The Ice Duchess: Scandalous Regency Widows, Book 2 (15 page)

* * *

B
ut winning you
, is.
Rafe had to bite his tongue to stop the words slipping out.

“But,” Georgie prompted. Her expression had grown wary again and he couldn’t blame her, considering that seduction was uppermost on his mind.

“But ensuring you have a pleasurable time is,” he finished. “I live to serve, Your Grace.” That admission was true at least. And in more ways than one.

“How very noble of you, my lord,” replied Georgie in a crisp tone. She picked up one of her blond pawns and made the first move in the game. “However, I think only time will tell whether your last pronouncement
is
true.”

Rafe moved one of his own pawns. “I look forward to proving myself,” he said with deliberate softness. “Your good opinion means a lot to me. More than I can say, in fact.”

Georgie’s cheeks grew a delicious shade of pink and she kept her attention focused on the board. “I hardly see why.”

“Perhaps, as you say, time will tell.”

She didn’t respond to that.

They fell into a companionable silence as the game continued. Georgiana was indeed a skilled player. When their tea and a tray of light savory dishes arrived, they took a small break from the game and Rafe was pleased that the conversation began to flow easily between them. It probably helped that he had decided to play the perfect gentleman. For once he refrained from engaging in overtly sexual banter with Georgie and kept to safe subjects even the sternest of society’s matrons would be happy to discuss. At long last, it seemed the duchess was comfortable in his presence.

He noted her smile was genuine rather than forced. Her beautiful blue eyes were alight with good humor rather than sharp glints of annoyance. Her cheeks were flushed with laughter instead of embarrassment or anger. And the most encouraging sign of all was that she’d stopped clutching her cashmere shawl about her like a shield. She’d let it slide from her shoulders and it was now draped over the back of her chair, entirely forgotten.

Such simple pleasures, taking tea, chatting and playing chess, but Rafe decided this would count as one of the most enjoyable afternoons he’d ever spent. When he and Georgie eventually resumed their game, his body seemed to be filled with a warm buzz of happiness, as if he’d been drinking cognac. Somewhere, at the back of his mind, the habitual warning to crush his tender emotions lurked, but he chose to ignore it. He was fast becoming utterly enthralled with Georgiana and for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to avoid the feeling. Didn’t
have
to avoid it. He could embrace it.

As play continued, the light outside the room began to fade. At some point, perhaps because Rafe kept losing his concentration—the base male in him couldn’t help but notice the tantalizing swell of Georgie’s breasts every time she leaned forward to move her chess pieces—or perhaps because he didn’t much care about the outcome of the match, he completely lost control of the game. When Georgiana triumphantly called ‘checkmate’, he wasn’t surprised in the least.

“Congratulations, Your Grace,” he said, inordinately pleased to see her smiling at him so brightly. “Well played.”

“Thank you,” she replied with a gracious tilt of her head. “You play very well also. However, I believe my victory may partly be due to the fact that you seemed to lose your focus toward the end. As if your mind were... elsewhere?”

As he couldn’t very well confess he’d been imagining how he would pleasure Georgie in bed when he finally got her there, Rafe thought it wise to dissemble. “No, I think it’s more the case that you are unquestionably the better player.”

“I’m not sure about that, Lord Markham.” Georgie’s smile slipped and her expression grew serious, perhaps even a little remorseful. “And I must add, you are considerably more gracious in defeat than I have hitherto been. I want to offer you a sincere apology for my less than amiable—nay, ill-mannered behavior—last week and indeed, when we first met.”

On an impulse, Rafe reached forward and covered one of her elegant hands with his. “I did not make it easy for you, Your Grace. The way I teased you afterwards, on each occasion, I was a complete cad. If anyone deserves an apology, it is you.”

As he expected, a blush crept across Georgie’s cheeks. “I…I don’t know what to say.” She didn’t pull away and Rafe’s pulse rate kicked up a notch at the thought she might enjoy his touch.

