Say No to the Duke (The Wildes of Lindow Castle #4) - Eloisa James Page 0,86

mortification.

One rough hand circled her ankle. “Remember when Thaddeus proposed and your panniers flew up in the billiard room?”

“Uh,” she gasped, because his other hand was tracing a slow caress up the inside of her thigh.

“I could see your ankles from my chair in the corner,” Jeremy said, punctuating his words with kisses on her legs. “I nearly lunged out of my chair to smash Thaddeus in the jaw for being within eyesight of these ankles.”

“You did?” She raised her head and stared at him.

His mouth twisted ruefully. “Never underestimate a man’s primitive nature. If Thaddeus hadn’t instantly turned his head away, like the excellent gentleman he is, he would have had a black eye the next day.”

“I had no idea,” Betsy gasped.

“I tried to convince myself that my outrage was on behalf of your brothers. That I was merely a proxy for North.”

“North wouldn’t have paid any attention to my ankles,” Betsy pointed out.

“I couldn’t look away. The idea that any other man might share the pleasure swamped me with rage.”

His eyes holding hers, he slid both hands up her legs. “Remember when I told you that going to war burned the gentleman out of a man?”

She half gasped, half laughed. “Not true?”

“Very true. In proof whereof, you are here with me, in this bed, at night, about to be ravished, our marriage about to be consummated, though we are not yet betrothed.”

He dropped his head and kissed her thigh. Her inner thigh.

Betsy closed her eyes, embarrassment striking a blow again. With his face so close to her leg, he could see her most private parts. They should be making love under the sheets in the dark. She should hold herself still instead of quivering at every touch of his lips. Her legs went rigid.

“Bess,” he said, his voice encouraging.

“Just give me a moment,” she said, her mind rabbiting in fearful circles. “I just need to . . .”

“That’s not important,” he said. “Not between us, Bess.” But he ran his hands down to her ankles in silent, tacit acceptance of whatever she decided.

Betsy closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his breath.

If he was no gentleman, then she was no lady. At least when they were together.

She would never leave him; she knew that with every instinct she had. He was her Prussian, not her duke. Shared pleasure wouldn’t change her character and turn her to a faithless woman. Still, she had to conquer this insidious fear or she would diminish his pleasure.

“How did you know what I was feeling?” She propped herself up on her elbows, curiosity trumping mortification.

“I know you,” he said, pressing a kiss on her left knee. His hair slid over her bare skin, making her shake. His hands traced higher, caressing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

Betsy sank into mindless need, raw desire. She wanted him to move his hands higher. She wanted his lips to touch her thighs, and higher. She even wanted him to look at her.

To lick her.

Men and women did that service for each other, and according to the ceiling of the auction house, cherubs were intoxicated by the act.

“Are you planning to kiss me, ah, intimately?” she whispered.

“I was.” He met her eyes, the hunger in his making her dizzy. “We can wait until you are more accustomed to bedding.”

“I would like to kiss you that way,” she said, the words stumbling out of her mouth.

He froze, his fingers tightening on the full curve of her upper thighs. It gave her courage, because his eyes didn’t look scandalized. Quite the opposite.

“We don’t have any pillowy clouds,” she said. “I’d like to act out any number of angelic postures.” She began to sit up. “In fact—”

“No.” His hands slid forward, pinning her legs to the bed.

She cocked an eyebrow. “Dictatorial, are we?”

“Always, in the bedchamber.” He said it without apology, although he added, “If I do something you don’t care for, tell me.”

“Those two statements are in opposition,” she teased.

He growled and then rose on his hands and knees and moved to kiss her. Breathless moments later, Betsy returned to sanity to find she was shaking with impatience and muttering pleas under her breath.

A half hour later, after Jeremy had reacquainted himself with her breasts, and began leaving kisses on the curve of her stomach, her pleas were breathless.

“Couldn’t we do that later?” she begged, looking down without a shred of embarrassment at the man who had positioned himself between her legs, and was doing things with