Say No to the Duke (The Wildes of Lindow Castle #4) - Eloisa James Page 0,84

he muttered.

Betsy could feel her lips were swollen by his kisses. Her hair tumbled down her back. Her nipples were tenting the fabric of her nightdress.

She smiled at him, letting her hands hang loosely by her sides. From the time she was fourteen, she’d concealed her body in underskirts and corsets, fichus and side panniers. Not tonight.

His eyes came back to her face, and the desire in them felt like a lick of fire over her body.

“You had a question?” Betsy prompted, smiling at him. Fear was gone.

“You love me?”

She nodded, not a shred of reluctance in her, and then spread her arms, letting them drop to her sides again. “Not a future duchess to be seen in this room.”

“Will you become my future marchioness, instead, Bess? I cannot—I cannot allow you to be here without marriage.”

“Because you are a gentleman,” she said, nodding.

“No.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Because you’ll break my heart. It’s already cracked,” he said, his voice steady. “All those men knelt at your feet, Bess. Do you wish me to kneel?”

The image of cavorting cherubs came straight into her mind.

He caught it, of course. Likely he’d always catch her errant thoughts.

“Next time,” he promised, a glint in his eye. “I need to know that you didn’t just say No to the duke: You said Yes to the marquess.”

Betsy took his hands in hers. “I don’t want you to kneel at my feet. I want you to be my partner and stand at my side.”

“I fell in love with you one of those days that I spent lurking in the corner of the billiard room,” Jeremy said, drawing her hands toward him and holding them over his heart. “With you, Betsy, not with the lovely woman you present in the ballroom.”

Betsy’s heart bounded and she swallowed hard. “You did?”

She was holding her breath, memorizing every intonation, the strength of his large hands curled around hers, the way his eyes were searching hers. Joy crashed through her as if that gentle surge of the tide had turned to a wave larger than her body.

“I would run away to Prussia with you, Jeremy,” she said, truth ringing in every word. “I wouldn’t leave my children, but I would leave everything and everyone else.”

“In the face of society’s outrage?” His voice was almost casual, curious. And yet they both knew that the question carried a huge weight.

Betsy smiled at him. And then she drew her hands free and threw herself at him, arms around his neck. “Yes, I would,” she said fiercely, against his mouth. “It’s you, and only you, even when you were rude to me, when you slid under the table, when you laughed at me. When you were the only person who really listened, and knew what I loved most. When you actually saw me.”

He grunted as her weight hit him and then he kissed her. Or they kissed each other, because her hands were in his hair, pulling his head down to hers. Then she walked backward, one, two, three steps until she reached the side of the bed.

He scooped her up and put her on the bed, his eyes full of feeling. Then he stood back and pulled his shirt from his breeches.

“I was looking forward to seeing you in a nightshirt,” she breathed.

“I don’t wear one.” He wrenched his breeches over his thighs and they fell to the floor.

Betsy rolled on one side and propped her head on her elbow. Their bodies couldn’t be more different. His was chiseled, from broad shoulders to a narrow waist, and below it . . .

“The cupids weren’t that size,” she said faintly.

“I noticed the poor fellows didn’t seem to be properly endowed,” Jeremy said, cheerfully. “As small as their wings.” He ran a hand under his balls and then slowly up his length. “This is designed for a woman, not a naughty cherub.”

Betsy sat up, fascinated. She had known what a man looked like. She even knew what they were about to do—and no thanks to those frolicking cupids, either. But she had imagined something smaller and less virile.

Courage, she reminded herself.

“Come here,” she said, reaching out her arms. “Come here.”

“Always.” Jeremy had a knee on the bed and she toppled back again, her hands flat against the thick muscles of his chest.

Her hands slid lower and his body went rigid.

“Yes?” he whispered, his voice a rasp.

“Yes,” she said. Then, her hand finally curling around the hard, silky length he had caressed a moment ago, she said, “Don’t ask