The Duke Is Mine - Eloisa James [88]
Quin sat down, held out his hand.
She gave him a weak smile.
“Second thoughts not allowed,” he said cheerfully. He reached forward, grabbed her hand, and pulled her into his lap.
“It’s just that there are no curtains.”
“I know . . . and sound travels.”
“You needn’t sound so gleeful! I think I prefer the old Quin who never smiled.”
“Too late.” He nipped her ear, soothed the sting with a warm tongue. “I sent all the stablehands around to the kitchens except for two old men who are too deaf to hear you.”
“Hear me?” The comment was not welcome. It made her seem as if she had no self-control.
In a swift roll, Quin toppled backward and positioned himself on top of her, settling between her legs. They fit together perfectly. Olivia felt as if her skin suddenly woke up. Perhaps she did have no self-control.
He propped himself on his elbows, staring down at her for a long moment. “ ’Til death us do part?”
The faintest shadow of heartbreaking anxiety was detectable in his eyes. Olivia swallowed a silent curse for his late wife . . . and nodded. “In sickness and in health.”
When the Duke of Sconce put his mind to something mechanical, its intricacies were generally fathomed instantly, and Olivia’s clothing was no exception. Faster than she would have believed possible, he divested her of slippers, gown, corset . . .
Kneeling at her side, his eyes fiery with desire, he reached for her chemise.
“No,” Olivia cried, grabbing his hand. As it was, her chemise was traitorously delicate. Why had she chosen to wear something that was as transparent as a windowpane? She cast one look down at her body and found her chemise caught beneath her hips so that it strained against her belly. Why had she eaten all those meat pies? Couldn’t she have pictured a moment like this one? She went rigid with mortification and regret.
If only she were Georgiana—someone with enough control that she wouldn’t have eaten so much.
It would be so much better for both of them if she had Georgie’s slender thighs. If she had her sister’s legs she would flaunt them, roll on her hip and know that his eyes couldn’t leave her.
She swallowed. “I will not do this unless I can keep my chemise on. I mean that.” The words were as resolute as she could make them, bitten-off and stern.
Quin’s brows drew together for a second, but he nodded. He looked like some sort of hawk, tamed to the hand but still wild. His skin glowed like honey in the moonlight. She sat up, pulling her chemise away from her skin so that it wasn’t quite so revealing.
What did a lady do in this situation? Dimly, in a small corner of her mind, Olivia realized that her mother’s duchification program had neglected this entire subject. It hardly needed be added that The Mirror of Compliments was focused on preserving chastity, rather than abandoning it.
“I’m not sure what to do next,” she admitted, hoping he wouldn’t ask for any details about her supposed experiences with Rupert.
The look in his eyes was pure arrogant male delight. “Luckily, I do.”
She waited.
“Take off my coat,” he whispered, so softly she could barely hear him. A smile trembled on her lips and she reached out and pushed the coat off his shoulders. Then she unbuttoned his waistcoat, tossed it to the side, and tugged his shirt free from his breeches. She moved to pull up the shirt, but was diverted by the skin she found at his waist. She came up on her knees too, and ran her hands around his tight abdomen to the swelling muscles of his back.
“How is it you are so fit? Most men are rather soft, I have found.”
He shrugged. “Physical exercise clearly has a positive effect on the human physiology. There seemed sufficient evidence to engage in it on a regular basis.”
His skin was smooth and hot under her fingers. She let her hands wander under his shirt: up his broad back to his shoulders, back down again, up his front. Apart from some small shivers,