Chapter Eight
Why do I feel such a vexing attraction for one man when I know I want another one entirely?
—Roslyn to Fanny
Roslyn returned home an hour later, disgruntled and severely disappointed in herself. She would rather not have to face the duke, but she found him awaiting her in the library as promised.
“So how did your seduction go?” he asked when she entered.
“Not as well as I hoped.” Moving across the library, she sank heavily into a chair.
Arden left his place at the window seat to resume sitting on the sofa. “That’s all you mean to say? Did you attempt to apply our advice?”
Roslyn summoned a wry smile. “Oh, I tried. But I was too self-conscious to be very successful.”
The duke regarded her curiously. “But you contrived to touch Haviland?”
“Yes.” But it didn’t work. At first she couldn’t bring herself to be so forward as to accidentally caress Haviland, or even to flirt with him. Her efforts felt too calculating. But just before she left, she’d let her fingers brush the earl’s as she handed him her notes about the ball.
“And?” Arden prodded.
“And nothing.” Roslyn made a face. “He didn’t appear to feel anything at all.”
“Perhaps you weren’t overt enough.”
“Perhaps.” Yet she didn’t believe that was the case. She hadn’t elicited any reaction from Haviland whatsoever. Even more troubling, she hadn’t felt the expected spark between them, either.
What vexed her most, however, was that while she was trying to kindle sparks in the Earl of Haviland, all she could think about was the flaming response that the Duke of Arden had ignited in her so effortlessly earlier this morning when he’d conducted his demonstration of the effectiveness of touching.
“You will have to be less subtle next time,” the duke advised.
“There may not even be a next time,” Roslyn said crossly. “We have already decided on all the details relating to the ball, such as where to place the flowers and musicians and reception line.”
Arden gazed at her with amusement. “Then invite him over for luncheon or tea tomorrow.”
“On what pretext?”
“I’m sure you can think of something. Tell him you want to learn more about his family, the haughty relations he wants to impress. Or you can discuss taking protective measures against the highwayman.”
Roslyn frowned. “We held that discussion today. Haviland means to have armed grooms patrol the roads during his ball to thwart any holdups like the one Lady Freemantle and I suffered, even though there has been no further sign of the highwayman since.”
“Good,” the duke replied. “It will be best if he assumes responsibility for the safety of the district. I plan to return to London tomorrow, since Lady Freemantle seems fully recovered from her ordeal.”
Roslyn roused herself from her morose thoughts long enough to offer him a faint smile. “I wish to thank you again for staying to comfort her. It was very noble of you.”
Arden grinned. “Indeed it was. So what do you mean to do about Haviland? Are you certain you even want to continue your campaign to win him?”
“Yes,” she said stubbornly. “I am certain.”
“Perhaps he isn’t the right husband for you after all.”
“Perhaps not, but I mean to discover that for myself. I still have hopes he can come to love me.”
Arden cocked his head, surveying her. “Why this insistence upon marrying for love? Members of our class usually settle for marriages of convenience.”
Roslyn couldn’t hide her wince. “Because I don’t want to end up like my parents. They were bitter enemies who relished hurting each other.”
“Most ton marriages are not much better,” Arden said sardonically.
“You are far too cynical, your grace.”
“And your notions about love are far too idealistic.”
Roslyn raised an eyebrow. “You think true love is merely a fairy tale?”
“Isn’t it?”
“I don’t believe so. I’ve never experienced genuine love myself, but I know it exists. My friend Tess Blanchard loved her betrothed very deeply before he was killed at Waterloo. And my mother found love with her second husband.”
The duke shook his head. “Neither case is representative of genteel British marriages. Your friend’s betrothed died, and your mother married a Frenchman.”
“Arabella and Marcus certainly love each other.”
His mouth curled, but he held his tongue.
Even so, Roslyn protested his skepticism. “You have seen them together. You cannot dispute how ardently they feel for each other.”
He shrugged. “They fancy themselves in love for now, but I doubt it will last. I’ve witnessed too many couples profess to be madly in love until the first flush of lust wears off. Then they are left with nothing more than boredom—or worse.”
