He frowned. “How so?”
Oh, this is just too fun. “It’s nothing detrimental, I assure you. But now that I think upon it, he is rather…stuffy.”
He nearly choked. “Stuffy?” Those blue eyes narrowed. “Madam, are you daring to claim that I’m dull?”
“Not you!” she hastened to say. “But rather the vicar in my story.”
“But you just said we were similar!” He nearly growled. “That I was practically the model for this dim-witted imbecile!”
She sat up straighter and lifted her chin a notch for effect. “Well, you did get rather upset when I accidentally bumped into you the night we met and caused your punch to spill.”
A muscle abruptly began to twitch in his jaw and Emary feared that she might have pushed him too far. When he spoke, his words were even and carefully pronounced. “It rather felt like a deliberate attempt to gain my attention.”
Emary crossed her arms as if offended, when in all honesty, it was rather too close to the truth. “Are you insinuating that I purposefully drenched you in punch?”
He shrugged. “If the boot fits…”
“I daresay I wish there had been a plausible excuse for my clumsiness!” she retorted. “I was mortified. Besides,” she sniffed. “You’d made it abundantly clear that you weren’t interested in me.”
“And yet,” he pointed out softly, “here I am.”
His eyes pinned her where she sat, and the room abruptly filled with tension. The sudden awareness caused the fine hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end.
“Since you say this novel shall be a romance,” Donovan said smoothly. “Tell me about this vicar’s lady love.”
Emary hesitated. She had only meant to torment the duke with the idea that he was a dry simpleton so that he might move to the settee and prove her wrong, but instead, he had somehow turned the tables and challenged her to invent a non-existent heroine. Unprepared for this counterattack, she blurted the first thing that came to mind. “She’s blond.”
He waited for more, but when she remained silent, he said, “That’s it?” His voice was deep and nearly caressing when he added, “That just won’t do. It’s terribly bland, and yet—” He scratched his chin. “—I suppose such an unremarkable character shall be perfect for a dull vicar.”
Emary gasped. “I beg your pardon!”
He lifted an inquiring brow. “Do you have something to add?”
She wracked her brain for another adjective. “She’s nice?” Oh, this is terrible.
His lips instantly lifted in the corners and Emary felt as if she was in the presence of a deadly snake. One wrong move and it would surely strike. “Come now, you can surely do better than that.” His voice was silky now, and full of veiled secrets. “Tell me, how did this boring vicar and this nice, blond lady meet?”
“They…uh…” She froze. He was running his thumb across his lower lip and she quite forgot what they were even talking about.
“Emary?”
She swallowed. “Yes?”
“Do you think it was such a good idea to tease me?”
“But I wasn’t,” she lied breathlessly.
He grinned, the action making the scar on his face appear even more sinister. “I believe you were. And you know what I think?” She didn’t dare ask, although he told her anyway. “That was rather naughty of you. I may just have to punish you.” When he rose to his feet and moved to join her on the settee, she found that her wits abruptly scattered. Her heart thudded madly in her chest when he reached out and cupped the back of her neck. “Tell me, isn’t this what you truly wanted when I called this afternoon?”
He nuzzled her cheek, her earlobe, her neck, but never once did he kiss her on the mouth. She wet her lips, eager for him to claim her, but she knew he was making good on his promise to punish her. And oh, what sweet torture it was!
It wasn’t until he dared to cup her breast through her gown, flicking his thumb over her nipple, did she suck in a breath. “Donovan,” she sighed, her eyes sliding shut of their own volition.
There was a slight tug on her dress. A slight breeze brushed across her skin, sending gooseflesh across her upper arms. Her eyes instantly popped open at the realization that he’d freed one of her breasts from her corset, but when she saw that golden head dip to take that bit of flesh into his mouth, she no longer cared that he’d exposed part of her to his view. He was doing such amazing, wicked, pleasurable things to her that the only thing she could do was run her fingers through his hair and silently urge him to continue.
When he freed her other breast, kneading and licking and caressing them both, Emary rather imagined she would melt completely from the heated sensations that were pinging through her body. She was lightheaded and burning with an ache that she knew only he could assuage.
“God, Emary, you’re driving me mad.”
She was quite sure that was the other way around, but she didn’t argue. And when he gently pushed her back on the settee, she laid down without complaint. She wound her arms around his broad shoulders and relished his weight on top of her. It made her feel feminine and secure.
But when she felt his hand brush the inside of her thigh, perilously close to the slit in her drawers, she tensed slightly. However, the moment he nipped her earlobe, she was lost to the torment yet again. With the first flick of his fingers at her core, her hips bucked upward, almost involuntarily. He continued to touch her, caress her, driving her to the brink of something wonderful, something almost magical. Just as she was about to tumble off the edge, he finally took her mouth with his. She moaned as her lower body contracted and shattered into a million different prisms of sensation. It was if for that brief moment, she was ethereal and no longer tethered to the earth.
She was still floating on a glorious cloud of hazy oblivion when the duke adjusted her bodice and sat back to smooth her skirts back into place. He touched her fevered cheek. “You are amazing, Miss Pageant. My very own goddess divine, even if you do enjoy tormenting me.”
Emary looked at him through heavy lids, a sudden lethargy taking over her entire being. “You are…” She couldn’t even think of the appropriate words, as usual, so she merely sighed in contentment.
He chuckled low in his throat. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He lightly kissed her lips. “Rest now. I’ll see you this evening.”
Emary could only sigh once more as her eyes fluttered closed.
Chapter 8
“I trust you slept well this afternoon?” Donovan immensely enjoyed the blush that stole across Emary’s lovely face that evening. Once again, he had escorted her, his mother, and her parents to another society event. This time it was a Christmas musicale.
It had been rather daring of him to come so close to ravishing Emary in her parents’ drawing room, but once it became clear to him that she’d merely been trying to get a rise out of him he couldn’t resist the opportunity to return the favor. Yet it had nearly been his undoing. He’d wanted nothing more than to unbutton his breeches and thrust into her wet heat, but he wasn’t so debauched that he couldn’t wait to make her his without a proper bed. Less than a fortnight remained of their sham engagement, but by the time Christmas Eve arrived, he was determined to make their union a reality.
He realized now that he was grateful she’d spilled that punch on him the night of his mother’s ball. If she hadn’t, he likely wouldn’t have even taken a second glance at her, thinking that she was just like the rest of the debutantes in London. The ones who prided themselves on their many accomplishments, the least of which being that they didn’t have a mind worthy of intellectual conversation, something that didn’t just involve the weather or fashion. But Emary was possessed of all that and more. She was witty, charming, and smart — his perfect match. She would make an excellent duchess.
