To Pleasure a Duke (The Husband Hunters Club 3)

He thought of telling her exactly what he had done, leaving in the middle of the meal to ride to her, before changing his mind. But one never knew with women—she might laugh at him. Better that she didn’t know just how much he lusted after her. How much power she had over him.

“Sinclair . . . ?” She was peering at him, a frown creasing her brow. She reached out and touched his forehead and, drawing her hand away again, showed him the smear of blood on her fingers. “Whatever have you done to yourself?”

“The roses caught me,” he said, gesturing at the loose canes on the arbor

. “It’s nothing.”

She sat down beside him. “Is it safe for me to be outside with you?” she said.

“Of course,” he retorted. “I am a duke.”

She giggled. “That’s more like the Sinclair I know.” She reached to dab at his forehead with the end of her shawl, but he caught her hands and pulled her against him, kissing her. If she’d resisted he would have released her, but she didn’t, so he lifted her onto his lap.

Her body was soft and unrestrained by a corset, and of course that meant he had to brush his hand against her breast and, when she didn’t immediately protest, cup the firm flesh in his palm.

Her breathing had quickened.

He bent his head and breathed in the scent of her skin through the thin cloth. He could feel the jut of her nipple and covered her with his mouth, gently teasing with his tongue. Her fingers pressed him closer, tangling in his hair, and he could feel her breath, little gasps of sound.

Slowly, he warned himself. Don’t rush her. Don’t frighten her. Don’t break the spell.

She arched in his arms, and then her mouth was searching for his, needy and hot. He kissed her deeply, drawing her closer still, her soft thigh against the hard thrust of his growing erection.

He felt his control slipping. Her bodice was loosened—had he done that? He slid his hand down and felt the warm swell of her skin. This was what it would be like, if she was naked in his bed. He’d come to her every night, and they would lie together and enjoy each other until dawn.

Eugenie moved upon his lap, her hands running down his chest, restless, eager. She pulled the shirt hem from his breeches and then her palms were on his stomach, making him catch his breath. He could see her eyes shining in the darkness, imagined the flush on her cheeks, the swollen pink of her lips.

His control was slipping but desperately, determinedly, he held on. He was a mature man after all, not some callow youth.

And then her fingers closed over his cock.

Chapter 12

He went stock-still, and Eugenie wondered if she had gone too far. Suddenly she was embarrassed by her own forwardness but when she tried to remove her hand, Sinclair fumbled for her fingers and clasped them tightly in his.

“Eugenie,” he muttered raggedly into her hair.

She fitted perfectly into his arms, her head beneath his chin, her body curved to his, as if she was meant to be here.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You were touching me and it felt so nice that I thought I’d return the favor. Should I have waited to be asked? The etiquette of pleasure isn’t something I was taught at Miss Debenham’s.”

“You did nothing wrong. It is just that I am trying to keep control and when you touch me I feel as if . . .”

“As if you might ride off with me like the wicked baron?”

His chuckle was husky. “Something like that.”

She sighed. “I suppose you spend your time with blue-blooded ladies who would never dare to—to touch a duke. You forget I am a hoyden, Sinclair.”

“I haven’t forgotten. I’m beginning to think I prefer hoydens.”

She smiled against his neck. “This must stop, Sinclair,” she said, but he seemed to sense her weakness.

“Kiss me, hoyden,” he growled, and she did so, spending a very pleasurable few moments lost in the hard promise of his mouth. Her body was growing more languorous, and she knew it was just a matter of time before she lost all strength to resist him.

This really was becoming extremely perilous.

His tongue tangled with hers, stroking her, and with each stroke the heat inside her body grew hotter. Just a little longer, she told herself. How could it hurt? Just a little bit more.