Lady Be Reckless (Duke's Daughters #2)(33)

She found herself in the hallway in front of the door to the library.

There weren’t any servants around, thank goodness. Nobody to witness how red her cheeks must be, how furiously emotional she looked. She raised her chin as she considered how she could possibly reenter the room without embarking on complete and utter humiliation. A thought that made her wince and lower her gaze to the floor.

“Olivia.”

And here he was. She saw his legs in front of her, the long length of them encased in his evening trousers. His hands, restless in front of his body, as though he wished to move them somewhere—to her?—but didn’t.

She looked up at him, bracing herself for the look of contempt she anticipated. After all, she’d already shown herself to him the first time they met, the thought of which should have been the most embarrassing moment ever. Except this one was worse.

Only to see him regarding her with a considerate expression.

He didn’t despise her. He wasn’t here to mock her or chide her or raise one of those admittedly beautiful eyebrows and make her feel judged.

He was here because—well, she wasn’t precisely certain, but she knew it wasn’t because he hated her.

And so she knew perfectly well why she did what she did next. She just couldn’t have explained any of it to anyone, not even to Pearl. Much less to herself.

But none of that could deter what she wanted to do more than anything.

She raised herself up on her tiptoes, closed her eyes, and leaned up toward his mouth.

And then, after what seemed an excruciating length of time, she pressed her lips against his.

She was kissing him. The bastard.



He shouldn’t be finding a woman who was apparently suffering from the most supreme humiliation—being casually dismissed by her careless mother—attractive, but so help him, he did.

The way she rose from the table, tossing her napkin to the floor in a gesture of fierce emotion. The way the color rose in her cheeks, making her as flushed and rosy as though she had—well. No wonder he found her attractive. Gorgeous. Compelling.

He had no choice, then, but to follow her out of the dining room, tossing his own napkin to the floor as he focused on her, on how she slammed the door to the dining room, stalking to fling herself back up against a door in the hallway. Her bosom heaving delightfully, even if it was in anger.

What would she look like in pleasure?

He thought he might be able to guess, and the thought was intoxicating.

So when she lifted her gaze to his, the gold flecks in her hazel eyes seeming to flash and sparkle as vibrantly as she did, he caught his breath. This was she, the true Olivia, the one whose emotion seemed to reverberate around the room like a claxon.

How had anyone not seen it before?

And then all thoughts ceased as she kissed him, intent in her purpose even if her inexperience betrayed her from the moment her mouth met his.

But it didn’t matter because she had wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him closer, her mouth so soft and wanting, her body also so soft and wanting.

Him hard and wanting.

She broke the kiss, gasping, her hands still around his neck, staring at him as though he was something unknown to her.

Likely he was—a man who wasn’t intimidated by her just furor, who found her as charming as she was infuriating.

A man who saw her as a woman, not a young girl overwhelmed by her ideals and passion.

He waited a moment, waited for her to realize what she’d done, to run away, appalled at her own behavior.

And waited as she continued looking at him, a tiny smile curling up one corner of her mouth.

It was that curl that did him in, that made him place his hands on her waist and draw her back to him, lower his mouth to hers and lick the seam of her lips until she gasped, opening to him.

He didn’t waste his advantage either, sliding his tongue into her mouth, keenly aware of her body pressed against his.

Keenly aware of his cock growing thicker in his trousers, knowing what he was doing was wrong and shocking—what if someone else came out of the dining room, for God’s sake?—but unable to stop kissing her, shamelessly reveling in how her fingers were tightened in his hair, her breasts pressed against his chest.

He had kissed women before, of course. Just because he was illegitimate didn’t mean he was entirely shunned, especially not by ladies, women who saw beyond his birth to his appearance and sometimes, his wealth.

But he had never felt this shocking, almost primal, feeling that was coiling throughout his entire body. For only a kiss. It was a spectacular kiss, to be sure, but it was only a kiss.

That thought, the idea that this was merely a precursor to something even more stupendous made him pull away from her, knowing if he didn’t soon, he would likely have her naked on the floor underneath him in moments.

“My God,” he muttered, still holding her waist. “That was—my God,” he said again, shaking his head. Unable to find the words.

“Yes,” she replied, her cheeks just as flushed as before, the wild spark in her eyes one of desire now, not fury.

Or both. He wouldn’t mind seeing her furious desire, as a matter of fact.

“I have to go back,” she said, peering over his shoulder toward the dining room. She spoke as though they had a secret, not as though she’d done something of which she was horribly ashamed.

What did it say about him that his first reaction was surprise that she wasn’t horribly ashamed? Was he just as class-conscious as the people who derided him for his birth?