The Duke Meets His Match (The Infamous Somertons #3)(52)

“You’re right. I thought I’d mastered the virtue. Until you.” He took another step forward, and her back pressed against the wall. He reached out but didn’t cage her in, rather he caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers—his touch infinitely gentle and seductive. His leg brushed the side of hers, and all her senses heightened. She saw the sharp cheekbones, the indent in his chin that made a woman want to press her lips there. She noticed the fine wool of his evening coat pull taut across his broad shoulders and caught the tantalizing scent of his cologne—sandalwood and cloves—and his unique masculine essence.

“What is it about you, Chloe Somerton?” His voice was a husky whisper, his gaze imprisoning hers.

Her lips curled in a smile. “What is it about you, Your Grace?”

He leaned in, and his lips hovered above hers. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

He pressed closer, and her breasts brushed against his broad chest. Her nipples hardened beneath the fabric of her gown, and her body ached for more of his exquisite touch. His breath heated her cheek, then his lips grazed the sensitive shell of her ear.

His voice was a husky whisper. “If I could toss you over my shoulder and claim you as my own, I would. Right here. Right now.” She could see the torment inside him, the same warring emotions that coursed through her—desire, need, an emotional bond between two similar souls.

Despite her nervousness at being caught alone with him, his medieval, possessive words caused the blood to rush through her veins and heat her thighs and groin.

Goodness.

“I want to kiss you. May I?” he asked simply.

Her control was melting like snow in a hot bath. His hot touch…his seductive words…all served to turn her into a boneless mass of need.

“Say yes…”

In that instant, she forgot about the risk of discovery, forgot that her sisters were a few rooms away. The only person that mattered in the world was the man before her.

“Yes,” she breathed. Kiss me.

At last he complied. Standing on tiptoe, she met his kiss. She welcomed him, parting her lips, and giving herself freely to the passion that raged through her. Her fingers clung to the soft wool of his coat before rising to sink into his thick, dark hair. His tongue met hers, gliding and exploring in a sensual swirl. His lips lowered to sear a path down her neck and throat, then the swell of her breasts above her bodice.

His hips pressed against her, his erection hard and demanding. She vividly remembered what it felt like to have him inside her, stretching her. Love flowed through her, and she wanted him again. Wanted more. Now that he’d shown her the pleasure to be had in his arms, she feared she would never be satisfied.

“Michael,” she breathed.

He lifted her leg to wrap it round him, and she pressed against him in blatant invitation. His warm palm skimmed her calf, up her thigh, then stopped at the top of her garter where the bow ended and the soft skin of her thigh began. His touch made her wild in her skin, and she arched closer. His hand traveled higher, higher until his fingers parted her curls between her legs, and he touched her there. Pleasure rippled through her, and she released a cry that was part moan, part sigh.

“Ah, yes,” he groaned.

He watched her, and desire darkened his eyes to almost black as he took in every gasp and his fingers worked their magic. The need to touch him grew. Reaching down, she cupped him through his trousers. He groaned low in his throat. Savage. Primitive. His fingers continued to stroke her, and she feared sliding down the wall in a pool of lust.

“Chloe,” he rasped against the heated skin at her throat.

Deep in the recesses of her mind, she knew they were treading on dangerous ground. The risks were high. Discovery. Scandal. Ruin. But her inhibitions dissipated beneath the onslaught of his kiss…his touch…this aching need.

“Yes,” she murmured against his skin. “Please don’t stop.”

His deep growl reverberated inside her.

The door slammed against the wall.

Michael pushed her behind him, shielding her with his frame. She was slower to come to her senses and realize someone else was in the room.

Dear God.

She peeked around Michael’s broad shoulders to see Henry standing in the doorway. Henry, with his fair complexion—paler than she’d ever seen him.





Chapter Twenty-Three


Henry’s wide eyes focused on them. “Christ!”

Chloe’s heart thundered. “I’m so sorry…I wanted to tell you—”

“What? That you’ve been having an affair with the duke?” A sudden thin chill hung on the edge of his words.

“Henry,” Michael said, his voice low but carrying a distinct warning.

“It isn’t what it seems,” Chloe blurted out.

Henry laughed, a high-pitched cackle that caused gooseflesh to rise on her arms. “What else could it be?”

How could she explain? She wasn’t having an affair with the duke. Rather, she’d fallen in love with Michael. Madly in love.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Michael raised a hand. “We shall talk about this later, Henry. Right now, we need to leave before anyone else finds us.”

Henry didn’t seem to hear. His gaze was focused on her. “You behave the harlot for the duke.”