She stumbled back, but he was quick, the most physical man she’d ever known, looping his arm around her waist and tossing her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing.
As if he needed her permission even less.
“Put me down this instant, you ruffian!” She slapped his back as he bounded up the stairs two at a time. Her breath heaved from being bounced against him like a sack of produce he’d purchased from the market. Like he’d ever go to the market. Leaning in, she got a piece of him, just beneath his shoulder blade, where he was muscular rather than fleshy, so the nip with her teeth was a flimsy effort.
But it halted him in his tracks.
With a growl, he slid her body down his, pressed her back against the wall as his hands cupped her cheeks, the kiss shooting liquid heat down her throat and into her veins like she’d guzzled a bottle of Kentucky whiskey.
Then, he devoured.
His hands were in her hair, tangling, flinging hairpins, his long body capturing hers against the cool stone and making escape impossible.
When she didn’t want to escape.
Rising on her toes, she met his fierce hunger until they were gasping, bodies melting, shifting, searching. His muscles rippling beneath her questing hands. The wonder of their embrace lit a fire in her belly, between her thighs, her nipples hardening as a remembrance of finding pleasure in his arms roared through her.
This, she decided, this is real when my attic isn’t. This.
She could only ask for more. “Touch me,” she whispered, a cry of insistent need.
Backing off enough for his breath to hit her cheek instead of slide into her mouth, he braced his forearms on the wall and hung his head, gasping. “She’s marrying your brother.”
Delaney swallowed and brought her mind to the conversation. Her fingers were twisted in his shirt, and she uncurled them but kept the contact, palms flat on his chest. His heartbeat tripped up her arms, vibrating through her body. “Who?”
His gaze dusted hers, the gaslight from the sconce bleeding into his eyes until they were a startling wash of pure amber. “Honoria. Kitty.”
“Case and Kitty?”
“Scotland.”
Delaney hummed in thought. She couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cuss. “Heavens, he’s gone and done it now.” She chewed on her bottom lip and sent Sebastian a knowing look through her lashes, hoping it came off as coy rather than calculated. “So, you’re duchess-less.”
He smiled, dazzling, wicked. Playful. A rare thing for such a stoic man. “Care to make another pleasure wager, beautiful? Since I won the last.”
“You did not. Your eyes rolled back in your head at least a minute before mine did. However…” Stretching, she wound her arms around his neck and brought his lips back to hers. “Let me show you what a generous winner I am.”
Then they plummeted into the chasm, into each other.
The hallway was deserted, she thanked God, as they stumbled down it, tugging at clothing. Exchanging passionate embraces, frenzied kisses, fevered sighs. Tender caresses and hurried ones. His shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, his cravat lying in a puddle two doors down. Her bodice sagging from his dexterous undoing of the hooks and eyes running down the front. She wiggled out of her slippers, stumbling, sending the two of them into the wall. He righted her with a graceful boost and turn, halting at his bedroom door.
Extremely private, this suite of rooms encompassing the entire floor. Probably put to good use. She shoved aside the pang of jealousy she had no right to feel. This night, the Duke of Ashcroft was hers.
A common girl with a duke all to herself.
The duke in question reached around her, shoved the bedroom door wide and danced her inside the space. “I’m winning this time,” he murmured against the soft slope between her neck and shoulder, sending yearning swimming through her body. Then he closed the door with a hard kick.
She only had time for a brief look about the room as he walked her into it. Monstrously oversized furniture, sparse fixtures, masculine colors. A ticking clock. A shirt tossed over the chaise lounge. A pair of gleaming boots sitting by the wardrobe. His scent, so perfectly pungent, permeating each breath she took. The Soul Catcher she’d returned to him, resting on the bedside table, glittering in the gaslight.
There would be time for discovery later. She could find out much about him by investigating his private space. But for now…
Streaking her hands down his chest, she grasped