Her breath caught, her body shifting just slightly closer, her eyes fluttering shut for a heartbeat—no words, but permission enough.
He wasted no time.
His mouth claimed hers in a kiss with a hunger that had only intensified in the last ten days in which she’d kept running from him.
For a moment, she stood frozen in his arms, the book she’d been clutching falling forgotten to the floor with a dull thud. Then she melted into him completely, her hands fisting in his jacket as she kissed him back with equal fervor, her body pressing against his as though she couldn’t bear even the whisper of space between them.
His hands framed her face, tilting her head back as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she gasped, allowing him the access he craved.
She tasted of wine and something sweet… somethingintoxicating,that made his head spin. He groaned against her mouth, one hand sliding down to span her waist, pulling her closer still until he could feel every curve of her body against his. Her lips were soft and warm, yielding under his assault, and when she made a small, breathless sound of pleasure, he thought he might die from the sheer bliss of finally,finallyhaving her in his arms.
His other hand tangled in her hair, loosening the pins that held it in place until the silken strands spilled over his fingers like liquid fire. She arched into his touch, her own hands moving restlessly over his chest, his shoulders, as though she couldn’t decide where she wanted to touch him most.
He found that he thoroughly loved her touch. That he wanted more of it.
“Yes, that’s it, my tigress… Let go,” he whispered as he nipped gently at her lower lip and she gasped, allowing him to take advantage, his tongue sliding against hers in a dance as old as time itself.
She tasted like salvation and damnation all at once, and he knew with devastating certainty that he would never have enough of her, never be able to let her go.
Her response was everything he had dreamed of and more: passionate,uninhibited, as though years of careful control had shattered in an instant. She kissed him back with a desperate hunger that matched his own beastly need, her fingers clutching at his jacket as though he might disappear if she didn’t hold on tight enough.
“Your Grace? Your Grace, is everything quite all right?”
They sprang apart at the sound of a servant’s voice in the corridor.
“Oh,” the servant flushed red, “I am sorry, I only… I heard a sudden noise and thought… Pardon me …” he mumbled.
Samantha’s eyes were wide with shock and horror.
Without a word, she fled the room. From the corridor came the sound of her footsteps on the stairs, running as though her very life depended on it.
CHAPTER 8
“My dear duchess, how absolutely radiant you look!” Lady Witherspoon squealed.
Samantha forced a smile as she stepped into the Duchess of Marchwood’s drawing room, accepting the warm embrace from Lady Witherspoon.
“You flatter me, my lady,” she responded.
“Nonsense,” the elderly woman declared, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “Marriage clearly agrees with you. That glow about you is unmistakable.”
If only she knew, Samantha thought grimly.
The supposed glow was likely the result of sleepless nights and the memory of her husband’s mouth on hers. She’d barely slept after fleeing from him the night before, her lips still burning from his kiss.
“Indeed,” agreed Lady Winterbourne, settling herself into a chair with a satisfied sigh. “Though I must say, Your Grace, we were all rather surprised by the speed of your courtship. One moment you were our steadfast spinster, the next you were wed to a duke!”
“Love moves in mysterious ways,” Samantha replied carefully, taking her seat in the circle of ladies.
“How romantic,” sighed Miss Weatherby. “You have found your perfect match.”
Perfect match. If only they knew how perfectly matched they were in their mutual ability to torment each other.
“Welcome, Your Grace.” The Duchess of Marchwood appeared in the doorway, her warm smile immediately putting Samantha at ease. “I’m so delighted you could join us today.”
“Thank you for the invitation, Your Grace. I confess I’ve been looking forward to discussing something other than household management.” Samantha stood to her feet.
The Duchess of Westmere rose from her chair, moving to embrace Samantha. “How lovely to see you again, Your Grace. I trust married life is treating you well?”