Roslyn gave him an arch smile. “I would not expect your sentiments to be any different. Merely because you are reputed to be a marvelous lover does not mean you know a thing about love.”
“Indeed, I don’t. And I don’t wish to know, either.” His expression remained bland as he studied her. “It surprises me, though, that with your experience, you still believe you can make a love match. You said your parents’ marriage was a battleground?”
“Yes. When I was young, they fought all the time.” Even now their animosity was still intensely painful for Roslyn to remember, but she managed a shrug. “That, no doubt, is why I became ‘bookish,’ as you termed it.”
“How so?”
“Books provided me an escape. During my parents’ fights, I would hide in the library among my beloved books until their battles ended, cowering like a timid mouse.”
“I can’t imagine you cowering at anything.”
Her mouth twisted wryly. “Oh, I did, believe me. I would crawl behind the window seat curtains and try to shut out their conflicts, but I couldn’t stop myself from shaking. Sometimes I couldn’t even hold a volume still enough to read.” Her expression became bleak. “My sisters would usually find me and try to comfort me, but it was something I couldn’t control.”
Roslyn fell silent, recalling those dark, turbulent years of her girlhood. Both her sisters had worried for her. Lily would slip into the library where she was hiding and hold her hand, offering solace by chattering on about the latest kitten or foal born on the estate farms. Arabella, however, would drag them both out of doors, where they walked or rode for hours, returning only when they could be assured that their father had stormed out of the house and left their mother weeping bitter tears.
Arden remained silent, too, as he regarded her intently. His gaze was unreadable as usual, but Roslyn thought she saw a hint of softness there that seemed like sympathy.
Taking hold of herself, she shook off the uncomfortable vulnerability. She had no need for his pity. Yet the painful remembrance of her parents’ unhappy marriage only reinforced her resolve to control her own fate.
“It was a long time ago,” she said, forcing a lighter note into her tone. “But perhaps you see why I am determined to make Lord Haviland fall in love with me.”
“Yes, I see.” Arden slowly rose to his feet. “Take heart, sweeting. All is not lost. I will call on him now and see if I can encourage him.”
Roslyn felt a sudden stab of unease. “What do you intend, your grace?”
“Merely to sing your praises a little. Don’t worry, I will make it subtle. I need to speak to Haviland on several matters in any case, so he will never suspect my intentions.”
She scowled. “I hope not. You said the last thing I should do is let him realize I am pursuing him. It would be nearly as detrimental if he thinks you are matchmaking.”
“Matchmaking…God forbid.” The duke gave a mock shudder. “But I suppose that is precisely what I am doing.” He hesitated a moment. “If you like, I’ll give you a final lesson before I leave for London tomorrow morning. You still need to work on a few shortcomings.”
His provocative tone somehow made her distrustful. “What shortcomings?” she asked warily, trying not to feel insulted.
The smile he flashed her was irresistible. “I will tell you tomorrow.”
Roslyn blinked, taken aback by the stunning impact of that potent male smile. The beauty of it made her heart lurch and her stomach flutter—both reactions she had never felt with Lord Haviland.
But before she could reply, the duke spoke. “Shall I see you at ten, then?”
“Yes, your grace.”
When he had bowed himself out, Roslyn muttered a soft oath. She shouldn’t let herself be so affected by her arousing tutor.
Of course, that was easier said than done. Even though she’d braced herself against his devastating appeal, she was far more attracted to him than was wise.
She knew better than to fall under the duke’s spell. Certainly she would never behave like the leagues of starry-eyed females who pictured themselves as his duchess. So what if his wicked smile set her pulse racing? If his mere nearness heightened her senses? Arden was a practiced lover who could charm and enchant any woman he pleased.
Not that he actually wished to enchant her. It was merely a natural skill that he utilized without thought. She would like to have even a fraction of his talent for seduction.
Roslyn felt herself frown. Was that what he’d meant by her shortcomings? Her inability to enchant the opposite sex? She had certainly failed with Haviland this morning.
At the very least she had to overcome her awkward reserve with the earl. That seemed to be her biggest obstacle at the moment—shedding her self-consciousness long enough to try out her newly learned techniques of seduction on him.
But hopefully the duke could show her how tomorrow.
