She gave him a wary look, held silent for a moment and then said, “To be honest, I’ve grown tired of the flavor. I enjoy variety in my food, you see, but this past year Mama has been particularly fond of serving apple pie for Sunday tea.”
“I’m more partial to blueberry myself,” Anthony confided. “Or something entirely different, like chocolate—I must admit I’m very fond of chocolate.”
Miss Chilcott finally relaxed and chuckled. “It appears I’ve just discovered one of your indulgences. Am I right?”
“I suppose so,” he said.
“What else do you enjoy, Your Grace, besides eating chocolates?”
Talking to you . . . better yet, kissing you.
“Many things, especially horseback riding, the company of friends, the opera—”
“The opera?”
“Does that surprise you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been myself, but it’s always been my understanding that gentlemen went only for the sake of accompanying the ladies—not because they actually wanted to.”
Anthony smiled. “I think it’s an acquired taste—you either like it or you don’t. Believe me, Miss Chilcott, I’ve seen many sleepy-eyed ladies at the opera as well. One mustn’t generalize.”
“No, of course not,” she agreed.
Eyeing her, he took in the soft slope of her nose, her high cheekbones flushed a delightful shade of pink, and her deep, rosy lips. A lock of hair had torn itself free from its fastening and was presently blowing across her cheek, tempting Anthony to pull it away and tuck it behind her ear. He resisted the urge and asked instead, “What are your enjoyments, Miss Chilcott?”
She tilted her head to look at him. “As you already know, I love to read.” Her eyebrows rose a little as she added, “But if you want me to be more specific, then Romeo and Juliet is my favorite—I know it by heart.”
“So you’re a romantic by nature,” Anthony said and was rewarded with a smile.
“Undoubtedly, though it’s not always the most beneficial trait to have. I often wish I were more practically inclined.”
“You think life would be easier then?”
She brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes. “I have no doubt that it would. Romantics have a bad habit of dreaming of things they cannot have and later of what might have been had things been different.”
“And what are your dreams, Miss Chilcott?” He knew he was being bold, but he couldn’t help himself—it was too tempting.
She breathed deeply, her features tightening around the edges, and he knew that she was aiming for indifference. Shaking her head, she said, “That, Your Grace, is irrelevant.” And then, as if to deter him from pressing the matter further, she smiled brightly and added, “Did I mention that I can split an apple in half by twisting it?”
“Really?”
He must have sounded very dubious, for her smile turned to one of mischief. “You don’t believe me,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“I’ve just never seen anyone do something like that before, and frankly, it does sound a bit unlikely.”
Her laughter went straight to his heart, urging it to beat faster. “It has nothing to do with strength, you know, but rather with skill.”
“The skill of picking an apple soft enough, no doubt,” Anthony muttered.
She stopped walking, eyes narrowing. “Are you suggesting I’m a charlatan?”
“Not at all, Miss Chilcott—I wouldn’t dare.” But the memory of her deception at the ball hung in the air around them, and he knew that she had to be just as aware of it as he.
They continued on in silence for a few more minutes when she suddenly stopped, turned toward him and said, most seriously, “I know you came to my house hoping to find Miss Smith. I’m very sorry that you didn’t.”
Anthony steeled himself for a moment. Did she really wish to go on pretending that he didn’t know that she was Miss Smith? It was absurd to his way of thinking, and yet he found himself submitting to her game. “I couldn’t agree more, for I felt a true connection with her . . . as if we were meant to be together no matter what, but she obviously didn’t agree, or she wouldn’t have run off the way she did.”
“Perhaps she was scared?” Miss Chilcott suggested, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Scared?
“I cannot imagine what she might be scared of,” he said, hoping she’d say something more.
“You have done an admirable job of turning your life around, Your Grace, but be that as it may, your rakish reputation is not so easily forgotten. It would be difficult for any young lady to associate with you without tarnishing her own good name and that of her family in the process. No, I can understand Miss Smith’s way of thinking—she probably means to marry a reputable gentleman who can offer her respectability and comfort.”
Anthony gritted his teeth. He’d been the perfect gentleman toward her at the ball—well . . . almost perfect. He hadn’t planned on kissing her. Surely that had to count for something. Besides, it could have been worse. He could have submitted to his urges and had her right there in the library.
