Page 62 of The Duke of a Thousand Desires

“I don’t think you’re at all what Aunt Glynnis would consider domesticated.”

“Would you like me to mop the floor after we finish?”

She smiled. “I might enjoy that.”

He captured her wrists above her head. “I enjoy watching your breasts move as I work you. Especially when you make those sweet little moans.”

Her head swam at his words. “That’s no way to talk to your duchess.”

“It is when she’s helpless beneath me.”

She could not deny her vulnerability. “Before I forget how to breathe, there’s something I have to tell you.”

“Which is?” he asked huskily, lifting her to him with the flat of his hand.

She arched as he pressed inside her in an elemental act of power. “I’ve forgotten,” she whispered. “You’ve taken me over, and I don’t care about anything else. But you know that.”

“I do.”

He drew away, allowing her a glimpse of his cock before he slid back inside her. She closed her eyes with a sigh. The fire crackled in the ensuing silence. Their bodies strained in a heated battle. She met his every thrust until she was gripped by a climax she thought would never end. She felt besieged. Simon surged deeper still inside her, his face terse with concentration. She was trembling from head to toe by the time he took his pleasure.

She looked up at his beautiful face as her body cooled. He stared back down at her with a smile of grateful contemplation and said, “God.”

She pressed her index finger to his chin. “You are altogether too complacent for a man whose head was on the chopping block not a month ago.”

“What chopping block?” he asked, dropping onto his side as if concerned he would collapse atop her.

“Humor me,” she murmured. “Would you have married me of your own volition?”

“My fair duchess, if you knew how my soul takes flight when I look at you and realize you are mine, you would never again ask such a silly question.” His eyes widened in mock alarm. “You haven’t fallen in love with me, have you?”

“Heaven forbid.” She raised her hand and studied her wedding ring in the firelight. “Don’t we know each other too well for that?”

Simon reached for his trousers and stood, his face turned to the fire. “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for some time. I’d prefer we were in more comfortable surroundings, however.”

“I would prefer you not dress quite yet,” she said, obviously not attuned to his change in mood. “While you look undeniably elegant in a long-tailed coat, you look even better naked.”

“Excuse me?”

“You wear your clothes well.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But your nude body delights me even more. Have you not encouraged my complete honesty? Are we not to bare our souls to each other as easily as our clothes?”

He laughed and shook his head. “We need to retire before the servants discover us. I’m up early tomorrow.”

“Oh, Simon. Have I embarrassed you?”

“Not quite. Shall I strike a pose?”

“Why would anyone need Greek statues with men like you in the world?” she mused.

“I should think that would be obvious. A statue is not able to perform certain pleasurable functions.” He shook himself. “I am up early tomorrow,” he said again.

“I’m not,” she said, her voice indistinct.

He swung around. She was on her knees, collecting her stockings and shoes from the carpet. He smiled at the provocative sight and bent to help her. Now, he thought. Confess about the rejected proposal and be done with it. It was probably too much to hope that Rhys had already told her. And that she was waiting for Simon to admit it himself. She said she and Rhys shared everything. Of course that was before she had become Simon’s wife.

“Why are you so quiet all of a sudden?” she asked.

“I don’t know. But the answer is yes,” he said as he dressed. “I would have married you without coercion.”