It was generous of him to continue her lessons, Roslyn reflected, especially when he had such a disdain for love and marriage. It was also a little sad that he would never know the joy of a love match, as she hoped to do one day.
Abruptly reproving herself, Roslyn shook her head, determined to put Arden from her mind until tomorrow morning.
As long as he was prepared to help her, his beliefs about love mattered not a whit.
Despite his reluctance to be alone with Roslyn, Drew kept his promise to call at Danvers Hall the next morning. He wanted to get her lesson over with, for the sooner he succeeded in helping her win Haviland, the sooner he could wash his hands of her.
She was in the library again, he discovered when he was shown in by the butler, and she looked pleased to see him.
“Did you call on Haviland yesterday?” was the first question she asked while moving to sit in a wing chair.
“Yes,” Drew answered as he settled in his usual place on the sofa. “We mainly discussed plans for his ball. I reviewed his guest list and gave him my opinion of those I knew.”
“No doubt he appreciated it,” Roslyn replied.
Drew shrugged. “I wouldn’t care to be in his shoes, having to perform for the ton like a dancing bear at a fair.”
“So do you mean to attend his ball?”
“Yes, I promised to make a show of support. Eleanor and her aunt are invited as well, and so is my friend Claybourne.”
Roslyn’s brow furrowed. “I trust the highwayman won’t strike again that night. It would reflect poorly on Haviland if any of his guests were assaulted.” She shuddered. “And I dread to think of someone else being threatened with a pistol, as we were.”
“I plan to escort Lady Freemantle to the ball myself,” Drew said. “If the brigand was specifically targeting her for the first robbery, as you believe, he may try a second time.”
She gave him a fervent look. “Oh, thank you! I have worried about her safety.”
“I think you may stop worrying. Haviland is taking extra precautions and has his defenses well in hand. And I will keep in touch with him meanwhile.”
“What else did you discuss?” Roslyn asked leadingly. “Did you mention me, perhaps?”
Drew couldn’t help but smile at her eagerness. “Only in the most flattering terms. He seems to think very highly of you. But our conversation soon turned to politics. Haviland wants to take up his seat in the Lords when Parliament reconvenes in the fall.”
“So he told me. It is one of the things I admire about him…that he is not the typical indolent nobleman.”
“Was that a gibe at me, darling?”
Roslyn dimpled. “Not really. I understand from Lady Freemantle that you take your ducal responsibilities quite seriously. Your estates reportedly are the model of modern agricultural management, and you are heavily involved in governmental affairs. I admit I find that admirable, even if it surprises me. Many noblemen spend their time in frivolous pursuits.”
“I find too much frivolity deathly boring,” Drew said quite truthfully. “And I think Haviland is of the same mind. He asked if I would be willing to advise him on the workings of the government, so I agreed. And I offered to lend him my secretary for a time.”
“That is extremely kind of you,” Roslyn observed. “You make an excellent tutor.”
She offered him a warm smile—a smile like a gift. That smile tantalized him against his will, and Drew shifted uneasily in his seat. “I suggested he begin by reading Cobbett’s Parliamentary History. I plan to send him my volumes.”
“I could loan him mine.”
“No, you don’t want him to think you too bookish.”
She laughed. “I suppose not.”
Her gaze turned thoughtful then, and she gave him a measuring glance. “I am curious, your grace. If you feel so strongly about your ducal responsibilities, do you intend to marry someday? I should think you would want heirs for your dukedom.”
“I will eventually,” Drew replied.
“I wondered. You have such an aversion to matrimony, I thought you might have decided never to wed.”
His smile was more of a grimace. “I know my duty. And I’m prepared to suffer a wife in order to beget heirs.”
“You sound very much like a misogynist.”
Drew grinned. “I like women well enough. I just can’t bear the thought of being shackled to one specific woman for life.”
“It is a pity that marital vows require a man to choose only one wife,” she replied, her tone teasing. “I presume you will make a marriage of convenience rather than love?”
“Of course.” His reply was bland. “Aristocrats don’t marry for love. For members of our class, marriage is a callous business transaction. A cold union of blood and titles and fortune. One that will likely end up proving tedious or even distasteful.”
