My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)(43)

No, back in London her life would not be completely the same.

She turned her head to study Ware. He was watching her, and when their eyes connected, a little shock raced through her. All his aloof reserve had vanished; she had thought him implacable and stern, but now it seemed like that had been another man. He sprawled as easily in the chair as she lay on the sofa, his chin propped in one hand and the glass of champagne dangling from the fingertips of his other hand.

“It will be strange to go back to London after this,” she said.

“Very,” he agreed.

“No doubt in a few days’ time it will all seem like a dream. A holiday from the world and its cares.”

He made a soft noise of agreement. Sophie finished her glass of champagne, and he leaned forward to refill it. “Are you still eager to return?”

She settled more comfortably on the sofa. Her answer at the moment was a resounding no. This moment, right now, was almost perfect. But this moment could not last, and the fact that she wanted it to last meant it was past time to go home. “Of course,” she said. “One does what one must.”

“Hmm.” He slouched deeper into his chair. “You stopped demanding I take you back at once.”

“I’m not a fool,” she said pertly. “With a broken carriage axle and never--ending rain, I acknowledge that returning at once was beyond even the Duke of Ware.”

He smiled. “Yet now the happy moment is approaching, and you aren’t dancing with joy.”

No. Not only was she less than eager to face the consequences, she was finally admitting to herself that she had enjoyed these few days.

With him. Because of him.

“You said you didn’t expect to win that wager,” she said softly, staring up at the ceiling. It was covered with elaborate scrollwork in gold, with a frieze of mythological beings cavorting around the edges. The chandelier of cut crystal glittered in the lamplight. That ceiling was probably worth more than her entire house. “Why did you propose it?”

He pushed himself upright in his chair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked down at her. His golden hair was rumpled into waves that made her long to smooth them. “Haven’t you guessed?”

She angled her face toward him. “Tell me. I’m no good at guessing.”

He let out his breath, his eyes shadowed, and then he bent and kissed her. His mouth was soft, a gentle hint of a kiss rather than a real one. Her eyes drifted closed as his lips whispered over hers, and she moved toward him like a flower seeking the sun. His fingertips touched her jaw, angling her face with the slightest perceptible pressure. A soft sound of pleasure hummed in her throat.

The duke lifted his head. For a moment they stared at each other. “Is that all?” Sophie whispered, belatedly realizing how her heart was thudding. “All you want?”

“No.” He traced one finger, as lightly as a feather, down her throat. A shiver rippled over her skin, and her nipples hardened as his gaze swept over her. “Not by a tenth.”

She was in no condition to face this decision. Alone with him for three full days, exposed to his dry humor and surprising humanity and unbearable attractiveness, she was virtually defenseless when his gaze connected with hers again, this time hot with hunger. She should think of her reputation, already perilously uncertain after that wager; she should think of Philip, who would view it as a betrayal by both of them. She should think of Giles Carter, who was her best chance for a respectable marriage. She should think of herself, and how she would feel if she succumbed to this strangely potent desire for a man who would never fall in love with her.

But when she opened her mouth—-“Show me,” she whispered. “Please.”

His answering smile was slow and hungry, as if some sort of fire had roared to life inside him, and Sophie felt it all the way to her toes. He had chipped away at her guard by taking her riding, by showing her his house, by letting her tempt him into being silly and then laughing at himself. She had begun to like him, far more than she’d thought possible. But when he looked at her like this, with desire and passion sharpening his features, everything inside her ignited into a simmering lust.

She could blame it on the rain, or the roads, or even the champagne, but the truth was she wanted the Duke of Ware. She wanted him to take her to bed and make love to her over and over until she couldn’t remember anything other than the touch of his hands and mouth on her body. She wanted him to make her feel wanted, as desperately as she wanted him.

This time his mouth was firm, demanding. He tipped her chin until her lips parted, and then his tongue invaded, conquering. She went down without a fight, reaching up to push her fingers into his hair and hold him to her as she kissed him back. His fingers slid down her throat to her neckline, along the edge of the fabric until she squirmed and writhed with longing for him to rip it right down the middle and ravish her.

She twisted on the sofa, straining to be closer. His arms went around her, and dimly she felt the sharp tug of buttons being undone. Her bodice came loose, and she arched her back as he pulled it down her arms.

He was on his knees beside the sofa now, still kissing her deeply. Sophie was all but curled around him, her thighs pressed to his side, her arms clinging to his neck. His hand gripped her knee for a moment, then slid up, dragging her skirt with it. He cupped her bottom and pulled her hard toward him, and she moaned as he moved against her, his erection obvious even through layers of clothing.