What the Duke Wants(54)

His gaze was unguarded for a split second before it hardened into a steely self-control she hadn’t expected. “I thought you left. You should leave.”

“No.” She surprised herself.

And apparently, him, for his eyes widened.

“Carlotta—”

“What burdens you so?” she asked, risking a few steps toward him. Drawn in by his gaze, she felt deliciously captive.

A ghost of a smile teased his lips. “Forbidden fruit,” he answered plainly.

“It would seem that is quite an epidemic tonight.” She tilted her head, offering him a small smile, even as her heart thundered from the startling truth of her own admission.

“Truly?” he asked, his normally light eyes dangerously dark.

“Is that all that troubles you, your grace?” she asked, avoiding his question.

He opened his mouth as if to question her, then paused. Twisting his lips slightly, he continued. “Just because it was a short answer doesn’t mean it isn’t a lengthy plight, Carlotta.”

“Oh.”

“And unless you want to find me kissing you with a decided lack of restraint, I suggest you take pity on me and leave.” He took a step back. “Please.”

It was the ‘please’ that melted all of her remaining resistance. With a small step forward, she held her breath, knowing that she was changing everything but unwilling to consider the consequences.

He took another step back.

She took another step forward, a smile playing at her lips.

“I’m at a loss as to what about this situation is comical, Carlotta,” he whispered darkly.

“Well, your grace, it seems to me that I should be the one running from you, not the other way around. If you don’t stand still I’ll find myself hopelessly insecure about your possible rejection,” she teased.

She stepped forward.

He closed the distance with three rapid steps and, sliding his hand around her back, pulled her into a fiercely passionate kiss. There was no gentle tutoring, no easing into the bliss of his affection. It was a vortex, a standing still to immediately sprinting type of kiss where there was no awareness of anything but the other person. He pressed into her, rubbing her back with a demanding touch and his other hand stole under her robe and caressed her hip. Carlotta gasped at the thousands of pleasurable sensations that coursed through her at his touch. Never had she experienced such… desire. It should have scared her, but it felt so… right.

His lips left hers, trailing down her jaw, nipping, tasting and devouring her tender flesh till he rained kisses down her neck, stopping at a particularly sensitive spot just below her ear.


“Please tell me you’re real, that I’m not dreaming this fantasy,” he whispered in her ear before nipping the lobe.

“Not… dreaming.” Carlotta gasped.

He groaned and swept her up into his arms, captivating her lips once more. Carlotta’s body felt on fire everywhere he touched. She wanted more, something deeper, more intimate but she had no idea what exactly.

But she knew she shouldn’t want it as badly as she did at that moment.

He laid her on the chaise and covered her with his body, pressing into her and giving his hands free reign to caress her arms, hips, the line of her shoulders, the soft fabric covering her belly. She gasped as he reached higher till the smallest sound brought to the forefront all of the consequences of their actions.

The door opened.

Lady Southridge gasped.

Charles swore.

And Carlotta wished the settee would envelop her, saving her from the premature demise of humiliation surely taking place.

Unable to move with the duke still quite on top of her, she wiggled till she gained her freedom. Lady Southridge’s mouth was open in a silent ‘O’ before she spun on her heel and left, closing the door firmly behind her.

“That wasn’t expected,” the duke commented dryly, as if the world hadn’t completely shifted off its axis.

“Er, no?” Carlotta commented, not sure what to say, or how to interpret his casual meaning.

He stood, offering his hand out towards her. She accepted and smoothed out her nightgown, her extremely wrinkled, very crumbled nightgown.

Hot shame washed through her.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Anything to keep the tears inside, anything to keep whatever shreds of dignity she still possessed.

Who was she kidding?

Her dignity was gone… just like her pride.

Closing her eyes she refused to look up into his face, not sure or wanting to know what was written in his gaze. Hadn’t she told him earlier she’d not be his mistress? That she was not a light skirt? She had just proven herself a liar.

“Carlotta,” he murmured.

Tears burned. How could something that felt so right now feel so… wrong?

“Look at me, love,” he tipped her chin up with his finger.

She opened her eyes, allowing the tears trapped within to spill out onto her cheeks.

“Tears? No, there shouldn’t be any tears. I know you’re giving yourself quite the scolding, but it’s not necessary. I’ll make a respectable woman out of you yet, my prim little governess.” He smiled endearingly, enchantingly and for a moment, she allowed herself to pretend.

To pretend that she was the princess. That miracles did happen and that renowned rakes could be redeemed for the right woman, for the hope of true love.