In the Dark with the Duke by Christi Caldwell Page 0,41
thin lawn fabric all the way on to trousers that proved nearly a perfect fit for her.
It was not, however, for the reasons the young lady had feared.
And for ones Hugh couldn’t have anticipated.
After all, living in the rookeries, he’d seen any manner of women in all manner of dress . . . including garments like the ones she wore now.
Never, however, had those coarser, life-hardened street figures borne the allure that Lila the Flittermouse did before him now.
Hugh worked a stare over her.
He’d not been wrong at his first perception of her: the woman was lean and barely curved, but the subtlety of that flare of her hips and buttocks proved more enticing than any overblown, fleshy frames. That thin shirt put her breasts on proud display.
And he swallowed a groan.
Lila followed his gaze downward, and it only invited his attention.
She cleared her throat. “Is this all right?”
Had she been another woman of experience, born to these streets, there’d have been no doubt that with her question, she was being coy.
There was only an honesty and directness to the woman before him that enticed.
It wasn’t even close to all right. Not the captivating way in which the wool garment clung to her lithe frame and accentuated her cinched waist and the slight swells of her buttocks. The threadbare article may as well have been translucent, outlining the curve of her breasts, and—she angled her arms back slightly and peeked down at herself—if one looked close enough, one could even make out the dusky portion of her nipples. He grunted. “You cannot wear that.”
Her expression fell.
“Not because you don’t look . . . not because you aren’t . . .” And wonder of wonders, Hugh Savage found himself stuttering and stumbling through an exchange. If anyone were present to observe it, his reputation would have been effectively killed.
“What are you saying?” she asked with her usual bluntness.
“We need to bind you.”
Her cheeks blossomed with color, bright round circles that put him in mind of apples, and damned if he didn’t have a sudden taste for that sweet fruit.
“No.”
It took a moment to register that the woman before him was issuing that denial. And it took an even longer moment to try and work his way back to the last words they’d exchanged.
“I’ll not be bound,” she said, providing that clarification he needed.
By God, he’d broken his own rule to never provide instructions on fighting . . . the same rule he’d held Maynard and Bragger to as well. And he should have chosen this insolent scrap of a woman who fought him on every damned point?
He opened his mouth to shut down this latest show of rebellion, but Lila cut Hugh off before he could speak.
“By your own admission, until I learn the feel of my body, I’m never going to learn how to use it in the ways it is intended to be used.”
Hugh forced back a groan.
They were his words repeated back, and yet, when spoken in that husky, almost whispery, soft voice, it lent a seductiveness to what had merely been fighting talk.
“You . . .”
She made a face. “If you think skirts are problematic to me learning to be free with my movements, then why would binding not be?”
“Because . . . because . . .” Hugh floundered.
Lila folded her arms, plumping those small, perfectly rounded mounds, an exact fit for his palms, and desire blazed to life once more.
That was why binding was necessary, because of the damned distraction her lithe form presented. And yet . . . at the same time, the minx was right in her challenge. Nonetheless, he tried once more. “Didn’t you just moments ago, yourself, say you couldn’t wear these?”
“Yes.” Lila flashed a small smile, a pleased-with-herself little grin. “But you made a very convincing argument.”
Of course he had. Blast and damn. He slashed a hand toward the center of the arena. “Get in the middle of the ring. Now,” he went on after she’d found a place in the middle of the room. “Your being here isn’t to learn how to fight. Am I correct?”
She hesitated, that pregnant pause telling. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. If you’d wished to learn how to box, you would have gone to Gentleman Jackson. He would have been your number-one choice, but you came to me.”
The lady gave a slight nod.
“Then, a lesson about survival,” he continued, taking up a place before her. “There’re no rules in surviving. There isn’t