Deepest Desires of a Wicked Duke(25)

She didn’t want to approach him on the bed. Didn’t want to think about him on a bed. Trousers covered his long legs and he wore his tailcoat, waistcoat, and shirt. He was utterly the opposite of naked. Yet he looked so informal and relaxed on the bed, it felt far too intimate.

With a grunt, he sat up. His hand settled on her hip and she jumped, clutching the dress.

She stood on the dress and almost pitched forward, but his hand slid around her middle, supporting her, and he set her back on her feet. Carefully, he drew the soft, satiny fabric up on her shoulders, drawing the lace-trimmed edges together. His knuckles skimmed the nape of her neck.

Portia bit her lip. Just that touch seemed to set her skin aflame.

But he’d broken her heart. She’d been so hurt by the duke she would never let herself feel desire for him again.

She would have to stop it. By force of will, she would make it go away.

Adeptly, he managed all the fastenings. He was very good with women’s clothing. She supposed he’d had lots of practice.

The dress was rich ivory silk decorated with pearls and black lace. The neckline scooped shockingly low. As he tended to the fastenings at the back, it pulled the fabric snug to her back and made her breasts appear plump and rounded above the neckline. The skirt fell in shimmering beauty over her hips. She’d never worn such a dress. In the warm-toned embroidered silk, with the white and gold mask, she looked both innocent and exotic. Her flame-red hair looked lovely and wild, instead of just an untamed, unruly bother.

His hands brushed her low back as he finished the fasteners. A shock rushed through her. She was so aware of his hands, her heart was pounding, her whole body tense.

“Done,” he said, and it came out strangled. He was breathing hard.

While she fought to control her breathing. He could carelessly feel desire—she would not allow herself the same.

“You look beautiful, Portia.” His voice dropped to a whisper of a growl. He bent to her ear, where his breath brushed over the back of her neck and she felt like a helpless puddle of wax approached by a flame. “So very beautiful.”

The caress of his warm breath made her ache. She felt a sharp pang right through her—right down to her intimate place.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“S-speak so close to me.” Her voice shook.

She stepped away from him, aware of the sensual rustle of silk. The stunningly soft way the fabric caressed her skin—

Then she realized something. She turned in front of the mirror, her heart pounding. “It fits me perfectly. As if it was made to my measurements. Who could do that? I mean, how could anyone know?”

Sinclair shook his head. “I don’t know.”

She stared at him. Of course, even he couldn’t know her measurements. Had someone watched her and guessed? But this gown must have taken days to make. How long had someone been watching her?

A shiver went down her back. It felt like a spider crawling along her neck—which had happened the time she’d decided to clean the foundling home’s attics.

“This . . . this is unsettling,” she said. “Perhaps a bit . . . disturbing.”

“Unsettling? A bit disturbing? That is your description for this? Any other woman would have had the vapors. Long ago.”

“That would be pointless. Besides, you might give me more brandy.” Ruefully, she touched her head. “I never intend to do that again.”

His gaze moved slowly over her, and it heated her in its path.

She both liked it and desperately wished he would not do that. “There. I am ready to go downstairs. Down to the orgy.”

But before she could take a step, his hand was on her wrist. “I want to know the truth, Portia. Why are you so determined to go down to an orgy?”

* * *

Sin couldn’t stop suspicion from rising. Along with another part of his anatomy.

Portia was breathing fast and her cheeks were pink. He could sense she was hiding something. He’d learned from living with his family how to tell when people were lying to him—people he had trusted and loved.

Could Portia be in on some kind of game to hurt him? She had every reason to hate him. She hadn’t forgiven him. And why in hell would she? He’d broken her heart.

Was her kidnapping fake? Was that the reason a dress was provided that fit her perfectly?

So damn perfect it made his mouth water?

She moved away from him, but she stopped in front of the mirror. Stared at herself as if she couldn’t believe it was her reflection. She was a beautiful creature. In the pale ivory with the gleaming mask, she looked like an angel who had come down to sin.

“I am willing to endure it,” she said briskly. “To find out who kidnapped me.”