Duke of Decadence (Lords of Scandal 9)

His lips curled into a small smile. They reached a dark corner and Bash pulled her toward his body. He wished to comfort her. He could feel her sadness underneath the calm exterior.

But when her face tilted up to his, he cupped her cheek with his hand, his thumb stroking over her bottom lip.

“Bash.”

He heard a needy undertone in her voice, almost begging him. But for what? “Yes, love,” he leaned down, his nose brushing hers.

“I don’t want to think about the future right now. I wish to enjoy the moment.” Her sweet breath caressed his cheek and he found himself lightly brushing her lips with his own.

He started to move away, but she raised up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his again.

Her eager touch was like a match to dry kindling. A fire blazed inside him as he slanted open her mouth and began to kiss her with a passion that had been building for weeks.

She threaded her arms about his neck and returned his touch, stroke for stroke, their tongues and bodies twining together. Desperately, he tried to pull her even closer but the gown he’d been admiring all evening was in his blasted way as he slid his hands down over her behind and pulled their hips together.

He heard her gasp, the sound causing his body to pulse with need. The pressure was frustratingly exquisite in that he only wanted more.

He began gathering her skirts in his hand, wanting to map the curve of her ass with his hand and her skirts were padding his touch.

From out of nowhere, someone bumped into his back.

Whoever it was was large and strong, and he lurched forward, holding Isabella closer to his chest to keep them both from falling to the stone veranda.

“Pardon me,” a gravelly voice rumbled and then the figure disappeared into the night.

Another sound caught his attention. Whispers that were close.

“Did you see where His Grace went?” one voice asked.

“I think over there,” another answered. “Was he with her?”

“Who is she and how did she manage to capture his attention?”

“She’s pretty but not that pretty.”

Bash didn’t hesitate. He sank deeper into the shadows, emerging next to a set of doors where he guided Isabella back inside.

Whoever that stranger was, he’d just saved Isabella from certain ruin. Or a hasty marriage.

His gut rolled. He couldn’t keep being with her like this. But being around her, his jealousy would get the best of him.

He had to let her go.

Chapter Eleven

Isabella stepped through the back door of the club, mentally preparing herself for the evening. She rubbed her temples as she walked. After Aunt Mildred’s visit to see their uncle, Malcolm had gone silent for nearly a month, but earlier today they’d received a missive that he needed to speak with them right away.

Eliza had chosen to ignore the message, which filled Isabella with sick dread that she attempted to push to the side.

She needed to focus, knowing it took a great deal of energy to control a group of rowdy and drunk men.

The club must have been in full swing, despite the early hour, because she could already hear the raised voices of several men arguing. But as she made her way down the hall, she realized the noise wasn’t coming from the front room but from Bash’s office.

Her steps slowed as she caught her name. “I don’t give a flying fig what you think. It’s not safe for Isabella to be around degenerates like this on a nightly basis. One of these nights, something bad is going to happen.”

“Flying fucking fig? She isn’t even here.” Blasphemy grumped. “Why are you using such silly words?”

“I believe you filled them in nicely,” Bash replied. “Can we discuss the actual topic? She needs to stop dealing.”