ring.

He lightly nipped her ear, and a shiver of delight coursed down her spine. “Come home with me. Let me pleasure you the way I long to.” His voice was raspy with need.

She couldn’t risk everything. The path toward complete social ruin was too harsh a reality. She’d never be able to marry a man with a title or money. She’d be left a victim. Just like her father had left her. The thought had the same effect as if a bucket of ice water were dumped over her head.

She pushed against his hard chest. “No. I cannot. You claim that you don’t want to marry, but I do. I want more.”

He released her and stepped back. “You’re right. You deserve more. But it’s not something I can offer.”





Chapter Fifteen


Michael escorted Chloe outside the orphanage. His crested carriage and matching bays waited along with the hackney she’d hired. He wanted to send the hackney away, carry her into his carriage, and press her back against the cushioned seats and kiss and lick every inch of her satiny skin.

She was right to reject his offer. She deserved to be properly courted with flowers and chocolates and leisurely rides in Hyde Park. She deserved a wedding ring. If only he could offer her those things.

“I can drive you home and drop you off at the corner. No one will see,” he said, his voice hoarse to his own ears.

She shook her head. “We both know that being in close quarters is not a good idea.”

He nodded. “As you wish.”

He’d learned more about her today. She’d taken an ill child under her wing. It was clear she cared deeply for Emily, and he wondered what would happen to Chloe if the child passed away. He knew better than anyone that life could be cruel. He’d give anything to have his best friend back. He’d also happily give up the dukedom to have his brother and father return.

Chloe had learned the harsh lessons of reality early. Her father was a criminal art forger, a man who’d fleeced many members of the ton. Like her parent, she’d also been a thief, but Michael was hard-pressed to think of her as a criminal. She hadn’t stolen for profit or selfishness or to line her pockets at the expense of others. Rather, she’d carried the burden of guilt, as if her illness was her fault and she was a financial drain on her sisters—a drain she felt the need to remedy by the only means available to her.

He could no longer compare her to her father. He hadn’t lied when he’d told her he admired her loyalty to her sisters and her resourcefulness. Yes, she’d picked pockets of those who had more than enough, but what were her choices? London was full of poor and needy. A young woman with Chloe’s beauty would have few choices to earn money other than in the many seedy brothels that populated the city streets. The thought of her falling victim to a cruel, flesh peddler made his fists clench at his sides.

Waving away her driver, Michael opened her door and helped her step into the conveyance.

She turned to look at him. “Thank you again for sitting with Emily. I guarantee she will be retelling your story of the dragon and the prince to anyone who will listen.”

“It was my pleasure. I look forward to telling her more stories.”

Soft pink lips curled in a smile. Leaning forward in her seat, she brushed those lips across his cheek. “Good-bye, Your Grace.”