Her brows drew together even as her lips parted. Understand each other? She didn’t understand anything as she tilted her chin up to look in his face for answers. What she saw was raw, dark power. The kind of power that stole her breath from a bit of fear and, if she were being honest, excitement. “I’m afraid I don’t—”
But her words were cut short as he lowered his mouth to hers.
Damian assessed the woman before him. Dark hair and large hazel-green eyes were not to his usual taste. Neither was her slender build. He generally preferred more buxom blondes, but something about her was fetching nonetheless. Perhaps it was her delicate features, or the plumpness of her lips.
Her shoulders were narrow, her slender frame the same, adding an air of vulnerability to her gentle curves.
Pulling her closer, he grasped her natural waist, his palm fitting in the indent snug and perfect. Her lips parted in what was a clear invitation even as her eyes widened. Swooping his head down, he captured her lips with his own. She tasted of tea, fruity and clean, refreshing, as her soft lips stilled under his. Then, after a few moments, her lush mouth softened, melding into his for just a moment.
Satisfaction and desire rolled through him. Something about the way her lips clung to his didn’t speak of a woman pretending at passion. Her yielding mouth was far more of a surrender and victory roared in his veins, making his ears thunder with the rush of blood.
He slanted her lips open and claimed the soft inside of her mouth with his tongue. She tasted even better as her smaller tongue gently probed back. Fire coursed through his veins as he gathered her closer. He knew he was barreling toward something and he should slow this kiss down but his body craved her already.
He’d gone a long time without a woman. As a duke, many of them would fall willingly into his bed, he knew that. But he tired of their barely concealed disgust at the mangled side of his face. They hid it, but there was always a tell in the second before they placed a mask over their repulsed reactions.
Which was why he’d gone so long without being with someone. How long had it been? Years. But when he finally decided he couldn’t stand celibacy any longer, he’d gone out to his club, intent upon drinking and perhaps gleaning a recommendation or two for a lady who might suit his needs when he’d overheard Lord Balstead’s invitation for debauchery.
Balstead’s reputation had preceded him. He was a man with an excellent palette for women and drink and Damian had used his weight as a duke to strong-arm an invitation to this party. He wasn’t disappointed. He’d received a lovely, private welcome from a beautiful woman, who, if she was disgusted by his scar, hadn’t let on, even for a moment. And her kiss. Her kiss was that of a woman who desired him. Which at this moment, was everything.
His hand ran up her slender back, feeling the gentle curve of her spine as her body melded to his. When he reached her shoulder, he traced her collarbone and then slid his hand down her chest to cup her bosom. It wasn’t overly large but it filled his palm, and she groaned into his mouth as he gave her flesh a gentle squeeze. He wanted more.
But he’d likely pushed too fast. Because that was the moment she broke away, pulling back.
Damian slowly opened his eyes, his lids still hooded from the sheer passion in that single long, drawn-out kiss. He wanted more. With a determination he was known for, he began pulling her close again.
“Your Grace,” she cried her voice breathy and high in a way that only made his blood burn hotter. “You misunderstand.”
He raised a brow, still holding her wrist which he lightly stroked with his thumb. The skin underneath was silky soft and so tempting that he longed to bring the delicate underside to his lips, taste her flesh, lick it. “Really? What do I not understand, exactly?”
She trembled under his touch, even as she swallowed. “I am not what you think. I am—”
“What is it I think, exactly?” he asked, drawing her just a bit closer.
“That I am a lightskirt or a—” She didn’t finish, her hazel eyes growing wider still.
He frowned. Her gaze did not hold passion at this moment but a touch of fear. Not what he’d had in mind at all. “What are you then?”
Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. He followed the trail with his eyes, wishing he could follow it with his tongue. A shiver of anticipation rolled down his spine. “I am a dear friend of Lord Balstead’s.”
His frown deepened and he drew his brows together. “He invited a dear female friend to his house for this party?” What kind of man would do such a thing? Perhaps Lord Balstead was more risqué than he had imagined. Why else would he jeopardize a friend’s reputation?
She shook her head. “No. Well yes. Sort of.”
What the bloody hell? “I think you’d better explain yourself and quickly.”
She nodded tentatively, her gaze casting to where he still held her wrist in his hand. Her pulse jumped under his thumb, beating wildly and erratically as she gently tried to pull her limb from his grasp. “Of course, Your Grace. If you might just release me, I’ll happily explain.”
That made his brow rise. “Release you? Whatever for?” He liked touching her like this. She’d evoked a response he hadn’t experienced in ages. Regardless of what she’d revealed about her relationship with Balstead, he enjoyed the feel of her pulse under his touch and the very fact she’d greeted him alone told him she was no virginal, inexperienced maiden. Which suited him perfectly.
“Because…” she huffed. A breathy sound that was likely supposed to express annoyance but only made his body clench tighter. “I am about to marry.”
He let out a growl of dissatisfaction. That wouldn’t do. Not at all.
Chapter Two
Why had she just lied? She tried to pull away, giving her hand a bit of a tug. Her heart was racing in her chest. She could barely catch her breath after that kiss, his touch overwhelming all her senses. If he’d stop touching her, she might be able to compose her thoughts.
