He groaned his approval while wrapping his arms around her in a tight and possessive embrace.
He kissed her with gentle bites and nips, coaxing a wanton response, and she surrendered to his ravishing assault. It felt as if Pippa’s world caught fire. Everything was heated…shockingly, carnal heat. The stroke of his tongue against hers jolted through her body, set her heart pounding, and heated the blood in her veins. He tasted of whisky and berries, and something heated and delicious. He tasted like sin…and passion…and adventure. He also tasted of ruin and pain. A whimper of denial passed from her mouth to his, and he swallowed the small soft noise.
The duke glided the tips of his fingers over her hips, and now to the curves of her thighs. A violent shock of heat tore through her when he gripped her buttocks. Pippa trembled.
She broke their kiss, breathing raggedly. “Your Gr…grace!” Her voice shook. Hunger, fear of the unknown, need and uncertainty, all rushed through her as he stroked his fingers over the swell of her backside. It was all so improper and wicked!
“Christopher,” he murmured. “It would please me to hear my name on your lips…Pippa.”
Was this how he’d been with Miranda, sweet, tender, and seductive? Pippa stiffened, and immediately he released her from his embrace and stepped back.
“What is it?”
She pressed a trembling hand to her lips. She paused, and after considering for a moment, asked frankly, “Why did you kiss me?”
He created a wider space between them. “Forgive me, I acted in haste.”
Shock jolted through her. An apology was the last thing she expected. “Your Grace?”
“You have no father or brother to defend your honor. I should not have allowed this…to traverse this path without an understanding.”
The proper, saintly duke stood before her, his expression hooded. Yet a few moments ago he had kissed her with a burning passion. Those explicit touches without the benefit of courtship had been from the depraved duke, and it was he she wanted in front of her, speaking with only honesty. But what did she want him to admit? That the feelings crawling through her body were the same he’d felt, and that he hungered for her with similar ferocity?
“I will visit your mother in the morning,” he said stiffly as his eyes darkened with unnamed emotions.
“To do what?” she asked all astonished. Then awareness dawned. “To declare yourself…because you kissed me?”
He tilted his head.
Incredulity filled her. “I am two and twenty, and this was my very first kiss. I’ve had no stolen moments most other young ladies giggle about, for no gentleman saw or desired me. Only the scandal of my past mattered. Only my lack of connections and dowry mattered in determining my worth. So I thank you for the experience, Your Grace. I was surprised…by how wonderful it felt. I was appalled at myself for wanting to kiss you…forever. But I daresay I will not run screaming into the night that you had compromised me and demand that you marry me. Also, I wanted your kiss, or I assure you, Your Grace, I would never have allowed it.” A very bold and honest speech except she had ruined all her worldly assurances with her furious blushing. Pippa wanted to crawl under the garden bench and hide from her silly and girlish reaction.
And then inexplicably she knew this man had not seduced her friend. What happened, Miranda?
“Then I bid you good evening, Miss Cavanaugh. We must finish our game some other time, if at all,” he said with reserved indifference. “I cannot leave you out here alone, so if you will precede me inside?” Then he waved along the path behind her.
Pippa smoothed down her dress and patted the chignon, ensuring all was in place. “Good evening, Your Grace,” she said softly, hating the ache in her chest. She wanted nothing from him or any man. So why did she feel so wretched?
It was because he sounded as if he had said goodbye, as if he saw the kiss as a ruinous mistake, as if he was no longer interested in their chess game, as if she were no longer interesting. Turning around, she hurried inside, hoping to leave the desperate ache for more behind her in the darkened gardens. Having any hopes in regard to the duke was silly.
It would be beyond foolish to allow her heart to become entangled with a man so above her in circumstances and expectations. A man whom her dear friend had set her cap at. But the terrible ache in her heart followed her all the way to the countess’s townhouse, and into bed. And even when she hugged the pillow and prayed to stop thinking of the duke, she dreamt of him—doing far more wicked deeds than kissing.
Chapter 10
The Duke of C titillatingly danced only with one Miss C at last night's ball. Is this a blossoming romance in the air? Or is the duke taking pity on a particular lady no young bucks have asked to dance all season? This author declares…
Christopher lowered the newssheet with a small smile. Clever, Miss Cavanaugh. And he understood why she had done it, even though the article brought unneeded attention to her. Lady W had been diligent in reporting all the latest tidbit. It would have been inflammatory and suspicious if she had failed to report on the duke of C dancing with Miss P. Christopher found the ton and their insatiable appetite for gossip simply ludicrous, even
if amusing at times.
Dismissing the scandal sheet and vexed with the amount of time he had given those newspapers this week, he went back to the reports detailing the performance of the railways as an effective means of transportation in the cities of Birmingham, Liverpool, and Bristol. The idea to lay tracks across the entire country was innovatively ambitious, and he supported the movement wholeheartedly and contributed significantly to the private capital funding that built the rails. More funds were needed, and it would take some time to assess how precisely the spending committee planned to utilize the thousands of pounds he would invest.
A pair of light gray eyes darkened with passion crowded his thoughts. With a sigh, he released the sheaf of papers and leaned back in the chair. By God, I will excise the taste of your lips from my damn mind. A thing he had been vowing to do for the last few days. Except he genuinely did not want to. But he didn’t want Miss Cavanaugh to be such a distraction either. In the four days since he last saw her, memories of dancing, kissing, and playing chess with her teased him in the days, then taunted him mercilessly at nights. Do I haunt you as you’ve been haunting me, Miss Cavanaugh? Her lips had been so soft and yielding to his kisses. The feel of her lush backside had been the sweetest torture. He wanted to do such wicked things to her lips, and that pert rump. He wanted to see it blush a pretty red when he sensually spanked her, then nibbled. He hungered to see those curves arched lasciviously while he urged her to her knees and elbows and sank his cock into what he knew would be sublime tightness.
An odd recognition blossomed through his heart. He was a man of experience, but he'd never felt like this before…ever, and he doubted he could ever feel this way again. The desire befuddled him. He truly wanted Miss Cavanaugh, but the intensity of it unnerved him merely because he never imagined another could consume his thoughts and desires in such a manner.
He needed to make a firm decision in what capacity he would pursue Miss Cavanaugh. Christopher chuckled, wondering if she would be open to his advances. The manner in which she had returned his kiss said yes, but there had been a shadow in her eyes he’d not expected. She had been hurt before and was rightfully skittish. And he knew the two men who had gravely disappointed her. Had there been others?
A knock sounded on the door, and he pushed aside his musings of Miss Cavanaugh. The butler came into the room and bowed. "I beg Your Grace’s pardon; your grandmother has called. She awaits you in the gardens."