She only prayed the duke had seen something in her, enough that he would be willing to pursue her hand even after he learned her true identity—Lady Constance, the Beautiful Bastard.
She closed her eyes, forcing her heart to reason, and her mind to think logically. He was a duke, one that would be in need of a wife to be a companion and to give him heirs. An appropriate wife. While Constance may be “ravishing,” as he had whispered against her lips, and in possession of a sizeable dowry, no man of Mondvale’s social stature would willingly align his name with someone as singularly inappropriate as she.
And so, she ruthlessly killed the burgeoning hope, and regretfully pushed the Duke of Mondvale from her mind, thankful she had not been foolish enough to reveal her true identity. That would have been one more heartache she did not need. One she instinctively knew would be far worse than anything she’d experienced to date.
Chapter Three
Miss Desiree Hastings was exquisite. Lucan’s usually disciplined body had reacted with painful immediacy to her innocent sensuality. He could not remember ever being so strongly affected by a lady. The huskiness of her voice had washed over his skin like a caress, her tentative smile sending a shaft of desire through him, something Lady Shrewsbury’s practiced caresses and suggestive whispers had been unable to do. He should not be surprised, for Miss Hastings was truly stunning. She wore a sapphire blue evening gown, with matching gloves and delicate slippers. Her dress bared the creamy swell of her shoulders, her décolletage, and flattered her exquisite shape. He’d never seen such voluptuous curves on a young society miss before, curves that were sensual and perfect. Some of the more risqué entertainers at his club had such luscious figures, but not as desirable. He’d been struck by the most lurid thought, that her body was made to be ridden hard and deep—lush hips, tiny waist, and more than a handful of bosom.
He’d wondered several times if the chit knew how vulnerable she was, ensconced in the conservatory with him. She had seemed vaguely familiar, and he’d wondered how he could have forgotten such a beauty. Her hair was of a hue he had never seen before, a pale blond that appeared as if it had been burned under the sun. It was those streaks of deeper gold interwoven with every strand that drew his eyes. She was small and sleek, and the raw sensuality she’d moved with as she entered the conservatory had filled him with desire.
Earlier, Lucan had felt her eyes on him throughout the course of the evening. He had watched her watch him, but he had been more discreet. He had wondered at her isolation, and had been tempted to seek an introduction, but had banished the thought immediately. It would never do for him to publicly give attention to a female that was not his quarry. His purpose at these society events was a cold, calculating one, and to be entranced with a ravishing young miss like her was not welcomed. His resolution had wobbled when he had noticed her following him. From her provocative walk to his location in the shadows, he had made the decision to bed her in the conservatory. Lucan had felt a keen sense of disappointment at her arrival. He had not lived twenty nine years on earth, half of his life spent amongst the depraved and the demi monde, to not know refreshing innocence. Her vibrant green eyes, a mixture of jade and emerald, had shone first with weariness, then sparkled with artless hunger, and finally open curiosity.
It was the innocent awareness that had waylaid his plan, or else she would have been beneath him instantly, and he would have been deep inside her.
Such a quandary.
He had arranged a clandestine meeting in the conservatory with one of his only three friends in London. No one else’s presence had been anticipated. But within moments, he’d struggled between getting rid of her or kissing her. When she asked him to dance, he had fleetingly wondered if it was a trap. Her presence with him alone by choice for any another design flummoxed him. But, God, she had enticed him, and he had seen no artifice in Miss Hastings. He had thought an intimate kiss would have sent her running. Instead, she had returned his kiss shyly, and made an achingly sweet, soft sound against his mouth that had traveled right to his cock.
Lucan took pride in the rigid control he had over his passion. But she had made him behave recklessly. At the thought of her seated on his cock, making those sweet sounds, a surge of pure lust had torn through him almost sending him to his knees. It had taken tremendous will power to pull from her. He had almost bedded an innocent. Something he had sworn never to do.
Just who was Miss Desiree Hastings? She didn’t flirt or act coy, as young ladies did in his presence. Instead of being frightened by his crude and crass words meant to drive her off, she had held her ground. Instead of being intimidated by him when he had cupped her chin, she wondered if he had planned to kiss her.