“What a delightful prospect,” Roslyn said wryly. “My ideas for marriage are very different from yours, quite obviously.”
“Indeed. You believe in fairy tales.”
She smiled. “It is a shame you cannot hope for anything better. But perhaps someday you may encounter a woman you actually wish to marry.”
Drew frowned, wondering how he had come to be discussing matrimony. Usually his mind sheared away from the unpleasant subject. Oh, he knew he would do his duty eventually. But he had never given serious consideration to the woman he would one day wed. He only knew he didn’t want his duchess to be anything like his mother—a cold, grasping, power-hungry witch who thought only of her own needs and desires.
“Did your parents have anything to do with your aversion, as mine did?” Roslyn asked quite innocently.
His mother had a great deal to do with his aversion to marriage, Drew acknowledged to himself. “I would say so.”
“Why?” Her tone was curious. “Were your parents as horribly antagonistic as mine? Did they despise each other?”
“No. They rarely showed any emotion toward each other at all. They considered it ill-bred to exhibit any feelings.”
“And they raised you that way?”
Her perceptiveness cut too close for comfort. He’d had a cold upbringing. A childhood barren of affection or familial feeling. “Somewhat,” was all Drew could bring himself to say.
“So your parents married for convenience.”
“And to perpetuate their illustrious bloodlines. They both could trace their ancestry back to William the Conqueror.”
“I suppose you mean to do the same?”
Again Drew shrugged. “I don’t particularly care. But other than carrying on the line, there are few benefits to marriage.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Yes. In fact, there are many disadvantages.”
“Such as?”
“For one thing, most couples who wed for convenience have little in common, so there is little enjoyment to be found in each other’s company.”
“Perhaps,” she conceded.
“And marriage can be a prime opportunity for boredom. If you’re shackled to one wife, you can’t easily be rid of her. At least a mistress can be exchanged if you grow tired of her.”
Her blue eyes danced with laughter. “That is an advantage indeed. I hadn’t considered it.”
Drew leaned back in his seat, beginning to enjoy himself. “Marriage can be a breeding ground for hostilities, as your own parents proved.”
“That is one point we can agree on, at least,” Roslyn said with a shudder. “What else?”
“A bachelor has no family to tie him down, as a married man does. A bachelor can do precisely as he pleases.”
“Yes, it would undoubtedly be frustrating to have to consider another person’s feelings. It is much easier to be selfish and never put anyone else’s happiness before your own.”
Drew appreciated her humor, but he pressed on. “A wife may turn out to be a nag,” he pointed out. “Or fall into jealous rages if her husband spends his days at his club and his nights in bed with his mistress.”
“Could you blame her?”
“Yes. A marriage of convenience is just that—a legal union with no promises of love or fidelity.”
“Which is precisely why I would never consider wedding for mere convenience,” Roslyn said, leaning forward earnestly. “But there are advantages to be found in a good marriage that I’m certain you have never considered.”
“Name one.”
“I can name several. The best is that you will always have a companion. Someone to talk to and listen to. To wake up to each morning, and share meals and congenial pursuits with. You are rarely lonely.”
Drew relaxed against the sofa back. “Assuming the couple is compatible, which is rarely the case in a convenient marriage.”
“In a good marriage, they are compatible in most respects and have many shared interests. Moreover, they can have children, a family,” Roslyn continued.
“You can have that in any marriage.”
“True, you can beget children. But it will hardly be a loving family. And keep in mind the most important advantage: A husband will have a hostess for his balls, and his wife will have an escort to various entertainments.” She gave a light laugh. “You must admit that Haviland wouldn’t be in his current predicament if he were married to me.”
“I cannot argue with that,” Drew admitted, amused.
“No, seriously…a good marriage is based on friendship and affection and perhaps love—even though you don’t believe in it.”
Drew mentally shook his head. He couldn’t imagine his own parents ever having loved each other or even being friends. If his mother had a heart of ice, his father hadn’t been much warmer. The late Duke of Arden had been rigid, reserved, aloof—a strict disciplinarian who never showed any signs of affection for a living soul, not even his only son and heir. Drew hadn’t grieved terribly when he lost his father eight years ago, for they barely knew each other.