Recalling how lost she’d been in their kiss, he felt certain she wouldn’t have stopped him. The thought of it sent a wave of heat surging straight to his groin. He winced as he felt himself harden. “I have behaved most honorably since becoming a duke and without the least bit of wrongdoing.” It was the truth. What surprised him was how much he enjoyed this new way of life he’d chosen. For the first time since he could remember he felt a calm togetherness, as if his life was finally on the right track, though he was certain that it would be much improved with Miss Chilcott at his side. She was also the only person who threatened to bring out the rake in him, not for the sake of ruining her but to win her, and he heard himself say, “But after meeting Miss Smith . . . I find my resolve wavering.” He paused, watched as she sucked in a breath, and then took a step closer. “She encourages me to abandon all thoughts of propriety, to stop acting like the decent gentleman who never thinks of what it might be like to hold her . . . touch her . . . kiss her in the most wicked way I know how. If anything, Miss Chilcott, it is I who should fear Miss Smith, for I do believe it is she who poses a threat to my reputation, and not the other way around.”
“How can you say such things?” she gasped. “It’s entirely inappropriate.”
Keeping his eyes trained on hers, he began removing his gloves with slow deliberation. Reaching up, he then touched his hand against her cheek, allowing his fingers to trail along the soft skin until they reached her lips. Her eyes widened, her breathing turned shallow, and a deep flush rose to her cheeks.
But she did not turn away, or even move as he ran his fingers over the plump, strawberry-colored flesh. And when he pressed her lower lip down, suggesting she grant him entry, her eyes closed and her lips parted, letting him in. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever experienced, watching her take his finger in her mouth . . . feeling the wetness of her tongue as it brushed against him. Heaven above, he couldn’t believe he’d been so forward—could not believe that she had accepted such an advance. What on earth were they thinking? This was an act she would surely regret.
They weren’t exactly kissing, and yet there was something far more intimate about it . . . something very suggestive that led to thoughts of tossing her on the ground and burying himself inside her until this unbearable yearning went away.
He knew better though. The sort of need he felt for her was not the kind that would ever go away even if he was fortunate enough to act out his every fantasy with her. No, it was only going to grow stronger—become more and more demanding. Pulling his finger away from her mouth, he tugged her against him, his arms encircling her in a tight embrace. She opened her eyes but said nothing—just gazed back at him with eyes that begged, Kiss me.
So he did. His mouth closed over hers, and he was delighted to discover that she was ready to meet him, her lips parted to allow him immediate entry. And as their tongues swept over and under each other, Anthony heard her sigh, whimper and groan. He heard himself groan too, the pleasure she offered so rich and full that it was impossible for him not to.
There was a soft thud against the ground and Anthony realized she must have dropped her basket, for in the next moment, her arms came around his neck, pulling him closer—urging and enticing him. He ran his hands slowly down her back, pausing at her waist before allowing them to roam lower still, across her bottom. She responded with another groan as he gently squeezed and forced her up against him.
Abandoning her mouth, he kissed his way along her jawline until he reached her ear. Allowing himself the pleasure of pushing up against her, he held her firmly in place as he whispered, “You were correct in your assessment of me, Miss Smith, for though I may appear to have abandoned my sinful ways, my thoughts of you are most wicked indeed.”
Isabella did not doubt him for a second. She could still feel the proof of his desire as it pressed against her. The worst of it was that she liked it. Good Lord! It was deplorable, unseemly, scandalous and about a dozen other awful things. To her horror, she couldn’t stop her errant mind from thinking it absolutely wonderful as well. Heaven help her, she was no better than a doxy—whatever must he think of her? Based on what they’d just done and what he’d told her, that she was the sort of woman whom he could take some rather alarming liberties with. The thought did not sit well with her at all. Placing her hands against his chest, she gave him a small push.
To her surprise, he disengaged himself from her immediately and stepped back, leaving her with a sense of abandonment that failed to allow the feeling of relief she’d been hoping for to take root. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but what we just did . . .” She looked around, fearful that someone might have seen them, but there was nobody else on the road. She let out a deep sigh. “I hope you’ll try to forget this ever happened. I am to marry Mr. Roberts, and I will not have you ruining the chance of that happening.”
“He hasn’t even proposed!” The duke sounded well and truly agitated as he crossed his arms over his chest and stared back at her with defiance.
“He will,” she said. “It’s only a matter of time.”
He stepped toward her again, looming over her with his broad shoulders, dark eyes and tousled hair. “Don’t do it, Miss Chilcott. Don’t marry him.”
“I must, for the sake of the security he offers to me and my family.”
Something deep and dangerous ignited in the duke’s eyes. “He cannot offer this.” And before Isabella knew what was happening, she was in his arms again, his lips were on hers and her arms had found their way around his neck once more. It was the safest course of action really, considering she’d probably collapse on the ground if she didn’t hold on to him with all her might. No, she couldn’t imagine Mr. Roberts being so seductive. In fact, she couldn’t imagine him being seductive at all.