A Duke in the Night(37)

He made an incoherent noise and deepened their kiss, though still with the same careful control. Not enough. She opened her mouth, catching his lower lip and tracing it wickedly with her tongue.

It was as if she had branded him. His head jerked back, and he stared at her, his breath coming quick and shallow, his hands still holding her in place. “Bloody hell,” she thought she heard him groan.

Clara wasn’t sure if she should embrace her confusion or her mortification first. What was wrong with her? What had she done?

“Was it something I said?” she murmured, willing the ground to open up and swallow her so that she wouldn’t need to hear him answer or face him when he did.

“I am not the first man to kiss you,” he blurted, sounding just as confused as she felt.

Clara goggled at him. “What?”

“I thought…I mean to say…I wasn’t expecting…”

“Bloody hell indeed,” she breathed. “You thought I’d never been kissed?”

He had the grace to redden. Good Lord, that was exactly what he had thought. Well, that might explain why he had been so very, very careful. She wasn’t sure whether to be moved by his gentleness or appalled by his astounding arrogance.

“Why would you have thought that?” she breathed.

August shook his head. “I’m not…I can’t…”

A very inelegant snort escaped. “Because I was the wallflower at the ball? The bluestocking who never married and became a spinster?”

“I despise how you make that sound,” he growled. “As if you are…less. You are not.”

“While I am touched by your words, let me assure you I have never considered myself less. Different, of course, but not less for it.” She paused. “Have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Been kissed. Before tonight, that is.”

“That is the most idiotic question I’ve ever been asked.”

“I take that as a yes. But you’re not married.”

“Of course not.” Now he sounded cross.

“Do you see my point here?”

“I’m not a half-wit,” he growled. “It just…took me by surprise.”

“Would you like to stop?”

His head dropped, and Clara saw his lips twitch. “That’s what I was prepared to ask you.”

“Ah. Well, I think you had my answer. Before you reacted like a scalded cat.”

His hand tightened at her waist. “I resent being compared to a cat.”

“And I resent being kissed like a schoolgirl.” She wanted those words back the second they were out. Because the humor was wiped clean from his face, to be replaced with something dark.

“I can assure you, Miss Hayward, it won’t happen again.”

She swallowed. “Perhaps that is for the best.” It was true. Her mind seemed to have regained its grasp on sanity, and this kiss, however short and sweet it had been, shouldn’t go any further.

“You misunderstand me.” The duke shifted, bringing his leg forward so that it was wedged between hers. The hand that still rested at the back of her head lifted and stroked the hair that had tumbled down, coming to rest at the small of her back, his fingers splayed possessively. “When I kiss you again, it will not be like a schoolgirl.”

Clara’s mouth went dry.

“Who kissed you before me?” he asked in a low voice.

“What?” It was hard to concentrate with so much of him pressed against so much of her.

“The man who kissed you. Were you in love with him?”

Clara shook her head. “The woman you kissed before me. Were you in love with her?”

Holloway laughed, a low rumble she could hear in his chest. “That was well done.”

“It was a reasonable question. At the least, as reasonable as the one you asked me.”

“Touché.” His hand at her back slid back up to the nape of her neck. “So tell me, Miss Hayward, was kissing part of your impressive education?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

He drew back. “What?”

“Yes. It was.”

“I was jesting, Miss Hayward.”

“And I was not.”

“I don’t understand.”

Clara brought her hands to the front of his coat and ran them down the lapel, picking her words with careful concentration. This was not something that she had ever intended to discuss with this man. But here they were, and she would not retreat. And if he could not accede to what she was about to say, then it was better that everything stop here and now. “The idea that a gentleman should go to his marriage bed well versed in the art of bed sport, while his fine lady should go to that same marriage bed utterly ignorant, is a bit of a conundrum, isn’t it?”

She felt him still. “I beg your pardon?”

“Did you know that when my mother, as a very sheltered daughter of a baron, married my father, she didn’t know how babies were made? She didn’t know what parts were supposed to go where. She was told that marital relations were painful, but her duty, and something to be suffered through.” She looked up at Holloway. “I can’t imagine that is the speech given to most young lords, is it?”

The duke was staring at her.