Duke of Desire (Maiden Lane #12)(50)

He had picked up his knife and fork and begun to cut his meat, but he paused at her question. “No, of course not.”

She pursed her lips, eating a bite of the beef—that at least was quite good. “Then why did you stay away from me today?”

He sawed away at his beef, but then threw down his cutlery with a sigh. “I don’t want to argue with you. I stayed away because I can’t withstand your temptation, as was most obvious last night.”

She inhaled and shoved aside her first impulse: to be hurt. “I thought last night was nice.”

He glanced up at her, his eyebrow cocked. “Nice?”

She could feel the heat creeping up her cheeks. “Spectacular, actually.” She cleared her throat. “I’d really rather do it again—or something else.” He stiffened, opening his mouth to object already. She hastened to add, “Not that. Not … not anything that would lead to children.”

He looked at her, his face expressionless. “And you would be content without that?”

“Not exactly. I think I might always want a baby, but since you are so vehemently against it …” She closed her eyes—this was such an intimate conversation! “I want a true marriage.” She opened her eyes and said softly, “I want to be with you however you wish. I want that closeness. And I want that joy.”

She lifted her chin and met his gaze—even with her cheeks aflame.

Something softened in his face. “I think you deserve much more.”

She shook her head. “No. We may not have married in the conventional way—I may not have chosen to wed—but I choose you now.”

A corner of his lips quirked up. “Then I’m content to take you to bed tonight, madam.”

She arched an eyebrow at him pointedly. “Content?”

His lips curved even more. “Honored, thrilled, excited.” He hid his mouth behind his wineglass. “There. Have I answered to your expectations?” He sipped his wine, but kept his crystal eyes on her over the rim.

She felt a jolt between her legs. He was so … compelling when he let the ice melt in his eyes. When he let himself relax into that half smile. She wondered suddenly what Raphael would look like if he ever laughed aloud.

But he still waited for her response. “You answered most excellently, I think.”

“Good.” He set his wineglass down. “Then let us enjoy this meal. The wine is terrible but the meat is good.”

She smiled at him shyly at that. “Corsica is very warm, is it not?”

He swallowed a bite of the beef. “Certainly warmer than England.”

“Do they make wine there?”

“Oh yes.” He took another sip of his wine and winced. “We make very fine wines because we have knowledge from both the Italians and the French. There is a small grape field on my land, and though we don’t harvest much, it is enough to make our own wine.”

“Really?” She couldn’t conceive of one’s own wine—though she supposed it wasn’t much different from having a brewery on one’s land—something that many aristocrats had. “I should like to taste your wine.”

“I’d like you to drink my wine,” he said softly. “You could sit under the chestnut trees with wine and bread, a picnic of sorts.”

Her brows drew together. “We’d sit together, surely?”

“Of course.” He glanced down as he poked the lone potato on his plate. He cleared his throat. “We’d sip the wine and I’d show you the white cliffs overlooking the ocean.”

“That sounds lovely,” she whispered.

He looked up again, his gaze intent. “Iris …” His voice was a smoky rasp, deep and sinful.

She loved his voice.

She stood and went around the table.

He pushed away from the table, obviously intending to rise, but she placed a hand on his shoulder, halting him.

She sat on his lap and laid her palm on his scarred cheek. “Will you kiss me?”

Something flared in his eyes, and then he leaned down and brushed his mouth against hers. Lightly. Tantalizingly.

Her lips parted and he bit the lower one before taking her mouth with his. He licked into her mouth, his tongue rubbing against hers until she captured it and sucked.

His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close.

She felt sheltered, his broad shoulders shielding her, his hands hot and certain on her back.

She squirmed, feeling a rising excitement. She wanted more.

And he’d given her permission.

She broke their kiss and leaned back, plucking at his coat. “Take this off.”

Her voice was husky.

“Get in the bed,” he said, unsmiling.

She rose and took several steps back, but instead of immediately climbing in the bed, she began to unhook her bodice.

He slowly stood, watching her without blinking, and stripped off his coat.

She shrugged out of her bodice and laid it carefully on the chair.

Her hands moved to the ties on her skirts as he began unbuttoning his waistcoat.

He took off the waistcoat and then stood waiting as she struggled out of her skirts. She deposited them on the chair and glanced at him.

He was taking off his neckcloth.

She unlaced her stays as his strong neck was revealed. He began on his shirt buttons and her breath caught as the sides parted to show curling black hairs.