While the Duke Was Sleeping (The Rogue Files #1)(48)

“Ever a liar, aren’t you?”

“I’m not.”

“Let me tell you something about myself, Poppy. There’s not much that bothers me, but lying ranks high. And you know why?”

A sinking sensation settled over her. “Why?” she whispered, the word barely a sound.

“My father. He was many things to different people. He showed one face to his family, but there was another side of him. The side he only showed to my mother and me. He promised her the world and then he destroyed her. He lied to her and she paid for it every day.”

“And you,” Poppy couldn’t help pointing out. “You paid the price, as well.”

He shrugged. “I’m still alive. She’s gone.” He pinned her with his hot gaze. “So, liars? I don’t have any tolerance for them.”

Those words echoed through her. He had no tolerance for liars.

Lying was all she had done since they first met each other. Someday he would know that. Then there would be nothing stopping him from hating her. Granted, her lies weren’t destroying him—Lord Strickland had persuaded her into believing that they weren’t hurting anyone—but Mackenzie would still not appreciate the deception. Her stomach twisted.

It was merely a matter of time. Soon he’d know the truth and whatever admiration or attraction he felt toward her would die a swift death. He hated liars.

He would hate her, too.

He took her by the shoulders and pulled her closer, still talking. “So don’t tell me I disgust you when I don’t. I think perhaps you’re disgusted with yourself. Not me.”

She started at that accusation. “That’s absurd.”

He nodded as though she had not spoken. “You can’t be disgusted too much if you let me do this.”

His mouth covered hers, silencing her attempt to withdraw. This kiss was different. Tender and coaxing and it weakened her knees. “You taste of lemons, Miss Fairchurch,” he murmured against her lips, giving her bottom lip gentle nibbles before kissing her fully again.

Now he addressed her formally?

“Poppy,” she sighed in relent, breathing into his mouth, shaking from the battle of resisting him, from fighting herself.

His hand skimmed over her stockings and her limbs turned to pudding.

He kissed her again. She kissed him back, but the more intimate his touch, the more ragged and sloppy their kissing grew. She moaned into his mouth when his fingers slipped through the slit in her drawers to brush her sex.

“Oh,” she cried into his mouth as his finger eased inside her. He pushed deep and held his finger there for a moment, letting her get accustomed to the fit and sensation of him.

He shifted and she felt him, his erection hard underneath her bottom. She couldn’t help herself. She ground down against him.

“God, you’re tight, Poppy.” He withdrew his finger and thrust it back inside, curling it as he did so, hitting her in some invisible spot that brought forth a rush of bewildering sensation. She started shaking, feeling herself coming apart.

“Struan,” she whimpered.

He groaned and stroked deeper.

The drag of his finger against her oversensitive flesh was driving her to the brink of something. The tight ball coiling inside her broke, bursting into tiny pinpricks of sensation.

She shuddered, dropping her face into his neck. His finger remained lodged in her for a long, breathless moment as the tremors ebbed from her body.

His mouth moved against her hair as he spoke, sliding his hand out from under her skirts. “That’s going to feel even better when it’s me inside you.”

She stiffened, equal parts horror and delight sizzling through her at his bold words. This couldn’t be how a gentleman spoke to a lady—and that shouldn’t titillate her. She was a good, Christian woman. How could she have reveled in him touching her like that?

Shoving her skirts down, she scrambled back across the opposite seat and glared at him. She dragged a trembling hand down her throat. Her skin felt pulsing. He did that to her. Blast him. She let him do that. Oh, very well, then, blast her!

“That’s not ever going to happen. This was a fleeting lapse.”

“Is that what you’re calling it?” His brogue seemed thicker as ever as he echoed, “A fleeting lapse?”

“You seduced me,” she accused. “From the moment I stepped inside this carriage . . . ever since last night!”

“You offered to show me what my brother taught you,” he said evenly.

She hissed. “I never—that’s not how it happened and you know it.” Hot shame flushed through her. Her voice shook out of her with bewildering emotion. “Stay away from me.”

“Are you certain you want that? That’s not what you were saying a moment ago when you were crying out my name.”

She lifted her hand to strike him again and he caught her wrist, his eyes glittering black. “You’ve struck me once. Never again.”

She yanked her hand free and glared at him. She didn’t even know herself around this man. She’d never felt moved to violence before. You’d never been moved to passion before either.

How could she have allowed him such liberties after so short an acquaintance? Heaven knew Edmond had pressed her for more and she had stood firm against him. Over professions of love and promises of marriage, she had resisted.