He’d been shipped off to Eton when he was six, where he was fortunate to meet his cherished boyhood friends. Except for Marcus and Heath, he might have turned out very much like his austere sire. Thank God they had saved him from becoming such a self-important stuffed shirt.
Drew summoned a smile. “Not even those possible advantages could tempt me into marriage. I am quite content to remain single.”
“Are you truly?” She cocked her head. “A loving marriage can give you satisfaction and fulfillment. Can you say your mistresses give you fulfillment other than the carnal kind?”
No, he couldn’t claim that. He’d had a number of mistresses in the past, but those liaisons, while fulfilling sexually, had been only superficial. He had wanted it exactly that way, with no attachment, no bonding, no passion beyond the physical.
“The carnal kind is all that interests me,” he answered evenly.
Her expression turned impish. “I sincerely hope Lord Haviland doesn’t share your opinion.”
“You will have to convince him otherwise—which means you need to work harder at seducing him.”
“I intend to,” she said sweetly. “Why do you think I have spent so much time learning your techniques? I have every intention of seducing him into loving me.”
When she smiled serenely, Drew’s gaze was drawn to her mouth. Not only did he feel the fierce urge to kiss her, but he found himself increasingly captivated by the enchanting Roslyn Loring.
Yet she clearly had no such feelings for him.
Her disinterest in him not only irked him but was beginning to be a challenge, Drew realized. It roused the primal urge in him to prove that she wasn’t nearly as indifferent to him as she pretended.
Comprehending the danger in succumbing to his urges, however, he consulted the mantel clock. “Enough about matrimony. I suggest we move on to your lesson, for I need to be in London by noon.”
He rose and moved to shut the library door. “So we won’t be disturbed,” he explained before returning to lounge on the sofa. “Tell me about the rest of Fanny’s letter. What did she advise you about clothing?”
Roslyn had been pondering the duke’s remarks about marriage when he abruptly changed the subject, so it took her a moment to shift her thoughts.
Even then she hesitated, reluctant to repeat Fanny’s suggestions, since they entailed making an effort to show off her physical charms. “She merely said I should adopt a more inviting style.”
“She’s right. That gown you’re wearing is attractive enough”—his gaze skimmed down her peach-colored muslin morning dress that was part of her new wardrobe—“but it is a trifle too modest for your purpose. The neckline should be lower to show more bosom, and the waist tighter to emphasize your figure. Your curves are ample enough, I know firsthand. But with your height and slenderness, you need to highlight the lushness of your breasts.”
Unable to stop her blush, Roslyn sent the duke a reproachful look, certain he was enjoying discomfiting her. In return he gave her a smile that was wickedly charming—one that had a deplorable effect on her pulse rate.
“Your hair is another problem,” he said, his assessment moving upward from her body to her face.
Instinctively Roslyn raised a hand to her coiffure. She had pinned it into a sedate knot at her nape, a simple style that didn’t require a maid’s help to achieve. For years the Loring sisters had been too poor to afford servants of their own, and their step-uncle had been too miserly to provide them any. “What is wrong with my hair?”
“It’s too severe. You should wear it in a more careless style. Let a few curls frame your face. Better yet, let some tresses hang down over your shoulder. It’s most appealing if you look like you’ve just risen from your bed. That gives a man notions about taking you back there.”
“I’m not certain I wish to give Haviland notions of taking me to bed,” Roslyn said dubiously.
“You need to. He’ll be more willing to tie the knot if he believes he won’t be getting a cold fish in his marriage bed.”
She frowned. “Do you think I am a cold fish?”
The duke’s expression turned enigmatic. “I know you are not, but you have to show Haviland as much. Which leads me to my next suggestion. You can do much more with your mouth.”
“More than pouting?”
“Yes. Your mouth is full and inviting, but you need to look kissable.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “How do I do that?”
“Bite your lips to make them look passion-bruised. Wet them with your tongue. You want to entice your suitor to kiss you.”
“Is that why Fanny made me wear lip rouge at the Cyprians’ ball?”
“I expect so. And it worked quite well.”
“You truly wanted to kiss me?”