Duplicity was not her strength anyhow, but with a large, devilishly handsome duke touching her, she could barely think. Her inability to string together reasonable sentences had likely contributed to her attempt to lie her way out of the situation in the first place. If her mind had been working, surely she would have come up with a better plan.
Raithe was supposed to be at the estate, explaining to this man that there was no debaucherous party. And also discussing the fact that the duke was here as a potential candidate for Cassandra’s hand. Instead, she’d just completely ruined any chance of a marriage by professing herself already engaged. Brilliant.
He still held her wrist between his fingers. “You’re about to marry?”
She swallowed. Think, Cassandra. Her upper teeth caught her lower lip as she looked into the fire. “That’s the plan.” She nearly huffed a breath at herself. Why couldn’t she formulate an intelligent or at least witty answer.
“I’ve only just realized that I don’t know your name, love.”
His voice had dropped lower, deeper, and even more tantalizingly dangerous. She ached in places she wasn’t sure she’d known even existed before this moment. “Mrs. Winterset,” she whispered, trying to control her body’s speeding pulse.
His fingers tightened, her first indication she’d just said something wrong. “You’re already married?”
She shook her head. “I’m a widow.” She looked back at him then, the dark grey depths of his eyes drawing her in. She clenched and unclenched her fingers. “But I need to wed again. I’m…” There was little to say but the truth. Her face heated as she shifted her weight. “I’m not financially…”
His eyebrows rose. “I see.” And then he moved her just a bit closer again. But now, she could feel the heat radiating from him. The fire, which had warmed her minutes before was now overly hot and a flush surely filled her cheeks given how much they flared with heat. “And who have you chosen for your next groom?”
“I…” she shook her head. What did she say now? “Raithe…t
hat is to say Lord Balstead…”
“You’re marrying Balstead? As his dear friend?”
Oh dear. That wasn’t what she’d meant to happen. “No. Lord Balstead has chosen—”
He let out a sudden bark of laughter. “Are you trying to tell me that you allowed Balstead, the most well-known rake in all of London, to choose your husband for you?” And then he let her wrist go. “Have you met the man? Signed the contracts?”
Well, she may as well stick as close to the truth as possible. “No.”
He finally removed the whisky from her hand and took a large swallow. “Interesting.”
She winced. Her situation wasn’t simply interesting. No. Her current circumstances filled her with shame, made her want to rewrite every decision she’d made thus far in life and in this conversation. At least she didn’t want him, this large and arresting duke, to find out the truth. The more he poked around her explanation, the more he would realize she had lied. “I thought my situation rather mundane,” she said, unable to admit the reality.
“And how do you know Balstead?” he asked, turning toward her. “What’s the nature of your relationship?”
She narrowed her gaze as she took a decided step back. “We’ve known each other since childhood. My husband was his best friend.” John. His face rose in her mind, thin and pale, only his eyes still burning with life and resentment.
“Hmm,” he answered, taking another swallow.
“My lady,” the butler called as he entered the room. “The refreshments you requested.”
She sighed with relief at the interruption. There was a tension about the duke that was both a bit frightening and terribly exciting. If she could just break that pull she’d surely be able to gain control of this situation. “Thank you,” she answered automatically.
Cassandra crossed to the tray and assessed the contents. The staff was more than capable, she just needed a reason to put space between her and His Grace.
She pressed her hands to her stomach, covering her abdomen as she turned back to her…guest. “Please, help yourself.”
He took another sip from his drink, his grey eyes burning into hers. “I already told you. I’m not hungry.”
Probably better. The last thing she needed was for him to cross the room and be close to her again. His proximity scrambled her thoughts, unnerving her. “Lord Balstead should return very soon with the rest of the guests.”
He paused, silence filling the space between them. “I thought the party was supposed to start four days ago. Why isn’t there anyone else here?”
Finally, an easy question. “There was a storm. A bridge was washed out on the coastal path north and the guests were delayed.”
“Did you know what sort of party he was hosting?”
Cassandra frowned. She had some idea of what Raithe did with his free time, though they’d never discussed it and she hadn’t asked when he’d mentioned his duplicitous plan. He hadn’t been the same since he’d lost his wife and child. She sighed. Here Raithe was helping her, when perhaps, she should be helping him. “I didn’t ask. What Lord Balstead does is his own business.”
His Grace started a slow step toward her and the tray. Her fingers, still across her stomach, curled into her own flesh.
His voice was a deep rumble dancing across her skin with an intimacy that made her shiver. “I have to confess, I am disappointed to learn that you will marry.”
Her breath caught in her chest and held there. “You’re not actually interested in my hand?”
He paused, his eyes travelling down her body. “Do not misunderstand. As a duke, marriage is inevitable, but I’m not particularly interested in marrying anyone at the moment. I am, however, quite intrigued by the idea of bedding you.”
She fisted her hands into her stomach once more. “Your Grace. That is not—”
“Hear me out,” he replied, easily. “As a widow, it is far more acceptable for you to take a lover. And I would make it worth your while.”
