A Duke's Wicked Kiss (Entangled Select) (11 page)

He ignored her comment and sat beside her. “I came in Chatham’s stead. He’s summoned you to join us for dessert.”

When she didn’t answer and kept her eyes trained on the book she held, he studied her profile once again. Beautiful. His gaze slid the length of her body, and the desire that wound through him was hot and hard. He fought the urge to crush her to him. Instead, he took her chin and turning her face toward his, searched her eyes. Her pupils dilated. Her breath hitched. There was no mistaking—she was as desirous of him as he was of her!

And she was right, at her age and being of independent means, she could do whatever she pleased. Her potent words had agitated his mind all night. She had two weeks left here, three if he could talk her out of that damnable wedding, so why not remove all restraint and get each other out of their systems before going their separate ways? Images flashed through his mind of the two of them together—her naked hips pressed against his, her bare breasts…

He was going to kiss her. He
needed
to kiss her.

She shook her head. Just barely. “No. Don’t touch me,” she whispered. And then she was off the settee and dashing for the door.

He followed, aware he didn’t want her anywhere but beside him. “What’s wrong with being touched?”

Gads, am I possessed?
He caught up with her and swung her around, that strange need growing at a frenzied pace. He froze when his hands clutched her shoulders. The heat of her scorched his fingers.

She was right, he shouldn’t have touched her, because once done, he couldn’t let go. She was opium to an addict. Before he knew it, he’d backed her up against the door, pressed his palms onto the smooth wood on either side of her and caged her.

Wide-eyed, she stared up at him. Her pupils dilated, and she drew a shuddering breath.

A wave of exhilaration infused him. “You desire contact, don’t you? That’s the reason you ran off, isn’t it? You want to be touched as much as I crave touching you, and it scares you to death.”

“You are mad.”

“Only about you.” He bent his head closer to her, his words growing heavy on his tongue. “You, madam, are afraid you cannot handle a kiss—or anything else that might transpire between us, aren’t you?”

“You are arrogant.”

“Try something else.” They stood so close he could feel her breath, ragged when it fell against his mouth. He allowed his lips to part to catch more of her sweet scent. “I have a proposition for you,” he murmured, “I won’t kiss you if you promise not to go to the wedding.”

“I…I shall not make such…a foolhardy promise.” Her staccato words were filled with heat and vibrancy.

Emboldened by the desire emanating from her, he bent closer still, until he only had to speak in a whisper to be heard. He studied her mouth. He wanted her. God, he wanted her—right here, right now, and touching her was like finding his way home—at last. “Because you want the kiss, or because you are a stubborn fool?”

His voice rasped in his throat and now he had to force the words off his tongue. “Go on, tell me you don’t want me to kiss you. That you don’t want me for other things.”

Her hands came to his chest, as if to push him away, but her fingers merely splayed against him. Her lips quivered as though she tried to speak and couldn’t. Then her head fell back against the door, and her eyes half closed.

…

“Suri.” She heard him sigh as his warm mouth closed on hers. For an instant, she was thrown back in time. But then the taste of him touched her tongue—cinnamon, cardamom and fennel—and she was in the moment again as he leaned into her and the heat of his body penetrated through the thin fabric of her sari.

Ten years of yearning for something—for someone she’d formed into a fantasy, collided with reality. He was here, holding her, kissing her—and yes, it was even better than before—
my God!

The same kind of heat that pressed against her built between her thighs. She rose on her toes, aching to get closer. One hand slid from his chest to knot in his hair, a mindless movement. She moaned into his mouth and clutched her other hand to his broad back, pulling him so tight against her, she didn’t know the difference between his skin and hers.

Closer, she wanted closer, desperate to ease the sensation that built from erratic flickers to a steady thrum. No wonder lovers risked all to sin. No wonder Juliet took the poison. She was suddenly every woman who ever desired a man, a harlot, a saint…a…a half-caste.

Her heart collapsed into itself at the sobering thought. Yes, she was in reality only a half-caste kissing a duke in a way that shouted he could have her, that he could lay her on the floor and do with her whatever he wished. And she would willingly oblige. But she could never possess him, at least not in the way she wanted him. Damn her for being what she was. A sob tore loose from her throat and emptied into his mouth.