“Very much. But you looked the part that night. You were much more approachable than now.”
“Approachable?”
She could see the duke almost smile at her peeved tone. “You don’t want Haviland to think of you as a delicate porcelain doll but a flesh and blood woman. It’s much more enticing to a man.”
The furrow in her brow deepened. “I don’t really understand the difference.”
“Take your friend Fanny, for example. She is considered a beauty, but that isn’t what most men find appealing about her. She has an earthy quality that’s highly alluring.”
“Which I lack.”
“But you can make up for it with your actions. You may appear a proper lady of refinement, but you want Haviland to know you have a passionate nature underneath that perfect, untouchable exterior. You must give him the urge to abandon all his gentlemanly discipline and think about bedding you.”
“I see,” Roslyn said slowly, although she had little confidence that she could pull off such a feat.
“So try looking kissable.”
Obediently, she worried her lower lip with her teeth, then wet it with her tongue. “Like that?”
“Yes. But try to be more sultry. Part your lips. Pretend to be a little breathless. And look directly at me. Remember, eyes and mouth are your first weapons.”
She held his gaze as she parted her wet lips and manufactured a subtle pant, but it still felt absurdly unnatural.
Arden obviously thought so too, since he shook his head ruefully. “You can do much better than that, darling. Come, now…make me want to kiss you.”
Despite her determination, the thought of kissing Arden again sent a thrum of excitement shivering across her skin. Purposefully ignoring the wanton feeling, Roslyn tried again to look kissable, slowly licking her lips while trying to appear sultry.
“That’s somewhat better,” he encouraged. “Just watching you should arouse me.”
Arouse the Duke of Arden? Impossible, Roslyn thought with a silent chortle. The techniques of seduction he was teaching her might work on normal men, but not in a million years would she ever believe she could have the same effect on him, especially when he knew exactly what tricks she was attempting.
When she broke off her struggles with a laugh, Arden sank back against the sofa in defeat. “Perhaps you are hopeless after all.”
“No, no, I can do it,” she asserted, trying to stem her amusement.
“Then show me. See if you can arouse me. Come sit beside me here so you have a better chance.”
When he gestured at the sofa cushion beside him, Roslyn hesitated barely a moment before gathering her determination. If she intended to conquer her self-consciousness with Lord Haviland, she would have to become more at ease with the physical aspects of a seduction. And she had a willing subject to practice on right now, perhaps for the last time, since the duke intended to return to London after this lesson.
“Now what?” she asked when she had settled beside him.
He lounged back against the padded arm of the sofa. “I will leave it entirely up to you. What did I teach you yesterday?”
“That I should contrive to touch you.”
“So do it.”
Reaching out, she let her fingers settle on his hand, which was resting on his buckskin-clad thigh. In response, he slid his hand from beneath hers and placed his on top, covering her fingers and pressing her palm against his thigh. “This is more arousing to a man,” he explained.
And to a woman also, Roslyn reflected as her heart gave a leap at the feel of the granite-hard muscles beneath the soft fabric. But she wouldn’t let herself pull away. Instead she gazed directly at Arden and practiced her mouth exercises. His eyes lowered to her lips, but otherwise he seemed unaffected.
“Isn’t that good enough?” she finally asked.
“You should move closer. Tempt me with your nearness.”
She shifted her position and leaned forward so that their mouths were only a short distance apart, which made her excruciatingly aware of his body, especially since she was required to brace her hand against his thigh for balance.
“Now kiss me,” he ordered blandly. “You should learn how to do it properly.”
Her own gaze dropping from his, Roslyn eyed the sensual fullness of his mouth and felt herself tense. It would be utterly unwise to kiss Arden, even though she longed to. But then she chided herself for being missish. She had already kissed him once before—and allowed much more than that! Letting him teach her to kiss wouldn’t be nearly as scandalous, but could be highly beneficial in her campaign to win Lord Haviland.
A deep breath did nothing to calm her nerves, however, and when she hurried to press a quick kiss to his lips before drawing back, his slight frown told her clearly that she had utterly failed to impress him.
“Again, but more slowly,” he suggested. “Make it linger. And put your hands on my chest so that I’m aware of you touching me.”
