Roslyn offered him a brilliant smile that made him blink with its sheer beauty. “Thank you, your grace. I think I can manage to sleep now.”
I am glad one of us can, Drew thought dryly. The image of Roslyn sleeping-her lovely body nude, her hair streaming across a satin pillow-played havoc with his loins.
His gaze settled on her ripe, tempting mouth, and his pulse quickened further as he fought the fierce urge to kiss her. There was a rational explanation for the rapid beating of his heart, for why this woman set his blood racing. It was pure lust of course.
The affliction would pass, he was certain.
Yet his fingers itched to free her golden hair from the confines of its elegant coiffure, to free her body from the confines of her stylish ballgown. He could picture taking her right here on the brocade couch, could imagine her coming alive in his arms, all yearning hunger. The thought of being inside her, that first thrust, made his groin ache. He wanted to bury himself in all that unawakened fire…
The erotic image shattered when Roslyn set her glass down on a side table and rose to her feet. “Good night, your grace. I will see you in the morning when you confer with Winifred’s bailiff.”
Drew rose politely as well and bowed, ignoring the frustrating ache in his loins. “Good night, Miss Loring.”
He watched as she turned away, his gaze drawn to the graceful sway of her hips as she left the parlor.
Blowing out a slow breath then, Drew ran a hand roughly through his hair. He couldn’t believe he had actually agreed to give her lessons in how to arouse a gentleman’s ardor. Especially when she presented such a powerful temptation to him.
But he could manage it, Drew told himself. He would be charming, distantly polite, even friendly.
Even so, he knew that keeping his hands off Roslyn would prove to be a severe exercise in self-control.
Chapter Six
The art of flirtation is more difficult to master than I expected.
– Roslyn to Fanny
Roslyn rose early the next morning, eager to set in motion the search for the highwayman. To her surprise she found the duke already up before her, meeting in the study with the Freemantle bailiff.
Mr. Hickling expressed alarm at the danger she and her ladyship had faced during the holdup, but Roslyn assured him they hadn’t suffered any lasting damage. When she described the place where the coach had been waylaid, he recognized it at once, since it was close to the farm belonging to his eldest son. Hickling took his leave shortly, promising to conduct a thorough search of the area.
When he was gone, Roslyn surveyed the duke. He hadn’t yet shaved, so his jaw was shadowed by stubble, making his lean, aristocratic features look a trifle rugged. Yet he still managed to give the appearance of lithe elegance. Except for missing a cravat, he wore the same formal attire as he’d worn to the wedding, probably because the late Sir Rupert Freemantle was smaller of shoulder and much larger of girth.
Roslyn herself had changed into a modest muslin round gown. She felt Arden’s perceptive gaze survey her in turn.
“Did you have trouble sleeping?” he asked, his tone sympathetic.
“A little. I kept seeing that pistol pointed at us every time I closed my eyes.”
“The dark images will pass eventually.”
“You sound as if you speak from experience.”
“I do.” Arden glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel. “I didn’t expect you to rise so early.”
“Nor I you, your grace.”
Amusement flickered in his eyes. “No doubt you presumed I would laze abed till noon.”
“Many noblemen of your stamp would.”
“You have a rather low opinion of me, don’t you, darling?”
Roslyn laughed. “You are improving upon better acquaintance, I must say.”
Arden grinned. “Considering where I started, I should be gratified.”
Pointon appeared at the study door just then to announce that breakfast awaited them. When they moved to the breakfast parlor, Winifred was already seated at the table, her plate piled high from an array of dishes on the sideboard. Evidently her hearty appetite had remained unaffected by the previous night’s traumatic events, Roslyn noted.