The Duke is Wicked (League of Lords #3) - Tracy Sumner Page 0,88

into her face with a gaze gone misty. “Christ, you look good enough to eat. More than. My eyes sting at the sight of you.”

The kiss was tender, then frantic, filled with so many layers of emotion she couldn’t untangle them. Her lips parted beneath his, her hands rising to grip his shoulders as she moaned softly into his mouth. His tongue tangled with hers as they shared their loneliness without words. Her toes curled inside her damp slippers, her fingers wrinkling his linen coat in a brutal grip. Chest hitching, he whispered her name and drew back to stare at her, his lashes dotted with raindrops, his attention fixed and holding, as if she were crucial to his existence. After a moment, the smile bloomed across his face with such power it took her breath. Seeing her had proven something to him, though she wasn’t sure what.

“I missed you, Temple,” he finally said, his voice rough.

Her heart gave a fierce thump in her chest. Ah, so that’s it.

“You’ve cut your hair, Tremont,” she returned, pleased her words were strong, when her knees were weak.

He frowned and went to touch. “Is it too much? I told my valet to go easy.”

She laughed, staying his hand. “No, it’s perfect.” Wrapping a silken curl around her finger, she gave the strand a light tug. “But you know I like it long enough to knot my hands in when…” Tracking his reaction, she licked her lips and let him finish the statement in his mind.

Blowing out a tense breath, he rolled his shoulders and moved out of reach, stepping into the rain, lifting his face to the sky. “Easy there, Bastian. Number three has to be flawless,” he whispered to himself, though the charming statement journeyed directly into her ear.

Delaney’s skin tingled, her body flushing. As in proposal number three. Glancing at the hands she’d twisted in her lap, enchantment over this rare show of uncertainty in a man who always seemed certain flowed through her.

He’s letting you in, Delaney. Push the door wide before he closes it again.

“Are you assisting me out, Your Grace?” she asked, when she could articulate the request without her voice trembling.

“I was. Until you mentioned yanking on my hair and…” His words trailed away as he stalked to the front of the carriage, only to return with an umbrella. “Come,” he urged, and held out his arm, the height of decency when she could see from his searing look that he wanted to kiss her again.

She nodded to the tiara. “Would you like me to wear that?”

He leaned in the carriage, his brow wrinkled in question. “What? Oh. No.” Laughing, the umbrella knocking the side of the carriage. “I simply thought you’d like it.” He flicked his fingers at the tiara, like a centuries-old piece of jewelry was trivial in the extreme. “Your fascination with antiquities. The dungeon, the moat. That damned oaken door. It’s the oldest thing, besides some very tasteless artwork in the house in Wales, I have to offer.” His head tilted, a frown growing as if he’d erred in his gift-giving.

She took the requisite pause before telling him, unable to hold the admission in for one more second. “I love you, Sebastian Fitzgerald Tremont. You know that, don’t you? It’s very simple. You are what you have to offer. You are all I want.”

He stilled, the umbrella wobbling in his grip. A drop of rain cut across his cheek and down his hard, square jaw. His lips parted on a sigh. “I’d hoped, my darling Temple, but you’ve no idea how bloody marvelous it is to finally hear you say it. You’re saving my life with these words, no bee’s venom involved this time.”

Grabbing the tiara, Delaney jammed it on her head, then grasped his hand. “How does it look?”

His smile was wobbly, his eyes moist. Shaking his head, he glanced at the sky, seeming to ponder, then he leaned into the carriage, seized her lips and murmured an unintelligible sentiment against them.

When she could locate her breath, she whispered, “I didn’t catch that, Your Grace.”

“I love you. More than you can imagine.” This said, he drew her into another kiss that left them winded, his hand going to cradle the back of her neck, bringing her as close as possible with him standing outside in the rain. Thoughts of what they could do in a carriage, a first for her, swirled through her mind as the mist sprinkled down on them.

“Climb in,”

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