Page 51 of If the Duke Demands

With a sigh, she softened her mouth and returned the kiss, her lips meeting his with a well-practiced technique that told him she’d kissed many men in dark gardens before him. But as he kissed her, waiting for the passion to spark between them, he felt nothing. That same pulsing desire he experienced whenever he caught a whiff of rosewater, that familiar tightening low in his gut…all that was missing. He’d felt it with Miranda, for God’s sake, so surely he should feel it with Jane.

But nothing. No passion, no fire. No desperate, nearly overwhelming desire to lose himself, body and soul, inside her.

Nothing.

Oh, her kiss was nice. She had a soft, kissable mouth, and she made no move to stop him as he coaxed apart her lips with his tongue and slipped inside, attempting to draw from her a moan of pleasure or a whimper of need. Any kind of reaction that showed she enjoyed being in his arms or that would heighten his arousal for her the way Miranda’s soft mewlings sent his blood boiling. Although she returned the kiss, her mouth tasted nothing of the greedy hunger he wanted from her, her body not melting into his. The experience was not unpleasant, just…empty.

He pulled back and looked down at her. Except for her kiss-reddened mouth, her face appeared just as serene as before he’d begun to kiss her. He saw no signs at all of whether she’d enjoyed it, whether she wanted him to keep kissing her or to do more and dare to touch her the way he had Miranda, who’d made no attempt to hide what she felt. Even alone with him in the darkness, Jane was refined enough to not give over to unrestrained passions.

But she was what he needed, wasn’t she? A respected and proper woman to be his duchess. One his father would have approved of, no matter that his heart wanted fire and passion.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave him that same damnable smile as before. The only difference was that this time, she ran her gloved fingers through the hair at his nape.

“That was nice,” she whispered.

Nice? He bit back a laugh.Nicewas the last thing he wanted.

She said softly, “I think we should return to the box now before anyone notices we’re missing.” As if sensing the emotions warring inside him, she rested her hand possessively on his arm. “Please understand. I have to guard my virtue, especially with you, Trent.”

“Especially with me?” What the hell did she mean by that?

“You and your brothers have a certain reputation, you know.”

Her eyes shined, as if she liked the idea of capturing one of the Carlisles, as if believing that silly bit of nonsense that reformed rakes made for the best husbands. They didn’t. They simply made for reformed rakes.

The best husbands were men like his father. Those common, unassuming men with solid characters and generous souls, who provided well for their families and kept them safe, who were kind to those around them and demanding of themselves, who simply loved—

Sebastian drew a deep, pain-filled breath…Who simply loved their wives.

Her hand trailed over his chest to play flirtatiously with the buttons on his waistcoat, but his body didn’t react, not even a quickening of his heartbeat. Being alone with her tonight hadn’t aroused him one bit. It had only frustrated the hell out of him. “I’ll go on ahead, while you wait fifteen minutes before trailing after. We’ll say we were separated in the crowd.”

“Of course.” Apparently, she had planned out quite a good deal in anticipation of being alone with him. He gave her a final parting kiss, hoping he’d missed something from the earlier embrace, but his reaction to her was just as lackluster as before.

Then she was gone, slipping out from beneath the bower and heading back toward the alley, where her companion would be waiting for her behind the gallery with some ready excuse for how they’d all gotten separated.

Biting out a frustrated curse, he paced the tiny space beneath the bower. He’d never considered passion to be a priority when deciding upon a wife. Of course, he’d always assumed that the woman he selected would be just as amenable to bed sport as he was. But now, with his cold reaction to Jane, he began to doubt if the woman he married would share even that. He’d have to teach her how to take pleasure in intimacy, he supposed, how to enjoy herself, so he could enjoy himself with her.

Lord knew he certainly didn’t have to teach that to Miranda.

He scowled. What on earth was wrong with him? Good God,whywas he thinking of Miranda, of all women? When all she did was make him feel like a damn fool, a woman he shouldneverwant doing just that and leaving him frustrated and angry—

A commotion sounded from nearby in the dark gardens. Sebastian ducked out from beneath the cover of the ivy-laden bower and watched down the narrow path at the heavy shadows where the lanterns had been extinguished. A man’s and woman’s voices, heated in argument, grew nearer. He smiled with grim satisfaction. Well, it was good to know that some other gentleman was having just as rotten a time as he was this evening. Most likely, the two fought because one of them had caught the other in the bushes with someone else. A nightly occurrence at Vauxhall.

They drew nearer, nothing more than dark, bodiless arguing in the shadows. Then the woman’s voice came through clearly—

“Just go away!”

Miranda.

She stormed out of the black shadows, her pace so fast that she was nearly running. And beside her, easily matching her strides, walked Burton Williams, Viscount Houghton’s youngest son.

“Please,” she pleaded, “leave me be. I don’t need an escort to…” The rest of the sentence was lost as the two reached the start of the stone wall that cut through the bushes and added a layer of privacy to those wishing to hide among the shadows.

Sebastian started forward, anger rising inside him.

Williams said something to her, but she shook her head forcefully and kept walking. Without warning, the man grabbed her arm and yanked her against him. She pushed against him to break free as his mouth came down on hers.

Her hand cracked across his cheek.