His coat was open, so Roslyn tentatively pressed her palms against the lapels of his waistcoat. She had to lean over much farther than was comfortable, yet he didn’t intend to help her at all, she realized. He kept his arms at his sides and remained still while she set her lips to his.
The heat of his mouth was highly distracting, so she concentrated on ignoring it as she kissed him with untutored skill. After a long moment, Roslyn pulled back, eyeing him questioningly.
His green eyes had darkened a fraction. “Better, but still inadequate. Use your tongue. That’s very arousing to a man.”
Leaning forward again, she let her tongue slip inside his mouth to explore the warm recesses. It was highly intoxicating for her, if not for him, and had a profound impact on her senses.
She was more than a little breathless when she drew back. “Are you aroused yet?”
“Not quite. You’ll have to be more assertive. Lay claim to me when you kiss me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Let me show you…”
Reaching for her, he lay back and pulled her on top of him, molding her softness to his much harder frame. She could feel the shifting muscles of his chest beneath her palms as their lips melded and he took over kissing her.
Her body softened, yielded to him, as his lips shifted over hers in sensuous coercion. Then his tongue slid inside and found hers, mating with it in a slow, intimate dance. When she gave a soft little sigh, he angled his head and pressed even deeper, exploring, tasting, coaxing.
For a long moment she became lost in the sheer wonder of his kiss, in the lush assault on her senses. The delicious feelings he aroused in her were overwhelming, kindling a throbbing ache between her legs, a fierce yearning. Without conscious thought, she began moving her hips against his, seeking a release she couldn’t even name.
When at last he broke off his kiss, disappointment surged through her. She hadn’t wanted him to stop. Yet she knew she had affected him this time. She could feel the taut muscled strength of his body beneath hers, and something more—the swollen hardness nestled in the cradle of her thighs.
Somewhat dazed, Roslyn opened her eyes and lifted her head. “There, that aroused you, I can feel it.”
“I would say so.” His voice was husky and amused as he caught her hand and drew it between their bodies to his groin.
It was shocking to touch the thick ridge of male flesh there; even through his breeches the heat of him was apparent. Yet she also felt a sense of triumph. She had wanted to learn how to arouse a man, and she had succeeded.
Suddenly recalling how improper it was to be fondling a man’s body, Roslyn quickly eased her hand from his grasp and made to rise.
“Not so fast, love,” Arden murmured as his arms closed around her to hold her in place. “We’ve barely begun your education in kissing.”
Without giving her a choice, he drew her head down again and resumed her instruction. But the tenor of his kiss changed. This one was harder, more powerful. If Roslyn had any thought at all of resisting, he shattered it quite thoroughly, his mouth slowly forcing hers open, his thrusting tongue seizing, claiming.
It was a kiss of possession, devastating, expert. The blatant sensuality of it was stunning as his mouth made love to her mouth, as his hands slid around her hips to capture her more firmly, letting her feel his hard arousal through their clothing.
Yet it was a trap from which she had no desire to escape. Instead, Roslyn kissed him back with an intensity that she would have thought utterly foreign to her nature.
They were both breathing raggedly when it finally ended. Drawing back, Roslyn stared dazedly down at him.
His eyes were dark and sensual as they surveyed her flushed face. “You look extremely kissable now,” he observed in a low rasp.
Roslyn had started to return a diffuse smile when she realized his hands had moved to the back of her gown and were unfastening the hooks. A small gasp escaped her when she comprehended what he was doing, but she made no protest as he pushed down the décolletage and freed her breasts from the confinement of her chemise and corset.
His eyes flashed as he bared the pale mounds to his hot gaze.
Her nerves knotting in near painful anticipation, she held her breath, knowing exactly what came next. She should stop him, Roslyn told herself sternly as he raised her higher to give his mouth better access to her nipples. But she couldn’t find the willpower.
Then he bent his head, and her heart leapt. He didn’t suckle her as she expected, though. His tongue merely circled one taut aureole, never touching.
Roslyn arched against him, wanting desperately for him to put his mouth there. Instead he merely played with her, his lips nibbling around the aching tip, deliberately arousing but never fulfilling.