He pulled his head back, his eyes searching hers. “What?”

Surely he saw the sheen of tears, for his fingers caressed her cheek and he planted a ghost-soft kiss on her nose. “What is it, darling?”

“I cannot. I am not made of this.”

His brow creased. “Made of what?”

She pushed at his chest. “Leave me be. Go find another…”

His jaw clenched and his brow creased. “Are you insinuating I want nothing but a few moments of pleasure with you?”

“What else could it be?”

He studied her for a moment before his jaw relaxed and the look in his eyes softened. He smoothed loose strands of her hair in place with fingers that were gentle, so very gentle it hurt. “Perhaps this is a continuation of something splendid that began ten years ago.” A small grin touched his mouth. “Too bad things took so long.”

“We don’t know each other—”

He pressed a finger to her lips. “Hush. We’ve known each other far longer than either one of us cared to admit up till now. I never forgot that day, and if you’ll acknowledge it, neither have you. I tried to see you again, but your father forbade it. Were you aware of that?”

You tried to see me again?
Too startled to speak, she only shook her head.

“I didn’t think so. He’d heard about what went on in the stable, cut all ties with both me and my brother and swore to run me through if I ever came within ten feet of you again.”

Oh, she couldn’t stand this. He’d been second in line back then, a duke now. For God’s sake, why was he carrying on so?

A crooked grin tipped a corner of his mouth. “When I heard you were in Delhi, I thought to see you out of curiosity, but the moment I laid eyes on you, there I was again, mesmerized.”

He planted a kiss on her forehead, one so tender it made her want to cry out. Surely, he had no idea of the pain his words inflicted. If he didn’t stop this insanity, her nerves would snap. He was a duke, for pity’s sake and she was…well, she was nothing of consequence. “You are being rash, reciting things in the heat of the moment you don’t mean—cannot possibly mean.”

“I never recite poetry in the heat of the moment, darling. I wasn’t born in a cabbage patch, either. I know what I want, and it isn’t a roll here on the carpet, only to walk away sated for the moment with nothing to show for it but a few carpet burns on my knees.”

She began to shake. She had to do something—say something—to make him go away before the real tears took hold and all control was lost. “Stop. Please, this is too much.”

With a push at his shoulder, he released her from her cage. He folded his arms over his chest and raised a brow. “Would it be so wrong to satisfy a desire that burns like a fever between us?”

“I do not want you, Your Grace,” she lied, and tilted her chin in defiance. “You kiss well enough, but that is all I wondered about…if it was anything like the first after all these years.”

He stepped back. Something complex flashed across his features. “I’ll leave you be, if you insist, but wasn’t it you who spoke of destiny?”

Her knees weren’t going to hold her up forever. “You imply a destiny? What, me as your mistress? I think not. Do not come near me again. Tantalizing as it was, there is nothing further I could possibly want from you. We are finished with our little experiment.”

A bark of laughter rolled out of him as he opened the door and stepped into the corridor. “Not only are we not finished, madam, we’ve only begun.”

“You can go to Hades.”

He glanced over his shoulder with a wicked grin. “I’ve been there and back. That’s not where we’re headed, you and I.”

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

“Blast it!” Suri jumped back as the jar of face cream slipped from her hand and shattered on the wood floor.

Munia scurried over to the buttery-looking blob sprouting jagged shards of glass. “Do not move, memsahib, I have it.”

Marguerite sat in a chair opposite Suri, studying her. “What’s got into you?”

“Nothing. I dropped a pot of face cream. Don’t try to make something of it.” She wasn’t about to say a word of Ravenswood and what had gone on between them that had her in a turmoil ever since.

“I daresay, Suri, you’ve not been yourself since Ravenswood collected you from the library a few days ago. You’ve grown surly, you drop things, and you’ve taken on that stubborn air that you get whenever something’s got you in a tizzy.” Marguerite’s eyes narrowed. “Did anything happen between the two of you? Is that why you refused to join us for dessert? Is that why you cling to Ravi-ji’s arm every evening? So Ravenswood won’t come near you?”

