The Duke Is Mine - Eloisa James [84]
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Olivia said, grabbing hold of his cravat, since shaking his arm had had no effect. “Could you descend the ducal mountain for one moment and pay attention? Your mother is worried sick about you, and you’re threatening to send her off to Scotland? You weren’t joking when you said that you don’t always understand emotions, were you?”
The dowager made a small noise, but Olivia didn’t look at her. She kept her eyes fastened on Quin.
He frowned at her.
“Of course your mother thinks that I resemble Evangeline—well, in everything except our figures. I came here betrothed to one duke, and when everyone expected that you would betroth yourself to my own sister, I stole you for myself. Your mother walked into a room and found the two of us unchaperoned, and lucky not to be sprawled together on the floor. I do look like the worst sort of hussy. If you are planning to duel every man who points that out, we shall have a very short marriage.”
Quin’s frown deepened.
“No time for all those children you envision,” she continued, remorselessly. “No time to do anything but run around the country attacking people who are saying the obvious. Make no mistake, they won’t just be saying it. Ten to one, they’ll be making horns behind your back as well, at least for a few years.”
Some sort of rationality was stealing into his eyes.
“Don’t you see?” she said, letting go of his cravat. “None of that matters. Your mother loves you. She wants to spare you the horns, and the whispers, and the fat wife too—” She looked at the dowager. “That’s the only part that I’m having trouble forgiving you for.”
Quin reached out, spun her back to him, and pulled her into his arms, held her tight, so tight that she could hardly breathe. “I need you,” he said, low and fierce, into her hair. “Oh, God, Olivia, how did I ever live without you?”
She reached up, pulled his face down to hers. “I’m yours, for good or ill.”
There was a little click as the door to the ballroom closed, but Olivia paid it no mind.
“You’re the missing piece of me,” Quin said. “You make me feel.”
“You have always felt. You’re one of the most sensitive, loving men I know. Anyone can tell that.”
He shook his head, so she just pulled his face to hers and gave him a kiss so searing that it said what neither of them were able to put in words . . . yet.
Without a word, Quin dropped into an armchair, taking Olivia with him. This time there was no stopping, and she knew it; he knew it. They kissed until little moans were coming again and again from her throat and she was trembling, touching him everywhere she could reach, fingers shaking.
Quin pulled gently on her bodice . . . and her breast tumbled into his hand. For a moment he froze. Then: “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever imagined, Olivia. May I?”
She wasn’t entirely sure what he meant to do, but she nodded. She would always say yes to him, though it wouldn’t be wise to let him know.
His mouth was hot and wet on the curve of her breast. She arched her back, offered herself until those searching lips reached her nipple.
Olivia wasn’t quite sure what happened next. She would have thought the most she would do was gasp at the surprise, perhaps utter a ladylike squeak, even a tiny shriek . . . no. With an entire ballroom full of aristocrats on the other side of the door, she let out a full-throated cry, an expression of need and burning want.
Without pausing, Quin clamped a hand over her mouth and then suckled harder.
Olivia bit his finger, felt giddy spirals building in her body, sending her heartbeat into her throat.
He raised his head, dropped his hand from her mouth and rubbed a rough thumb across her nipple. Olivia arched back on his arm, mad with the need of it, dazed by the wild sensations coursing through her.
“We can’t do this here,” Quin said, his voice a growl