A Night with the Bride(4)
His gaze turned wicked. “Indeed, I am. Are you volunteering, Miss Weatherfield?”
Oh! Is that what he thought—that she had designs to become his wife? “No, no,” she said quickly. “No.” She shook her head. “I am most certainly not volunteering. No.”
He lifted a brow. “You follow me out onto the terrace, alone, your gown enticingly tight, and ask me if I am in the market for a wife.”
She glanced down at her gown and frowned. It was perhaps a little tight, but not improperly so. She looked up at him. “I am not in want of a husband, I can assure you—”
“Then what is it you want?”
She stepped forward, her gaze fixed on his mouth, mesmerized by the perfection of his lips. “A kiss.” The words slipped out, a whisper, and she blinked.
Oh, dear God, she’d said that out loud. She hadn’t meant to blurt it out so abruptly.
“Young women don’t make such admissions, and certainly not to men they’ve just met.” He laughed and the rich, heady sound made her heart flutter wildly. “Miss Weatherfield, you are playing a dangerous game.”
She swallowed. “You’re a duke of the realm and trustworthy, by all accounts.” Rumored to be mad as well, but it seemed unwise to mention that just now. “Surely I have nothing to fear from you.”
Again, not entirely true, but she was perfectly safe on a terrace, outside a house that was filled to the brim with people. No harm would come to her, she was sure of it.
“You seem so certain, yet you know nothing of my character.” With every word, he inched closer. She took a step back, then another, until she was pressed up against the granite banister with nowhere to go. “Do you?”
She swallowed. He was so close she could smell the mint leaf on his breath, feel the intense heat of his body. “I have nothing to fear from you,” she repeated, infusing her tone with confidence she didn’t feel.
Something dark flickered in his eyes, and she felt a moment of apprehension. His gaze was intent, predatory, and her body hummed with anticipation.
He brushed a gloved finger down her bare arm, causing tingles to spread in its wake. “Don’t you?”
Yes, perhaps she did. This man was quite dangerous, in all the most tantalizing ways. Those intense blue eyes, that smooth, enigmatic charm, did things to her—wicked, delicious things.
With one step closer, he pressed against her intimately, his lower half pinning her to the banister. He stretched an arm out on either side of her, caging her in. He was all warmth and decadence, all powerful male virility.
In that moment, she realized what had been missing with all those other gentlemen—why she’d never felt compelled to accept their proposals. It was this. Unlike the other men, Somerset made her feel vibrant, unrestrained. He made her feel alive.
“If you want a kiss, Miss Weatherfield, you’ll have to earn it.”
Chapter Two
She blinked up at him, all pure, virginal innocence, and Nicholas felt the world shift beneath his feet.
“Oh,” she breathed, and damn if she didn’t look enticed by his taunt. “And exactly how would I go about earning this kiss?”
Christ.
He’d meant to intimidate her, to send her running back to her tittering friends. Young, virginal women were tiresome creatures, quick to take offense, easy to rile. Generally. But there was something quite different about Miss Weatherfield—she was bright, he could see it in her eyes, and her rebellious nature intrigued him.
He’d seen her earlier, laughing with her friends, stealing glances at him from over her fan. And he’d heard the dare. She’d been standing just feet away, and he’d heard every word of it. She wanted a kiss from him.
If she wasn’t careful, she’d get much more than that.
This section of the terrace was concealed by shadows and the placement of a tall potted plant shielded them from view of the house—fortunate, considering what he now planned for the tempting Miss Weatherfield.
He skimmed one hand down the small of her back, cupping her bottom through the fabric of her gown. She gasped but made no move to pull away. He laughed and tugged her more firmly against his pelvis, rocking gently. It was a rhythm her body seemed to recognize, as her pelvis arched in response, seeking more of the powerful friction that sparked between them.
He slid his other hand up and cupped one plump breast. God, she was magnificent. His thumb teased her nipple, and the sensitive nub tightened in response.
Fierce, unrelenting hunger sliced through him.
Craving more, he tugged her neckline down a fraction, freeing her swollen breast from the confines of her gown and chemise. He lowered his head and drew her left nipple into his mouth. Her body jerked in response, her legs nearly buckling beneath her. She gripped his shoulders to hold herself upright.