Page 18 of The Duke Meets His Match

Chloe’s eyes widened at his bold words. She opened her mouth to protest, and he dipped his head and pressed his mouth to hers.

Oh God.

He made no move to embrace her. Only his lips touched hers. She was free to step back and end this madness. But she couldn’t move, couldn’t push him away. The press of his lips was a delicious sensation.

“Do you feel the spark between us?” he murmured huskily. Moving his head back and forth, he brushed her lips with his. Gentle…ever so maddeningly gentle. She fought the urge to lean into the kiss. Her fingers clenched into her fists, her nails digging into her palms rather than running up his arms to grasp his broad shoulders.

“Ah, you do.”

Her response was a whimper. This time, when he claimed her mouth, her lips parted on a sigh. He deepened the kiss and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist. The hardness of his chest against her curves was shocking and arousing at once. A frisson of excitement seared through her. Her fists unfurled at his sides and her fingers slid up his arms to delve in his hair. The strands were soft and enticing, in contrast to the hardness of his body. His tongue traced the soft fullness of her lips, warm and sweet.

She sighed. For his cold, battle-hardened appearance, his kisses were as tender and light as a summer breeze. Warm and arousing at once. She should fear him. She should fear for her virtue, her reputation, her very existence in society. But she didn’t. Instead, she feared the rapid beat of her pulse at his nearness. The raw hunger in his eyes. The intense physical awareness of each other. The tremor inside her that heated her thighs and groin.

Drugged by his clean and manly scent, she kissed him back, her tongue tangling with his. He groaned and sucked her full bottom lip into his mouth like a ripe berry.

Heavens. She was in over her head, wasn’t she?

He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “I’ve changed my mind. I won’t tell anyone your secret.”

She blinked and attempted to slow her rapidly beating heart. He still held her in his arms, and her soft curves were molded to the contours of his lean body.

“You won’t?”

“And forget my offer to pay you to leave Henry alone.”

“Truly?”

“I want something else from you. What will it take for you to be my lover? Jewels? A Mayfair town house? Name your price.”

A tight knot formed within her stomach. She pushed against his chest and took a step back. “You cannot be serious.”

“I’m always serious. Do not claim you are innocent. Not after your response to that kiss.”

She should slap him. But something about his arrogance sparked her fury. Of course, he thought her sexually experienced. A former thief and daughter of a criminal could never be innocent in his eyes. Why bother to correct him? He’d never believe her. And the kiss had been scintillating…wanton.

Instead, she tried another tactic to dissuade him. “What of Henry? How do you think he’d feel about your proposition?”

His brow creased, and for the first time, she noticed a flash of regret cross his expression. “Do you think I wanted it to be like this? I am supposed to look after Henry, not steal what he believes he wants, but the pull between us is too strong. It may be wrong, illogical even, but I can think of little else.”

She met his gaze and saw raw desire in the dark depths of his eyes that made her gasp. Desire that made her feel stripped of her gown, corset, and shift in an instant. Desire that said he couldn’t go long without tossing her over his broad shoulder and carrying her off to his bed where he would show her all the secret pleasures to be found in his arms.

For a fleeting instant, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to resist him. Then the reality of what he’d offered sank in.

He wanted her to be his mistress. He didn’t think of her as a lady worthy of marriage. Her traitorous body may shiver at his touch, but she didn’t want what he offered. She didn’t want to be a kept woman. Mistresses didn’t have the security of a man’s name or title. They could be abandoned far too easily and left behind with only a few shiny baubles. Her father had already abandoned her, and she would never stand for another man in her life to treat her the same way. She swore never to be a victim to a man’s whims again.

But a man as arrogant and sure of himself as the Duke of Cameron—Michael—would never understand. He didn’t care if he hurt her or not. He didn’t concern himself about her future or what would become of her when she grew old, or heaven forbid, fell ill. She swallowed hard, trying not to reveal her hurt or her anger. She refused to give him the satisfaction. The sudden need to wound him, just as he’d wounded her with his selfish request, welled in her chest.

“You flatter yourself, Your Grace. I wouldn’t agree to become your lover if you were the last man standing at this party.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You’re far too old, too arrogant, and too jaded for me.”

Tossing her head, she fled the gardens.

…

Michael stared after Chloe as she fled down the stone path. As soon as he’d arrived at Lady Webster’s garden party, he’d searched for her. When he’d spotted her speaking with Lord Fairchild, a cold knot had formed in his gut. The man had been too damned close, and his hand had rested possessively on Chloe’s arm. Michael’s instinctive reaction had been strong.