When a Duchess Says I Do - Grace Burrowes Page 0,52
yearning that revealed her previous encounters to have been mere dalliances. She wanted to consume Duncan Wentworth, to bolt him down like a starving wretch’s first decent meal in ages.
And amid the clamorings of desire and joy ran a countercurrent of despair. She could enjoy Duncan Wentworth as a respite, a boon, an unlooked-for pleasure, but she’d have to let him go. If she cared for him at all, she’d have to let him go.
He could make her weak and stupid, an easy capture for the colonel, and then where would Papa be? That question had her easing back, though not even thoughts of Papa’s possible arrest could inspire her to move away.
“We would suit,” Duncan said, his hand moving slowly on Matilda’s back. “I am almost certain we would suit.”
He could speak coherently, the blighter. His heartbeat was faster, some satisfaction, but he was entirely self-possessed, despite the arousal pressing against Matilda’s belly. In bed, Duncan Wentworth would be formidable. His hand on her back said he’d be tender, too, and if she was starved for anything in this life, it was tenderness.
“This is not what I had planned,” Matilda said.
“Nor I.”
How bemused he sounded. Matilda tarried in his arms for another luscious half minute before she realized that he’d left up to her even the decision of when to abandon his embrace. He’d hold her until springtime, if that was what she wanted.
And it was.
“We must come to an agreement,” he said, his lips near her ear.
“I cannot marry you.”
“I was under the impression a courtship preceded that decision. Will you allow me to court you, Matilda?”
“Could I stop you?” He was still aroused and he could have this debate. What a singularly focused man.
He massaged her nape, slow circles that melted Matilda’s knees.
“You could stop me with a word, my dear, and all that has passed between us since the end of our chess game would be forgotten.”
She could not resist this studied, perfect intimacy. Not now. “Court me, then, but know that your efforts are doomed.”
“Wentworths thrive on a challenge.”
He whispered that warning in Matilda’s ear, and she knew she’d be daydreaming of whispers shared with him in a darkened bedchamber.
“I referred, though, to a different agreement.”
“I shall sit on the sofa now,” she said, moving not one inch, “because as long as you’re touching me, I’m witless and wanton.”
“Then this will be a very tactile courtship, for your caresses have the same effect on me.” He dropped his arms and took Matilda by the hand.
He might have been leading her to Cathay for all her mind could function, and yet little time had passed since the end of their chess match—their first chess match and their first kiss. How appropriate, that the two occasions should occur in that order.
“What is this agreement you seek?” Matilda said. “This other agreement?”
“The agreement we must reach has to do with your past, the secrets you are keeping, and my obligation as a gentleman to safeguard your welfare.”
Matilda settled on the sofa, across the room from the chess set. “Duncan Wentworth, are you preparing to turn up possessive now?” She could not allow that, not for all the kisses in England. For his sake, she could not allow any meddling possessiveness.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Duncan took the wing chair and crossed an ankle over the opposite knee, the picture of masculine pulchritude at its handsome ease. “You have managed on your own for some time. You found your way to Brightwell, where, but for my unexpected appearance, you’d likely have spent a cozy winter subsisting on snared rabbits, fish, and overlooked potatoes and turnips with nobody the wiser. Any fool with pretensions to possessing you would soon find himself in the colonel’s situation.”
“What col—?” Oh, dear. Of course, Duncan would notice that slip. That slip too. “So what is this agreement you seek?”
“If you give me information, Matilda, I will use it to protect you. I will not share that information and I will not act without consulting you. In the instant example, however, if some colonel should come nosing about, I will consider him suspect on general principles. If a man claiming to be Thomas Wakefield corresponds with me, I will regard him as a threat unless you reassure me otherwise.”
“You will interpret Stephen’s theory to mean that what information I let slip, I let slip willingly.”
“I shall.”
This was…not good, that Duncan would involve himself in the capacity of bodyguard, without knowing why Matilda might need one. Not fair.