A Duchess a Day (Awakened by a Kiss #1) - Charis Michaels Page 0,75

look like a seductress. You look like you belong in the forest, ruling over flora and fauna and wood and stream. You look like you belong so very far from this place.”

She kissed him, dragging her fingers through his hair. “It’s terrible,” she agreed. “I hate it.”

“I worried for you,” he said, between kisses. “I was so bloody worried.” He released her leg and gathered her to him, his hands on her back. He reclined her in his arms, holding her out so he could look at her. She smiled gently, one hand on his face. Her long, black hair fell almost to the floor. He leaned to kiss her exposed throat, the tops of her breasts, her ear, her lips.

“I cannot say I’m enjoying the ball,” she said softly, “although it’s certainly improved since you arrived.”

He growled again and yanked her up, reclaiming her mouth. “You slay me.”

“If you feel slayed, I think the yellow velvet is to blame. This black leather, I must say, takes your already significant stature and makes it all the more imposing. You look masterful. I love it.”

Another kiss.

“Declan?” she said.

His brain barely functioned, but something about the sound of his name made his skin go hot. He kissed her again, the kiss so deep they almost tipped sideways.

“Declan?” she repeated.

His heart thundered in his ears. Another kiss. His tongue. Her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips again. His hands returned to the silk stockings beneath her dress. Her perfectly formed bottom filled his hands.

“I love you,” she whispered. She twined her hands around his neck. “It’s terribly inconvenient, I know, but it could not not be said. We’ve risked everything for these five minutes. Let us make it worth more than stolen kisses.”

“Helena,” he moaned. Her words were a swirl in his head. His brain was caught somewhere between lust and terror, but he was cogent enough to not say more than her name. Her name could not hurt him. Or her. Or this moment.

“It’s true,” she said, pressing on. “It’s not fair or useful, but I do.” She laid her head against his chest. He felt the soft, warm skin of her cheek on his bare shoulder. Her hair fell over his arm. He grabbed a loose handful, filling his fingers with the flower-strewn locks. He held on to her as if he would sink into the ground if he let go. They embraced like the world was falling apart.

“We cannot stay here,” she finally said. She looked up. Her green eyes were very bright.

“Yes,” he whispered. He kissed her again.

“Anyone could have seen us come in,” she said.

“No one saw,” he said, but he’d no guarantee of this. He’d all but dragged her here. He’d considered nothing but his need to have her in his arms.

“We cannot indulge in recklessness now,” she said.

He laughed. “I’ve never been so reckless in my life until I met you.”

“I’m going back out,” she said, sliding her hands away. Stepping back. He let her go. He clenched his fists at his sides. She smoothed her hair and flowers molted to the floor.

“Did you see the woman with whom I was speaking?” she asked. Her voice was raspy. She glanced at him and then away, blushing slightly. She looked happy but a little uncertain. He felt like glass in a storm. One strong gust and he would shatter. I love you.

Helena went on, “The tall girl, dressed as Cleopatra? That was one of the two potential girls. Lady Rodericka Newton.”

Declan couldn’t remember any woman beyond Helena.

“She’ll not suit, I’m afraid,” Helena went on, shaking her head, smoothing the silk strips that fringed her gown. “She comes across as . . . sort of . . . humorless? Domineering, I’d say. When you came upon us, she was giving me advice on how I might improve my costume.”

“You’re joking,” he said. “Your costume is the best of the night.”

“Thank you.” She smiled with genuine pleasure. Declan’s heart shattered.

She went on, “She’d already informed me that she’d made a list of music she felt the band should play, including the order of songs, and given it to the conductor. She’s found fault with the temperature of the soup and lectured several footmen.”

“A bashful sort of girl, is she?” Declan asked.

“Bashful?” Helena laughed. “Oh yes, definitely. She’s under the impression that she’s somehow responsible for this ball, and she barely knows the hosts. She said she and her mother would make some recommendations for future events, but they were only