Much Ado About Dukes

“To say the least,” she agreed.

As they circled again, this time a little bit more slowly, she found her balance. It was very easy to do on the balls of her feet.

“Right. Very nice.” He stopped and waggled his brows. “Now, time for the punch you’re so curious about. We will start with a right jab.”

All her life she’d largely been a pacifist, not necessarily out of principle but for the simple fact that ladies were not allowed to be warlike. She was rather looking forward to this bit.

He nodded to her right hand still held up, guarding her face. “Now, you’re to jab at my palm.”

It felt quite odd, but she eyed his opened palm and its map of lines.

It was beautiful. And for a moment, she wondered what it would be like to feel that palm on her bare skin.

Before she could think a far wickeder thought, she shot her fist out at it.

He caught her fist easily, his fingers warm about her hand. “Very good effort.” His thumb caressed her knuckles. “Now, use your body to create momentum. Pull your fist into your body, then launch it forward. Imagine how charged you felt the night we met, and rotate your body toward me. Hit me like I just insulted your pamphlet.”

She started to laugh. William gave her a most serious stare, and she worked to eradicate her grin. It was no easy thing.

Her lips twitched, but she focused and did it exactly as he bid.

She envisioned him making his most arrogant face and using his most sardonic droll. Instantly, she felt the power of her punch.

So much so that she went off-balance and launched toward his chest.

He caught her in his arms, quite pleased. “Very powerful!”

But once she was wrapped in his arms, to her horror, she did not wish to retreat.

And to her amazement, he did not immediately let her go.

Quite the contrary.

They lingered like that.

A strange war danced across his face like he was having an argument worthy of the House of Lords in his head.

Until suddenly he growled softly. The connection between them and the intensity of the hunger between their bodies clearly had caught him off guard. “I cannot explain it, Beatrice, but despite the strangeness of such a thought, I long to kiss you. Nor can I pretend any longer. It is a terrible idea, but it is the truth.”

Standing in his arms, her body pressed to his so tightly that not even a ray of daylight could pass between them, she wished for it, too. Had dreamt about it now for days and spent far too many waking hours imagining it.

He would never love her. She knew it in her bones. He wouldn’t be her grand passion. And yet, she couldn’t deny that he evoked something in her that demanded answer. All logic seemed to abandon her. There was only one thing guiding her now… She needed to discover if reality was as desirable as her imaginings.

She tilted her head up, stunned that this was happening but not wishing for it to be any other way. “I don’t mind a bit of strangeness.”

And before either of them could say another word, Beatrice, much to her own astonishment, reached up, took his waistcoat in her hands, and pressed her lips to his.

Chapter Eleven

Unlike some libertines of his class, William was not in the habit of risking the ruin of young ladies. As a matter of fact, kissing a young lady such as Beatrice was so entirely foreign to him, he might as well have been in the Antipodes.

The last woman he was supposed to be kissing was Lady Beatrice. He couldn’t give her anything but his political aid and perhaps a few lessons in bobbing and weaving.

He’d warned her that he wanted to kiss her, knowing he needed to make a fast retreat. That’s what it was. He knew now. A warning. Perhaps it was for himself.

His damned brain had been trying to send up the alarm.

Because his passion for her was so entire that the arguments that had kept him on the straight and narrow his whole life could not be heard above the cacophony of his need for her.