Cassandra stared into the flames of the fire again as her heartbeat rushed in her ears. She didn’t wish to marry. Not really. The first had been a disaster and she’d not lie…his offer was tempting for so many reasons. She knew such a relationship was wrong. The sort that might damn her forever, but she wasn’t certain she could bear another failed attempt at wedlock. Straightening her spine, she decided to hear the duke out. Perhaps his offer would be the best solution to safeguard her in the future.
Damian watched Mrs. Winterset with an intensity that should have frightened her. It almost frightened him. He hadn’t wanted to be with a woman the way he wanted her for such a long time. Not since Amelia.
A cold shiver ran down his spine at the memory of that viper. Without meaning to, he reached up and touched his cheek, the hard, mangled ridges of his scar reminding him why he needed to set very specific terms with Mrs. Winterset. That was vitally important.
But it rather shocked him that he wanted to make an offer at all. Five years he’d gone without touching a woman and now…like lightning, he was ablaze again.
Damian studied her expressive eyes, which flickered with every emotion as she considered his words. Surprise widened them, fear, then interest made her gaze soften. “How would you make becoming your paramour worth my while?”
He cleared his throat, thinking quickly. “A home, the deed to be signed over to you at the beginning of our term. An allowance while we’re together, and a sum upon our departure.”
She caught her lip between her teeth again, a gesture that he was found very arresting. He pressed his hand to his thigh to keep from swiping his thumb across the supple flesh. Wouldn’t do to scare her off yet. He’d already kissed her without permission. He needed to gain some control over the situation. Over himself.
She looked away, staring out the rain-soaked windows. “What guarantees would I have?”
Satisfaction pumped through his veins. “A contract, of course. One that states all our terms of agreement in writing.”
One of her hands lifted from her stomach, trembling slightly it raised up to her cheek. “How long?”
That question irritated him and his chin pulled back, his mouth settling into a frown. Why did that matter? She’d be well cared for in the present and the future. Besides, something told him he’d need a long time to discover and enjoy all her marvelous assets. “I don’t know.”
She drew in a ragged breath. A shadow passed her face. “I would assume for a home and a life’s sum, it would be for some time. A year? Two?”
What did it matter? “Generally, these things last until the benefactor tires of the arrangement.”
He watched her shoulders slump, her brows drawing together and her mouth tightening. “And what if you’re not satisfied with my…”
She clasped her cheek and the flesh around her fingers turned white. He wanted to snatch them back from her delicate skin. Was the pressure of them painful? He stepped a bit closer, his brow knitting in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I be satisfied?”
She tucked her chin into her chest, unable to meet his gaze, but her face had gone from pale to bright red, indicating her embarrassment. Concerned, yet cautious, he reached out and touched her, gently placing his thumb and forefinger under her chin to lift her head until she tilted her face toward his once again.
Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she pressed her lips tightly together. “I don’t know. I’m not the sort of woman men normally…”
He quirked a small smile. He supposed her admission was true. While incredibly beautiful, her looks erred on the side of sweet rather than sultry, her curves gentler, her temperament soft rather than daring. All of her attributes suited him perfectly. He wasn’t looking for a vixen who wished to taunt and tease him. “I care little for what other men want or like.” Besides, when she was with him, she’d have little time or energy to wonder about other men.
Her lips parted, her eyes widening in surprise before she smiled, a small, sweet smile. “I believe that.”
He slid his fingers down the sweeping column of her neck. Her skin was like silk under the rougher skin of his hands. “What is your answer?”
She shivered, not pulling away but swaying further from his touch. “I need to think. I’m not sure…”
“Are you worried about your potential fiancé?”
She jolted under his hand, her arms wrapping about her waist. “I…” She stepped back then, bumping the table behind her, which held all of the refreshments.
He darted his hand out, bending down to steady the tray. His face came level with hers. He tilted his chin down to better align his lips with hers. Her scent wrapped about him and her eyes dilated.
Her chest rose and fell in a series of quick movements, her breath fanning across his cheeks, warm and sweet as the rest of her. “Your Grace,” she said, her voice satisfyingly breathy. His cock hardened, need making every muscle tight. Damn, he wanted this woman.
“Don’t worry about him. I’ll take care of whatever man Balstead has lined up if you need me to.”
“Take care of him?” her voice tightened, coming out as a frightened choke.
Bloody hell. He was scaring her. He’d always had an intensity that others found off-putting. He returned to lightly caressing her cheek. “I just meant that I’d tell him of your decision not to marry him. That’s all.” Guilt stabbed at him. He’d be selfish to keep her from marriage, at least for a while—but damn it, he’d been without a woman for too long and now needed her with every fiber of his being. Naked, in his bed.
She relaxed slightly, her shoulders slumping and her breath slowing. “I think it best that I take a bit of time to consider your proposal.”
He cocked his head to the side. He’d prefer to seal the deal today. Patience was not one of his virtues. “Would specific numbers help with your decision?”
She shook her head, the skin of her jaw sliding along his hand. “I don’t know. I just assumed I would marry. Deciding to go change the plan as you’ve suggested is a big decision and…”
When to Dare an Dishonorable Duke: Regency Romance (Romancing the Rake Book 7) Page 2
