When to Dare a Dishonorable Duke (Romancing the Rake 7)

Her brows drew together even as her lips parted. Understand each other? She didn’t understand anything as she tilted her chin up to look in his face for answers. What she saw was raw, dark power. The kind of power that stole her breath from a bit of fear and, if she were being honest, excitement. “I’m afraid I don’t—”

But her words were cut short as he lowered his mouth to hers.

* * *

Damian assessed the woman before him. Dark hair and large hazel-green eyes were not to his usual taste. Neither was her slender build. He generally preferred more buxom blondes, but something about her was fetching nonetheless. Perhaps it was her delicate features, or the plumpness of her lips.

Her shoulders were narrow, her slender frame the same, adding an air of vulnerability to her gentle curves.

Pulling her closer, he grasped her natural waist, his palm fitting in the indent snug and perfect. Her lips parted in what was a clear invitation even as her eyes widened. Swooping his head down, he captured her lips with his own. She tasted of tea, fruity and clean, refreshing, as her soft lips stilled under his. Then, after a few moments, her lush mouth softened, melding into his for just a moment.

Satisfaction and desire rolled through him. Something about the way her lips clung to his didn’t speak of a woman pretending at passion. Her yielding mouth was far more of a surrender and victory roared in his veins, making his ears thunder with the rush of blood.

He slanted her lips open and claimed the soft inside of her mouth with his tongue. She tasted even better as her smaller tongue gently probed back. Fire coursed through his veins as he gathered her closer. He knew he was barreling toward something and he should slow this kiss down but his body craved her already.

He’d gone a long time without a woman. As a duke, many of them would fall willingly into his bed, he knew that. But he tired of their barely concealed disgust at the mangled side of his face. They hid it, but there was always a tell in the second before they placed a mask over their repulsed reactions.

Which was why he’d gone so long without being with someone. How long had it been? Years. But when he finally decided he couldn’t stand celibacy any longer, he’d gone out to his club, intent upon drinking and perhaps gleaning a recommendation or two for a lady who might suit his needs when he’d overheard Lord Balstead’s invitation for debauchery.

Balstead’s reputation had preceded him. He was a man with an excellent palette for women and drink and Damian had used his weight as a duke to strong-arm an invitation to this party. He wasn’t disappointed. He’d received a lovely, private welcome from a beautiful woman, who, if she was disgusted by his scar, hadn’t let on, even for a moment. And her kiss. Her kiss was that of a woman who desired him. Which at this moment, was everything.

His hand ran up her slender back, feeling the gentle curve of her spine as her body melded to his. When he reached her shoulder, he traced her collarbone and then slid his hand down her chest to cup her bosom. It wasn’t overly large but it filled his palm, and she groaned into his mouth as he gave her flesh a gentle squeeze. He wanted more.

But he’d likely pushed too fast. Because that was the moment she broke away, pulling back.

Damian slowly opened his eyes, his lids still hooded from the sheer passion in that single long, drawn-out kiss. He wanted more. With a determination he was known for, he began pulling her close again.

“Your Grace,” she cried her voice breathy and high in a way that only made his blood burn hotter. “You misunderstand.”

He raised a brow, still holding her wrist which he lightly stroked with his thumb. The skin underneath was silky soft and so tempting that he longed to bring the delicate underside to his lips, taste her flesh, lick it. “Really? What do I not understand, exactly?”

She trembled under his touch, even as she swallowed. “I am not what you think. I am—”

“What is it I think, exactly?” he asked, drawing her just a bit closer.

“That I am a lightskirt or a—” She didn’t finish, her hazel eyes growing wider still.

He frowned. Her gaze did not hold passion at this moment but a touch of fear. Not what he’d had in mind at all. “What are you then?”

Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. He followed the trail with his eyes, wishing he could follow it with his tongue. A shiver of anticipation rolled down his spine. “I am a dear friend of Lord Balstead’s.”

His frown deepened and he drew his brows together. “He invited a dear female friend to his house for this party?” What kind of man would do such a thing? Perhaps Lord Balstead was more risqué than he had imagined. Why else would he jeopardize a friend’s reputation?

She shook her head. “No. Well yes. Sort of.”

What the bloody hell? “I think you’d better explain yourself and quickly.”

She nodded tentatively, her gaze casting to where he still held her wrist in his hand. Her pulse jumped under his thumb, beating wildly and erratically as she gently tried to pull her limb from his grasp. “Of course, Your Grace. If you might just release me, I’ll happily explain.”

That made his brow rise. “Release you? Whatever for?” He liked touching her like this. She’d evoked a response he hadn’t experienced in ages. Regardless of what she’d revealed about her relationship with Balstead, he enjoyed the feel of her pulse under his touch and the very fact she’d greeted him alone told him she was no virginal, inexperienced maiden. Which suited him perfectly.

“Because…” she huffed. A breathy sound that was likely supposed to express annoyance but only made his body clench tighter. “I am about to marry.”

He let out a growl of dissatisfaction. That wouldn’t do. Not at all.

Chapter Two

Why had she just lied? She tried to pull away, giving her hand a bit of a tug. Her heart was racing in her chest. She could barely catch her breath after that kiss, his touch overwhelming all her senses. If he’d stop touching her, she might be able to compose her thoughts.