What a Duke Dares (Sons of Sin 3)

Then because he knew that she tested his commitment to wanting her real self, he stood and let her stare at him. However much a numbskull he felt with his necessaries waving in the wind.

To his chagrin, his cheeks heated under her thorough inspection. “My manly magnificence can’t strike you dumb. It’s not as if you haven’t seen everything before.”

Her attention didn’t waver. He shivered, although the night wasn’t cold and a fire burned in the grate. “You usually don’t give me time to look at you.”

Guilt pinched him. So far in their married life, he’d swept Pen into bed. He’d aroused her, but he’d been ruthless about it.

“Lie down.” At last she raised her eyes. Her eyelids were heavy and her cheeks were flushed. He felt less powerless now that he knew this seduction played on her control too.

He surged forward, taking her arm. As cool lawn bunched beneath his hand, he felt her lithe strength. He hadn’t married a frail lily. He’d married a lioness. “Lie with me.”

“Eventually.” She stepped back, shaking him loose.

“Pen, don’t tease.”

“Teasing does you good. You’ve become odiously imperious in your old age.” Her voice firmed. “Now on the bed, if you please, Your Grace.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Tonight I’ll call you what I wish.” She paused. “Your Grace.”

He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to kiss her insolence away or put her over his knees and spank her. Both. Still, she’d promised him a prize. He shot her a telling glance before stretching across the bed.

In the quiet room, he heard Pen exhale. With relief? With nerves? With anticipation?

He shifted on the sheets. They’d been packed in lavender and the sweet scent tickled his nose. “I feel absurd.”

The silence extended, charged with suspense. Eventually he could bear it no longer. “Pen, for God’s sake, touch me.”

She continued to study him from the base of the bed. “Later.”

“What the devil?” He started to lunge toward her, but she shook her head.

“Stay where you are.”

For a long moment, he met the challenge in her eyes. She wanted him to prove that he couldn’t handle this raw version of Penelope Thorne. Well, bugger that. If breaking through to something real between them required his abasement, he’d damn well accept abasement.

She crossed to the decanters waiting on a gilded table. Cam slumped back with a groan and stared at the intricate plasterwork on the ceiling. The clock downstairs chimed two. They’d been home little more than an hour. He felt like he’d been hard for days.

He heard the clink of glass. “Dutch courage?”

“Need some yourself?”

He was past politeness. His voice emerged rough and urgent. “The only thing I need is you. Wet. Ready. Under me. Moaning.”

He turned his head quickly to catch what would surely be disgust on her lovely face. Instead, she looked intrigued. But not, blast it, intrigued enough to relent.

Pen wandered the room, sipping her claret. She paused in a shadowy corner. “I dislike this picture of Apollo and Daphne. We should replace it.”

Little red hot ringing bells of hell. To think that he’d condemned her docility. She wasn’t driving him insane. He’d been insane when he’d suggested changing the status quo. If she’d remained that compliant cipher, he’d already be plunging between her milky white thighs.

Still, two could play at this game.

He rolled onto his side to study her. In her long white nightdress, she looked like a gorgeous priestess of some exotic religion. “By all means, let’s talk about art. We have until dawn.”

Ha, that surprised her. He plastered an imperturbable expression on his face as she focused a startled gaze upon him. She’d ambushed him with this torture in the guise of seduction. See how the lovely witch liked a dose of her own medicine.

Her eyes narrowed as if she guessed his tactic. “There’s a nice landscape downstairs that would suit.”