“My friend Haven would disagree with you.”
“You are the most eligible earl in London, though I think you would be just as content as a gentleman farmer.”
“All true.” Blythe came toward her, lifting his hand to thread the heavy mass of her hair through his fingers until it spilled over his hand, exposing her cheek and neck.
She closed her eyes, unable to look at him as he studied the marks decorating her skin.
“I suppose a pair of earbobs, as a gift, are out of the question.” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the base of her ruined ear where one of the longest gashes started.
“You are insufferable,” she whispered, refusing to open her eyes.
“Did you note, my duchess, that not once in your dissection of my person, did you mention my stunning, golden magnificence?”
“Possibly because I find it annoying.” Her eyes snapped open. Blythe’s beauty had become the least of the things she had grown fond of. She’d realized that tonight, watching him interact with the villagers in Chiddon.
“Do you find me shallow, Your Grace?”
“No.” She trembled as he pressed his lips to the tiny pebble-shaped scars decorating her neck. “You are not.”
“It isn’t so bad, Bea. Certainly, it doesn’t merit you hiding away in Chiddon. I would be proud to escort you anywhere you please in London, with your hair up.”
Lord and Lady Foxwood had disagreed with Blythe’s assessment. As had the Duke of Castlemare. Beatrice’s presence in London, scratched up and dented like an old piece of furniture, would cause talk—the unwelcome kind.
“There is more, my lord. If you leave now, you won’t have to see it. Or we can couple fully clothed as we did earlier.” Her entire body was shaking, mostly from fear of him actually doing as she asked.
Blythe made an annoyed sound and stepped away from her.
If he left now, they could put this entire evening behind them. The tryst in the woods could be excused away as being brought on by a goodly amount of ale and the festival which certainly lent itself to such behavior.
“Perhaps you should go,” she whispered.
“Stop telling me to leave. Dismissing me. I’m bloody exhausted with it.” Blythe tore at his coat and tossed it to a chair. Ripped the cravat off his throat. Dusty, muddy boots flew across the fine Persian rug covering her floor. A button popped off his waistcoat as that garment joined his coat. The shirt was next, peeled off and crumpled away like a discarded rag.
Oh.
Now that the shirt was gone, the gorgeous lines of Blythe’s torso were on display, the carved muscle hinted at beneath her fingertips earlier now fully revealed. Without looking away, lips drawn tight with apparent fury, Blythe doffed his trousers next, kicking them out of the way. He padded around her, naked, angry, and extremely aroused. She’d felt him, of course, in the woods but—
Castlemare had been deficient in more ways than one.
“You don’t need to prance about so bloody perfect, Blythe.” She clenched her fists and tried not to look below his waist.
“Always ready with a cutting remark. And I’m not prancing. I’m not a bloody horse, Beatrice. And we are notcoupling, as you so quaintly put it, with our clothes on. I intend to make love to you, properly, in that bed.” He pointed. “And you will be naked.”
Beatrice lifted her chin. “I will not.”
“You will.” Blythe stood behind her, pressing his cock into her buttocks. The blissful fluttering between her thighs returned as he pulled her back against him. A big hand ran over her stomach to cup her sex beneath the fabric of her dress. Squeezing softly, he kissed the edge of her ear where the skin had been torn off. “I promise all will be well, Bea.”
“It can’t possibly be. Castlemare told me I resembled a lizard.”
The grip on her stomach tightened. “Every time I think I’ve heard the worst of Castlemare’s faults, I am surprised by another. Now stay still.”
Blythe unbuttoned her dress with excruciating slowness, pulling the fabric apart to trail his lips along the scars of her shoulder. Once the fabric fell to the floor in a heap around her ankles, Blythe started on her corset, releasing her from the garment with practiced skill.
“I’m sure you’ve untied many a corset,” she said in a snide tone.
“Quit trying to dismiss me with a random insult. I’m not leaving.”
Beatrice could feel the panic starting to swell within her. “You’ve already had me once tonight. Made me climax twice, the first time nearly in front of Vicar Farthing. Must you debauch me again?”
