A volcano lay under Miss Peppiwell’s cool surface. Anthony had seen it, experienced it, last night. The ice had cracked and what peeked from under it, he’d not expected. Her eyes had glittered with ire, and her cheeks had flushed so becomingly at the audacity of his intimate touch. But there had also been raging hunger, one that had spiked an uncontrollable need inside of him. He could imagine what she would look like in the throes of passion, his cock sinking into the tight heat of her, encouraging her to take all of him.
God, he wanted her.
He had not intended for their kiss to traverse the path it had taken, but the readiness she had responded with roused and enthralled him. Her wet heat at his intimate caresses had only drawn him more. He’d watched the expressions chase across her face in rapid flicks of emotion—anger, bemusement, desire, then embarrassment. She had been clearly mortified by her vivid response.
He found her incredibly enticing.
Despite his enchantment, he had no bloody reason to push her so hard and so soon. Lord, the look on her face when he’d released her from their intimate embrace. Her confusion and humiliation had made him feel like a complete heel. It had been a while since he’d been so relaxed and free with a young lady. That was the only excuse he could think of for his ungentlemanly pursuit. No matter how hot or fast her body had accepted his advances, he should have been more mindful of her sensibilities.
He frowned, hands in his trouser pockets, staring out the window at the newest crumbling estate that was now his. Why was he so drawn to her? Her beauty was frigid, so unlike the women he was normally attracted to. And yet, she possessed a sensuality that shimmered beneath the chill, like a desert mirage.
But it was more than her beauty and sensuality that attracted him. He was curious about her. Such a bundle of contradictions, she was.
What had placed such icy reserve in her eyes? Why did Orwell pursue her?
A fork of lightning speared through the sky, startling the horses being led to the stables by his groom. He pulled himself from his musings. He had been too immersed in understanding the confounding Miss Peppiwell.
Dozens of gardeners, workmen, and tradesmen worked tirelessly to restore the massive Palladian manor house he stood in. He had found it several months ago during one of his visits to Lord Calvert’s estate in Hampshire, and had taken steps to purchase it. Something about the lonely beauty of the place had struck a chord inside him.
The huge structure held over two hundred rooms. The mass of weeds and vines that had choked the lawns had already been cleared, but the manor itself had a long way to go.
His brother’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “This is a solid investment.”
Anthony had been so deep in thought he’d not heard Sebastian enter. He glanced at him, noting the approval glowing in his brother’s eyes. “Yes. I’ve always thought this area the best place in Hampshire to acquire property.”
Sebastian strode into the breakfast room, arching a brow at the glass in Anthony’s hand; then went straight to the sideboard laden with scrambled eggs, bacons, sausages, kippers, muffins, toasted bread, sweet cakes, and several pots of tea.
“How did you convince Hutchinson to sell?” he asked around a mouthful of bacon after he’d seated himself at the table.
Anthony shrugged. “He had a price, and I found it.”
“It is impressive, the work that has been accomplished in a month. The only issue is your staff. Your butler is an ornery cuss,” Sebastian grumbled.
“I have no idea where Mother found him. I gave her full rein in hiring for the estate.”
Coolness chased his brother’s features at the mention of their mother. He did not deign to acknowledge Anthony’s mention of her.
“I gave Constance leave to decorate as she wished as well,” Anthony added.
“I noticed the dragon motifs embroidered into the drapes. I must confess I am pleasantly surprised by its beauty.”
Anthony laughed. “She insists that dragons are our coat of arms. I fear we regaled her with too much ancient dragon lore, growing up.”
Sebastian nodded with a grin. Anthony took in his windswept hair and the carefree way he appeared. It was a rare day when he looked so relaxed. Sebastian needed a steady woman, a mistress, given his views on marriage. A willing female body would go far to soothe the edginess the duke displayed more days than not. However, Anthony did not broach the topic, knowing how Sebastian felt about mistresses. The scar that flayed his left cheek was reminder enough of why he categorically refused to acquire another. It must be a dilemma—eschewing both temporary and permanent liaisons. Anthony did not know how he managed.
Cobalt-blue eyes met Anthony’s. “I’m returning to Norfolk. Care to join me?”