The Heart of a Duke(3)

“No, it’s not necessary,” she broke in, cursing her earlier outburst and seeking to avoid the tired explanations over what the two of them had long understood. “I have always appreciated and been grateful for your patience and discretion while my family worked through these travails. But it is our time now. I want to honor the betrothal contract. I could not before, but now I can. I—”

“Julia, wait, stop! I do need to explain—”

“You don’t need to explain anything to me.” Before her flagging courage abandoned her, she stepped closer to him, lifted her chin, and taking a deep breath, gazed straight into his eyes. “All I need you to do is kiss me and tell me that everything is going to be all right. That we will be all right.”

“You don’t understand. I am . . . excuse me?” His hands dropped, and he cleared his throat before he could continue. “Ah, what was that about kissing?”

Feminine satisfaction filled her, helping her to regain her lost footing. Emboldened, she decided that if Edmund could behave un-Edmund-like, then for once, she could abandon the calm, prim, and proper Julia. Tired of being trapped by her responsibilities, she wanted to feel young and reckless. She wanted to relish the beat of her heart in her chest and the heat spiraling through her body as Edmund fastened his beautiful eyes on her. More so, she wanted to fill the emptiness deep inside her. To feel wanted and desired.

Shoring up her courage, she lifted her arms and slid her hands up his chest, marveling at the feel of warm, hard strength through his jacket and wondering why she had never dared do this before. Why had she waited so long, particularly as she felt his heart thud against her palms? It felt good. He felt good.

His fingers curled over her forearms. “Julia—”

“Edmund.” She cocked her head to the side. “Aren’t betrothals sealed with a kiss? We never did do so, and I think it’s long past time we do.” Freeing her arms, she curled her hands around his neck, threading her fingers into the soft curls teasing his cravat and smiling at the flare of light in his eyes. “I am not a girl anymore, but all grown up now and tired of waiting for you.”

She watched him swallow, felt his hands on her waist, but frowned when he held her away from him.

“You certainly are no longer a girl,” he grinned. “That I noticed straight away. You have grown into a beautiful woman. But you see—”

“I do see. I see that you are wasting time. I also see that you are stammering when you could be kissing me. Don’t you want to kiss me?” Before she lost her nerve, she moistened her lips as Emily had once showed her to do to make them more alluring.

He expelled a choked laugh. “Of course I want to kiss you. A man would have to be lacking a pulse to reject such an offer. But Jules—”

She paused at the old childhood nickname. He hadn’t used it in years. But his hands had drawn her back to him. “You do have a pulse, don’t you?” she whispered. She was standing so close that she could see his long eyelashes, the black rim circling the lovely green of his irises, and how his eyes warmed at her question.

“For the moment,” he returned dryly. “And I would prefer to retain it. Should we proceed further with this, that could be dangerous for both of us.”

He had a point, and the old Julia would have heeded it, considering the warmth of his gaze sent her pulse skipping into a treacherous rhythm. However, his look and the grip of his hands on her waist made the new Julia feel young, beautiful, and desired, something Edmund had not made her feel in years. “Really, Edmund, it is one kiss. How dangerous could it be?” She raised a brow, knowing Edmund never could refuse a challenge.

He sucked in a sharp breath and stared at her. After a beat, he exhaled and swore softly. “Hell, I have been living dangerously my whole life.” His eyes dipped to her parted lips. “Why stop now?” He yanked her to him, his arms vising around her waist and crushing her tight.

She gasped at the explosive heat of his body against hers. Her eyes widened when his head lowered and, inches away, the warmth of his breath whispered onto her parted lips. “Forgive me.”

His mouth closed over hers and he kissed her as she had never before been kissed. Kissed her as if he had waited as long as she had and was desperate to catch up.

His lips were warm and velvet soft. She clung to him, her arms circling his neck, and was dimly aware of his grip tightening when her legs turned to liquid jelly and were unable to support her. And still he kissed her. Deeply, erotically, and expertly.

Better yet, she kissed him back.

She savored the taste of him as her mouth surrendered to his. He was a mixture of ale and cider. The sensual assault of taste, touch, and scent overwhelmed her. She loved the feel of his body, hard, warm, and muscular crushed against her, and when he broke away to draw breath, she inhaled the rich masculine scent of him. A wave of molten heat cascaded through her limbs.