“I don’t think a well-bred young lady would discuss anything in this room,” she said nervously. “It screams seduction.”
“I would like to make you scream, Eugenie,” he said, his voice dropping low. “Scream with pleasure.”
She understood him all too well. Looking about her again, she thought: He has done all of this for me. He is trying his best to win me. I should be flattered.
She was flattered, and touched, but she was frightened, too. This was not a place she should be—she did not trust herself to behave. Sinclair had a very bad influence on her.
“Where’s my letter?” she burst out, and then wished she hadn’t.
His expression grew suspicious. “Why are you so interested in this letter?”
“I wrote something in it that I . . .” She gazed up at him pleadingly. “Sinclair, I wish you would give me my letter back. If you were a gentleman, you would.”
He considered her request. “I will give you your letter back if you stay here with me for a little while,” he said evenly.
Eugenie gave a nervous glance at her surroundings. But as she dithered he made the decision for her, taking her hand gently but firmly in his, and leading her toward the divan.
“Please be seated, Eugenie.”
With an uncertain little smile she sat down and promptly sank deep into the cushions. “Goodness,” she said breathlessly, “there is only one way to tackle this piece of furniture and that is to lounge upon it.”
“You lounge very nicely,” he teased, and began to gather together a selection of foods onto a fine china plate. He set the plate before her, then poured her a glass of champagne, which bubbled and sparkled as he placed it into her hand.
“To us,” he said, holding up his own glass and smiling over the rim, his eyes full of reflected candlelight.
She drank, mesmerized, and then he sank down beside her on the divan and began to feed her from the plate. There were exotic fruits, bright as jewels, and creamy cheeses and spicy meats. It seemed to her, or perhaps she was imagining it, that everything was sharper and more flavorsome than it could possibly have been, while the feel of the silken fabrics against her skin resembled the gentle wash of the warm ocean.
“It’s not every day I am fed by a duke,” she said, trying for levity, as he popped some pomegranate seeds between her lips.
“It is entirely the duke’s pleasure,” he replied, then bent closer to capture one of the seeds which had landed on her chin. As she watched him, he slipped it into his own mouth.
Something in her stomach dived. She was giddy. Was it the champagne, or desire, or both? Whatever it was it was too late to run away, because suddenly his mouth was on hers and she was in his arms and they were both sinking like drowning sailors into the seductive depths of the divan.
Sinclair’s senses were swimming in the warm, sweet scent of her skin. The silky cloth of her dress slid under his palm and he felt the firm mounds of her breasts beneath. His body ached. For a heartbeat he wondered if he was going to be able to control the urge to ravish her and make her his in the quickest time possible, but his training as a gentleman stood him in good stead.
Lightly, tenderly, he turned her over and pressed kisses to the pale skin of her back as he unbuttoned her bodice. Her hair was held up with pins and combs, and he slid them out, enjoying the rich color as it tumbled into his hands. He buried his face in her curls, breathing in their clean scent, and then pressing his mouth to the sensitive place on the nape of her neck.
She shivered and made a little sound of pleasure. Or perhaps she was asking about that damned letter.
He kissed her again, and slid her loosened sleeves down her arms, caressing her bare shoulders. She turned in his arms, her mouth finding his, wrapping herself close. He kissed her until she lay languid, her lashes veiling the shine of her eyes, her skin flushed with desire. The lacy edge of her chemise had caught on her bodice, and when he released it, he realized she wasn’t wearing a corset. Her small, perfect breasts rose above the silk cloth and lace, her nipples pink and engorged, and he bent and took one in his mouth.
She moaned, arching toward him.
He rolled her nipple with his tongue, before bending to work on the other one. Her fingers shook as they crept through his hair, clinging, drawing him closer. She was slender and yet perfect, her skin like ivory and rose, and he wanted to sample every inch of it before he let her go.
Until now he hadn’t been sure why he’d gone to so much trouble tonight. He’d simply wanted to see her. But of course it was all about seduction; making her his. Bringing her to the realization that there was only one outcome possible between them.
Giving her no choice but to be his mistress.
His touch, his caress, was sending little aches and thrills into all parts of her body. She wanted to squeeze her thighs together, as if to hold on to the pleasure building there, in her secret places. She felt abandoned, free, no longer bound by anyone’s rules or regimen, and the wonder of it went to her head.
He’d taken off his jacket and she ran her hands up his arms, feeling the soft silk of his shirt and the firm muscles beneath. There was a knotted necktie to pick apart and open, and then buttons to undo so that she could finally place her palms against his bare skin. Dark hair grew on his chest, and she pressed her cheek to it, and then her nose, breathing him in, enjoying the roughness of his masculine body.
“So this is how a duke smells,” she murmured, and heard his chuckle deep in his chest.
Her dress was about her waist, and as she leaned against him she felt him tug it down over her hips, and then the heat of his hands cupping her bottom through the thin cloth of her undergarments. He drew her closer and she could hear her breath loud and irregular against his skin, her heart rising to pound in her throat. His fingers slid down, finding the opening of her bloomers, and the warm, slick skin between her thighs.
Eugenie went very still. She felt as if she dare not move, that all her energy was devoted to feeling his gentle exploring touch. She felt swollen, and hot, as if her body was readying itself for something momentous. He continued to stroke her with his fingers while his lips were against her hair, whispering words into her ear that she hardly heard and yet seemed to increase her pleasure unbearably.