A Duke of Her Own(48)

"You surprise me," he said, bending toward her. His lips tasted of anisette, like spice and like a man.

She opened her mouth, remembering instantly how delicious a kiss could be. How the touch of lips could change the whole feeling of her body. She leaned toward him and gave him everything he wanted.

And he took it.

She realized, in the first second after their kiss began, that Villiers would always take what he wanted. He crushed her mouth, cupping her face in his hands and pulling her toward him.

Dimly, she thought how different this first kiss was from the one she had shared with Gideon, years ago. They were young and unpracticed. Gideon fumbled; she giggled; he apologized. It soon became clear that she enjoyed kissing far more than he did.

Probably all young men were the same: eager, driven by lust. He longed to touch; she longed to kiss.

She remembered chasing him around the barn once, trying to catch and kiss him, until he suddenly turned around and snatched her up, his hands falling on her—

"What?" a dark voice said in her ear. "Yes?" she asked, startled. "I'm kissing you, damn it."

She looked up at him, confused. In the light falling through the windows behind them, Villiers's eyes looked black. Eyelashes shaded his cheekbone, putting it into high relief. "I was thinking of something else," she said honestly.

He stared at her for a second and then let out a howl of laughter that punctuated the singing she barely heard. "Between you and Tobias, I'm achieving a modicum of humility, for the first time in my life."

"That I doubt," she observed.

His eyes narrowed. "I suppose you were thinking of Astley."

She felt a little dazed, as if the liqueur had gone to her head, and she couldn't follow what he was talking about so she just shook her head. "I'm sorry if I punctured your vanity," she said honestly. "It was a nice kiss."

"Nice?"

He sounded incredulous. Apparently the Duke of Villiers was accustomed to women falling at his feet after one touch of his lips. "You taste like anise," she said, settling back into her position. "I'm very fond of licorice. Did you ever find the plants and chew them when you were little?"

"No."

She turned her head slightly, just enough so she could meet his eyes again. Of course he hadn't wandered about fields grazing on wild plants. He was likely swathed in velvet from his toes to his collarbone from age five. No, four.

"Of whom were you thinking?" he asked. "Was it Astley?" There was something dangerous in his tone.

She took another sip of anisette. It slid sweet and hot down her throat, adding to the heat in her insides that had jumped to life with his lips. And that was making her nervous. She had now kissed two men in her life, Gideon and Villiers. Both of them made her feel slightly delirious, wild with pleasure, wanting nothing more than to kiss again and again.

She had the uncomfortable feeling that she was a wagtail by nature. Her mother would not approve.

"In truth, it was the Duke of Astley," she admitted.

Villiers's expression didn't change. "He is pretty. A maiden's dream, in fact."

"He was my dream," she confessed. In the background, Lisette and Roland were quarreling over a musical notation of some sort or other. "After his father died, he started coming home with my brother during holidays."

"From Eton."

"Yes, exactly. I never really paid much attention to him, but then one day... well, there he was."

It was embarrassing the way that Villiers's lips made her want to lean over and—and nip him. Lick him.

"What then?" he inquired.

"Oh, it took us months to kiss," Eleanor said lightly. "Though I spent a great deal of time dreaming about it. It's quite common to fall in love at that age."

He nodded, rather unexpectedly. Eleanor couldn't imagine the Duke of Villiers in love with anyone.

"You?" she asked.

"Why the surprise?"

"Oh, the dukeness of you," she said with a wave of her hand, wondering if she might have drunk a bit too much. Just to prove to herself that she hadn't, she finished her glass. "My dukeness," Villiers repeated.

"Swathed in velvet, from the moment you left the crib." She looked away because the very sight of his lips made her feel like squirming, as if her soft parts became softer at the sight of him.

"I was in love with a woman named Bess. She was a barmaid." Eleanor giggled. "Buxom and beautiful?"

"I actually don't remember whether she was buxom," Villiers said. "Certainly she wasn't as fortunate in that regard as you." His eyes didn't drop below her face. "I would remember that."

"My bodice is a bit small," Eleanor confessed. "This gown belongs to my sister. My preference is for less revealing clothing." He nodded.