When Suri failed to respond, Marguerite grasped the arms of her chair and pushed herself to a standing position. “Something did go on, didn’t it? Munia, excuse us for a moment.”

“But the floor,
mem
. The oil will sink into the wood.”

“’Tis fine,” Marguerite said, not taking her eyes off Suri. “You’ve got the bulk of it, and there’s enough beeswax coating the floor to protect it. I’ll ring for you in a bit.”

The maid bowed and backed out the door.

“What happened?” Marguerite demanded as soon as the door closed.

Suri glanced at her sister.
Drat it all.
Marguerite had more than concern in her eyes. She simply radiated with a meddlesome curiosity that would demand truth.
Busybody.
Suri rubbed her temples and turned to face the gardens. The first throb of a headache pulsed through her skull.

“I’ll thank you not to interfere in my business just because I’m your guest.”

“All the more reason. Being my sister is yet another. Suri, look at me.”

She would not.

“Did Ravenswood kiss you again?”

Suri’s throat tightened and her heart pumped. “What do you mean,
again
?”

“Don’t play coy. Like he did ten years ago—oh, good Lord, he did, didn’t he?” Marguerite’s eyes lit up like they used to on Christmas morning.

“For heaven’s sake. Only you would find an improper assault by a nobleman to be thrilling.”

“He assaulted you? Ravenswood?”

“Not exactly.” Now the ache stitched through Suri’s head like a sewing needle on one of those new-fangled treadle machines. “Can we please not have this conversation? And could you send Munia for some powders? I’ve a headache.”

“You’ll find them in that painted cabinet in the corner. Never mind, I’ll collect them for you.” Marguerite retrieved the box of powders, stirred a spoonful into a glass, and handed it off to Suri. “Now tell me.”

Suri drank the bitter concoction and put down the glass, her fingers wrapped around it. What was she to tell her sister? That the way Ravenswood ran his fingers ever so softly alongside her cheek had stolen her reserves? That his kiss had swept her into his bedroom and she’d been held prisoner there ever since? That she’d wake up in a tangle of sheets, her body pulsating with a desperate need for him? That she could never have him the way she wanted him—had always wanted him, truth be told?

Oh, dear, all of a sudden her eyes misted over. “I…” She turned away.

“You’re quite taken with him, aren’t you?”

Marguerite’s words stabbed like a lance. “Don’t be absurd.”

“You have been since that day in the stable ten years ago.”

“I was infatuated back then. Merely a young girl’s fancy. This is reality, and you know what that means.”

At her sister’s silence, Suri turned her way. No longer was there anything fanciful upon Marguerite’s countenance. She appeared quite serious. Pensive, in fact.

She scowled. “Why are you looking at me as though I’ve sprouted wings?”

“Would it be of interest to know that since my arrival in Delhi, Ravenswood has inquired of you on occasion?” Marguerite’s voice had dropped to a compassionate low.

Suri’s mind went blank. “Inquired of me?”

“Yes, Miss I-shall-repeat-everything-again. I’m no fool, Suri. I can tell when there is interest beyond mere socializing, no matter how nonchalant he’s tried to act. I believe you got in his blood that day in the stable, and now that you’re here, he wants you.”

“Which is even more reason to steer clear of him.” Suri turned from her sister and took her time unwrapping yards of pink fabric until she was left wearing a choli and
lehenga
. At least with her back to Marguerite, Suri’s trembling fingers weren’t visible. She went about folding the sari and set it on the chest. “It’s grown too hot in the day for even this. Is the heat worse today than yesterday or only my imagination?”

Marguerite ignored the change of subject. “It hasn’t taken much for me to know he’s not forgotten you, and that you never got over him.”

“How can you deduce such a thing when you know full well my position and his?”

Marguerite pinched the bridge of her nose. “Dear sister, do not attempt self-effacement with me. Status has nothing to do with attraction. I may have been a naïve girl back then, but in retrospect, the impact you had on each other was astounding. Even as a bystander, I was so profoundly moved I can recall with infinite detail how the two of you connected, so don’t tell me either one of you is ignorant of the fact. And that sizzling current running between the two of you is even stronger now. I dare say, should you ever connect in the flesh, the night skies might ignite.”