“You do not have to say anything,” he said softly. “However, I would be most pleased, and honored, if you joined me in a celebratory-cum-reconciliation drink.”

Georgie glanced at the clock on the mantel and he held his breath, praying he hadn’t pushed her too far. To his relief, she smiled and inclined her head in agreement. “Even though half-past four is a trifle early for me, I will not say no.”

“Excellent.” Rafe assisted her to rise before crossing the room to a small cabinet beside his desk. “May I offer you a glass of sherry or Madeira?”

“Sherry, thank you. Canary if you have it.”

“I do.” He poured each of them a small glass, then after passing her one, sought her gaze. “May I propose a toast?”

She smiled. “Of course.”

He raised his glass. “Let us drink to our health and happiness but most of all, to our mutual passion for a good game.”

Georgie raised an eyebrow, no doubt because of his choice of wording for the toast, but nevertheless, she touched her glass to his. “Indeed.” She took a small sip then fixed him with a cool, uncompromising stare. The frosty Ice Duchess had returned in full force. “So enough hedging about with pretty words, Markham. It’s time to deliver what you owe.”

* * *

E
ven after a week
, Georgie was still dying to know precisely how Markham had roundly vanquished her not once or twice, but three times at cards. Heavens, it was only because of her defeat last week that she was even at Rivergate.

It might be irrational and she really shouldn’t give a fig about how others in the
ton
saw her, but in her heart, she knew she would never again have the confidence to play a public game of piquet until she discovered what her vulnerable spot—her Achilles heel—actually was. It was definitely time for Markham to pay the piper.

And it seemed Markham wasn’t about to disagree. “Yes, you are absolutely right, Your Grace,” he said easily. Leaning back on his desk, he finished his sherry in one long smooth sip, then fixed his disturbingly intense gaze on her. “During my years as a diplomat, I became quite adept at studying people. Not just their overall expressions, but subtle things such as the movements of their eyes, the rate of their breathing, a twitch of a muscle, a sigh, a small gesture. You might be surprised at how easy it is to accurately glean what is in another’s mind just by being able to interpret these tiny clues. For instance, I
always
know when someone is lying, or bluffing. When we played piquet, I knew when you had misled me with your calls. And I was able to deduce what you would or wouldn’t play and adjust my play accordingly. Every single time.”

Georgie frowned, entirely skeptical.
That was all there was to it?
“But… I have been playing for years, Markham. I know how to school my features. I didn’t earn the title Ice Duchess for nothing, you know.”

“I’ll admit you are good and your reputation as a remarkable player is well deserved, but you couldn’t hide from me. There were certain things you unconsciously did that betrayed you.”

Suddenly intrigued, Georgie’s next question slipped out before she’d even considered the consequences. “Such as?”

“Little things.” Markham’s fingers brushed hers as he took her glass of sherry and placed it upon the desk. “Let me show you.”

Both fascinated and petrified, her heart pounding furiously against her ribs, Georgie found herself rooted to the spot as Markham pushed away from the desk. He slowly lifted a hand then gently stroked the back of his fingers down the side of her neck.

“The flutter of your racing pulse just here,” he explained, studying her flesh as if it were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. His fingertips then traced a path along her quivering skin to the base of her throat. “The movement here as you try to swallow past a throat tight with nerves. The increased pace of your breathing.” His gaze then drifted upwards and focused on her mouth. “The way you press your lips together after you’ve told an untruth, as if wanting to take it all back.” He brushed his thumb across her trembling lower lip then at last he raised his smoldering gray eyes to hers. “The nervous dart of your tongue.”

Georgie tried to summon a feeling of outrage at his presumption, tried to marshal the will to turn on her heel and go, but she just couldn’t. Not when her whole body was trembling with a paralyzing combination of apprehension and acute longing. Whether she was spellbound or trapped, it hardly mattered. Either way, she knew that if she stayed, Markham would soon be ravishing her just as he’d wished. And the most frightening realization of all was that part of her wanted him too. Very, very much.

