The Duke is Wicked (League of Lords #3) - Tracy Sumner Page 0,78

Sebastian murmured.

Pausing, her pale gray gaze swept his face, searching. He wasn’t sure for what, but he always, always, allowed her to look. When before, he’d have closed himself off.

That was his meaning of love.

He wondered what hers was. Wondered if their children would have eyes the color of rain or embers? Rattled, the string popped beneath his fingers with a twang.

She tilted her head, then touched the spot between her eyes where spectacles, should she have been wearing a pair, would sit. Told you, her sly look said.

Sebastian flushed and fidgeted, nudging the spectacles high on his nose. “They do help.”

She shrugged, looking down to hide a triumphant smile. No need to rub it in when the woman loved rubbing it in. “Squinting and headaches. I’m no doctor, but the answer was simple.”

“They add a certain debonair charm, am I right?”

She glanced up, grinning. Christ, he loved her smile. “Oh, you know I adore them. Almost as much as I adore your hair. And that is quite the coup. When they arrived from London by special messenger, and I saw you in them that first time, I feared I’d expire on the spot. Of course, wearing them with nothing else later that night made me very, very happy.”

He laughed, unable to stop it. Then he was on his feet and crossing to her, unable to stop that, either. He was making a fool of himself—but perhaps she hadn’t completely noticed, and that left only the pup to see.

Sebastian crouched before her, framed her face with his broad palms and brought her lips to his. The kiss was a lush, elegant, swift engagement in a world of their creation and their creation only. Every time, touching her left a more profound imprint while he gave a piece of himself away. She was making the ragged sounds in the back of her throat that tore him up, pressing closer, offering herself in her bountiful manner. She was reaching, fingers tangling in his hair, her other hand going lower, her checkmate move, when he stopped her.

She blinked, revealing an ashen gaze dappled with indigo flecks one would miss if one weren’t looking closely. And he’d been looking closely. Her eyes only darkened when he thrust inside her and not a moment before. Never a moment before.

“You’re going to make me beg, is that it?” Her focus dropped to the bulge beneath his trouser close as if to say, why, when you want me as much as I want you?

His hands roamed down her arms, capturing her wrists. “When you do, I find I’m always extremely charitable.”

She sighed, looking utterly dissatisfied.

“Maybe I want more from you. Your mind, not your body.” Laughing softly, he shook his head. Who was he kidding? He wanted her so badly he trembled with the force of it. “There’s time, the rest of the night, for me to pleasure you.”

One side of her mouth kicked up. “I suppose.”

After all, during the begging incident, he’d made her come twice before finally sliding inside her. To his mind, it had been excruciating and extraordinary.

He brought her wrist to his lips and pressed a soft kiss over her flickering pulse. “You, my darling Temple, are a dreadful loser.” Tugging her to her feet, he linked fingers and escorted her across the room. “Call your dog, madam.”

Halting in the dungeon’s entrance, she gazed up at him in question, her face so lovely in the dim gaslight.

She was too young, too bright, too wonderful for him, but he was taking her anyway.

“A moonlight walk along that silly old moat you love so much. I’ll tell you a spot of history I uncovered about its creation.”

“Oh,” she breathed, as pleased as if he’d offered her a diamond tiara, which he’d had his solicitor send from London last week. It was the oldest piece in the Tremont family, circa 1550 or thereabouts. The age of the thing alone might convince her to marry him.

“Hep,” she called and slapped her thigh. The pup yawned, shook his bottom, scrambled to his feet and trotted to them.

Joining arms, they climbed the stairs, the dog trailing behind, like a family. For an instant, Sebastian was breathless with hope.

Soon, he thought, I’ll ask again. Soon.

But he worried how his independent, cantankerous hellion would react when he did.

Delaney woke in a panic, calculating dates in her mind.

When was the last…?

Calendar. She needed a calendar.

Wiggling from beneath the arm Sebastian had thrown across her waist, she slid from his bed with a