She almost cried out in disappointment when the duke finally ceased his ministrations. When his hot mouth left her breasts, she opened her eyes to discover she was clinging to his shoulders.
She felt the cool night air tingle across her wet nipples, along with the sensual rasp of his voice as he murmured, “I could show you pleasure you will never forget.”
She believed him. Then he lifted his head, and she met his dark gaze. His eyes were smoldering, intense, triumphant.
Seeing that possessive look made heat flood Roslyn all over again. It was all she could do not to melt into his arms once more. Indeed, it took all her willpower to push her palms against his broad chest and stand upright on her own.
Her wits were still scattered, her heart still hammering hard against her ribs, but she forced herself to inject a faint note of scorn in her voice as she determinedly replied, “I am afraid your offer isn’t tempting enough. If I wish to find a protector, I can do better than an arrogant lord who thinks he need only to snap his fingers to have women fall swooning at his feet.”
Her mocking declaration had the desired effect of making him release her entirely. Grateful for her success, Roslyn stepped back, fumbling with her bodice, trying to repair her wanton disarray.
Drawing the silk up to cover the throbbing peaks of her breasts, Roslyn managed to school her expression to cool dispassion as she surveyed him. “Do me the kindness of believing my sincerity, your grace. I do
His expression of disbelief was priceless, she thought, stifling a shaky laugh. She supposed it was a victory of sorts-leaving the elegant, imperious Duke of Arden with
Deciding not to push her luck, however, Roslyn turned on weak limbs and moved past him through the window, stepping down into the curtained alcove. She felt a trembling sense of relief when he didn’t follow her, yet she was still breathing hard, her heart thudding as if she had run a great distance, her body overheated.
Leaving the alcove, she hurried along the darkened gallery, making her escape like Cinderella fleeing the ball at midnight. It wasn’t until she reached the far end that she remembered dropping her bonnet again. But she wasn’t about to risk retrieving it. She had to find Fanny and tender her excuses. She was going home to Danvers Hall at once. It was too dangerous for her to remain at the ball any longer. Indeed, she was foolish to have come in the first place, Roslyn admitted.
And yet…
She paused as she reached the ballroom doors. She could still feel the burning imprint of the duke’s mouth on hers, still feel his lips suckling her aching nipples. She would never forget his incredible kisses, his erotic caresses-
Stepping into the ballroom, Roslyn blinked in the bright light. She was utterly disgusted with herself. She had set her sights on another nobleman entirely. She couldn’t possibly be attracted to the arrogant Duke of Arden!
Even so, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret that she would miss the opportunity he had offered her, to have him demonstrate his amorous skills. Undeniably it would have been an eye-opening experience, to spend one night in his arms.
Her sense of the absurd returning suddenly, Roslyn shook her head wryly. She had spent the last four years fending off unwanted advances, and she was too much of a lady to change that now. Not to mention that becoming Arden’s mistress for even one night would totally ruin her as a prospective bride for any other gentleman.
Just then, she spied Fanny dancing with an armored knight. Ignoring the laughter and gaiety emanating from the crowd, Roslyn plunged into the throng.
She had no doubt now that Arden was a marvelous lover. A pity she didn’t dare risk examining his expertise more closely for herself.
Chapter Two
– Roslyn Loring to Fanny Irwin
It was a perfect day for a wedding-the morning sky bright with hope and promise. Yet Drew Moncrief, Duke of Arden, could summon little enthusiasm for the occasion as he waited with his two closest friends before the church entrance.
Primarily because he believed the groom was making an irrevocable mistake.
Lounging against a pillar on the church portico, Drew watched as Marcus, the new Earl of Danvers, restlessly paced the drive below in anticipation of the bridal party’s arrival.
“Devil take it, Marcus, will you calm down, man?” Heath Griffin, the Marquess of Claybourne drawled from his own similar position on the portico. “Your nerves are seriously wearing on mine.”
“He’s suffering from a case of bachelor terrors,” Drew murmured with sardonic amusement. “I told you he would succumb.”
Marcus cast the two of them a dismissive glance. “It isn’t fear, it’s impatience.” But to satisfy his friends, he climbed the short flight of steps to rejoin them on the portico. “I want an end to this waiting so I can make Arabella my wife. This last month has been interminable.”
Marcus and Miss Arabella Loring, the eldest of his three wards, had been officially betrothed a month ago, but now the moment finally was at hand. The village church was filled to overflowing with guests and flowers. The vicar was standing by to conduct the ceremony. And Marcus looked the part of the noble bridegroom-blue superfine coat, gold embroidered waistcoat, white lace cravat, and white satin breeches.
Drew, who was dressed similarly for the occasion, let a sad smile curve his mouth as he shook his head. “I never expected to see you so hopelessly besotted, my friend.”
“Your time will come someday,” Marcus predicted in a sage tone.
Drew flicked an imaginary speck of lint off the lace of his cuff, his half smile turning to one of pure cynicism. “Oh, I will eventually do my duty and wed to carry on the ancestral line, but I won’t ever lose my head over a woman as you have obviously done.”
“I don’t know,” Heath interjected. “I think it would be intriguing to find a woman who could make me lose my head.”
His blithe tone, however, suggested that he wasn’t entirely serious. While Heath loved the fair sex in general, he was convinced he would never encounter the woman who could cause him to willingly relinquish his cherished freedom and settle down in staid matrimony.
Drew was even more determined to retain his bachelorhood, as Marcus knew very well.
“Before meeting Arabella, Drew, I was nearly as cynical as you,” Marcus remarked amiably. “I fully understand your reticence to marry. You see all eligible females as the enemy.”
“They
“Arabella’s sisters won’t. You will find them refreshingly indifferent to your rank and consequence.”
Drew’s gaze narrowed on Marcus. “You aren’t possibly thinking of playing matchmaker, are you?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, old sport,” Marcus said jovially. “Even if Arabella’s middle sister does have the qualifications to make an admirable duchess.”
Drew uttered a mild curse at the deliberately provoking jibe, while Heath laughed out loud.
His eyes glinting with amusement, Marcus ended his baiting. “Never fear, Drew. I know nothing I could say would persuade you to give love a chance. But if you are supremely fortunate, you will discover the joys for yourself.”
It most certainly wouldn’t be with Marcus’s wards, Drew rejoined silently. He was determined to steer clear of the two remaining Loring sisters.
Just then they finally heard the sound of carriage wheels announcing the bride’s arrival. Shortly, three vehicles swept up the drive. Drew recognized Arabella Loring in the first one, but not the two young ladies who