“You seem to be able to read me as easily as any book.” Her voice sounded strange—husky yet strained. Brittle. “What am I thinking now?”

“You’re wondering if I am going to kiss you. You’re nervous, perhaps even a little afraid that I might. And you’re also afraid that I won’t.” Markham’s eyes, heavy-lidded with blatant desire, searched hers. “Am I right?”

She twisted her fingers into her skirts, resisting the urge to grip Markham by the lapels—to shake him or draw him closer she could hardly tell. “Yes, damn you.”

His mouth curved slowly into a devastating, bone-melting rake’s smile. “Such language, Your Grace. But I don’t mind at all. In fact, I rather like seeing you this way.”

“What, bristling with rage?” she managed to grit out.

“No. Tempted. Perhaps even a little reckless and on the brink of stepping out of your self-imposed cage of propriety. But it’s your choice entirely, what happens next. What do
you
want, Duchess? A kiss or—”

Georgie didn’t let him finish. She simply reached up, grasped him by the shoulders and pressed her lips to his.

Markham responded to her invitation immediately. With a deep groan, he dragged her against his body, his arms wrapping around her, binding her to him, his hot mouth sliding frantically against hers. Desperate for more, her entire being aching with a wild desire held in check for far too long, Georgie arched into him, her hands spearing into his short, dark, silky hair, pulling him closer still; wanting, craving, seeking the pleasure she’d been denying herself all afternoon, perhaps forever, the pleasure she sensed only he could ever give her.

When Markham pushed his tongue against the seam of his lips, Georgie parted for him instantly, a satisfied moan escaping her at the very moment he entered her mouth. Assailed by delicious sensation—the flavor of black tea and sweet sherry and Markham himself—she tasted him back, her eager tongue twining with his.

As one breath-stealing kiss melded into another, and then another, all thought fled. Her long-held fears and inhibitions seemed to be rapidly dissolving in a torrent of dizzying, all-consuming lust. A furious lust that made her quim slippery and her nipples throb as they never had before. Nothing existed except Markham and her burning need for him.

And it seemed Markham needed her too. At some point during their frenzied bout of kissing, he’d sunk back onto the desk and she was now positioned between his muscular thighs, one of his large hands gripping her nape. And there could be no mistaking the insistent jut of his rock-hard cock against her belly. When he tore his mouth from hers and began to devour her jaw and neck with nips and ragged, sucking kisses, she let him, even encouraged him; inclined her head and swept her tumbling curls to the side to allow him unfettered access.

The moist sweep of his tongue across the sensitized flesh at the edge of her neckline momentarily roused Georgie from the sweet madness engulfing her. Pulling gently on his hair, she breathed his name. “Markham…”

He immediately raised his head; he looked dazed, his eyes a dark shade of gray, the pupils dilated as though he were intoxicated. Breathing heavily, lips swollen, cravat askew and his hair ruffled, he looked thoroughly disreputable—and so handsome, he stole her reason and her breath all over again.

“Do you want me to stop?” His voice might be rough with lust but she knew he would do as she asked. That he was letting her choose what should happen next touched her deeply; the remaining core of cold fear and doubt inside her started to melt completely away.

“I… You offered a kiss, but…” Georgie paused, unsure how to put into words what she really wanted. That maybe this time she would find fulfillment instead of the stultifying, soul-destroying torment that had been her lot for so long. Perhaps Markham truly could help her to tear down the barriers within her mind and her heart.

Please, dear God, let it be so.
Heart in her mouth, she drew a shaky breath. “I don’t want you to stop… I want more.”

“Then more you shall have, madam.” With a low growl, Markham effortlessly swept Georgie off her feet into his arms and within moments, she found herself draped sideways across his lap on the nearby settee.