“Your grace…” she murmured in a breathy plea.
“Call me Drew.”
“Drew…please.”
His hands moving to cup her naked breasts, he pressed his tantalizing mouth closer to her nipple. The first flick of his tongue made her breath hiss between her teeth. Then he drew back slightly to blow a stream of air across the wet bud. The delectable sensation sparked a low heat inside her belly and dredged a trembling pleasure sound from deep in her throat. When she felt the nip of his teeth against the sensitive tip, Roslyn whimpered. Yet he continued to deny her, his lips rubbing and teasing over her breasts.
Finally, however, he drew a dusky peak between his lips. Her hands gripped his shoulders as he sucked the engorged nipple deeper into the moist heat of his mouth, igniting a searing heat deep within her.
His tongue kept laving slowly, and each time he stroked, a new thrill shot through her. Roslyn shivered with heat as his lips suckled the peak to an unbearable tightness rivaling that in her chest. She felt almost faint with delight. She was drowning in sensations. He was a master at giving pleasure, and she accepted eagerly.
How wonderful it felt. How wonderful and thrilling.
When his teeth nipped her again, she moaned helplessly, so caught up in his erotic attentions that she was only vaguely aware his right hand had moved to her bare shoulder. It drifted down her back, caressing the arch of her spine, then lower over her hip and down the skirt of her gown. When he raised the hem, drawing it upward, she felt the sensation of cool air on her legs.
In contrast, his warm fingers fondled her bare thigh, stroking her skin in small undulations, teasing with lazy spirals and slow, erotic touches.
The trembling, shivery ache in her belly heightened by slow degrees, building until his caresses moved to her inner thigh. Then she tensed, wondering what he intended.
His hand had moved upward to cover her woman’s mound. When he cupped the warm, throbbing place between her thighs, Roslyn gave a start and abruptly lifted her head.
He held her startled gaze as his fingers parted the damp curls of her sex. When he began to stroke the wet folds of her flesh, the pleasure of his probing touch took her breath away.
Roslyn shuddered, her heart beginning to pound, yet she was unable to look away; he was holding her captive with the intensity of his eyes as he found the aching nub that was the secret of her femininity. She could feel urgent desire burning through her senses like fire. The powerful sensations centered in the shimmering, heated core of her body, and her hands clenched reflexively, digging into his shoulders.
Then one finger slowly slid inside her hot, slick moistness. The novel, shockingly intimate caress was wholly unexpected.
Gasping, Roslyn jerked her hips away as a feeling of panic suddenly assaulted her.
Her body jolting, she pushed herself off him and stood on shaken limbs, covering her naked breasts with her arms as she stared down at him.
“This was a m-mistake, your grace.”
A flame had kindled in the depths of his eyes, but his expression was as cool and enigmatic as ever.
Still dazed, she struggled to restore her clothing to order, feeling like the wanton she knew she had to look.
The duke said not a word as he pulled out a linen handkerchief from his coat pocket. His fingers were soaked with her essence, Roslyn saw to her mortification. The heated flush on her face rose when he wiped his fingers dry.
“I agree,” he said finally, his smile sardonic. “This was a mistake.”
The husky rasp in his voice stroked her nerve endings, reminding her that she had aroused him almost as much as he had aroused her.
Lord preserve her, Roslyn thought frantically, she had to put an end to this temptation. Certainly she couldn’t continue such intimate sessions with him. It was far too dangerous.
“We shouldn’t have any further lessons,” she said, her voice uneven.
A muscle in his jaw flexed, as if he might object, but all he said was, “Indeed.”
He returned the handkerchief to his pocket and stood. When he took a step toward her, though, Roslyn retreated.
His mouth curled. “You needn’t fear, darling. My intentions are somewhat honorable this time. Turn around and let me hook your gown. You don’t want your servants to see you looking so disheveled.”
She didn’t want him coming near her again, either, but she couldn’t manage the hooks easily on her own.
Reluctantly, she turned her back to him and held herself rigid as he performed the service of lady’s maid.
When he was done, he paused with his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. “You should definitely contrive to kiss Haviland. He won’t be able to resist you. Good day, Miss Loring.”
Roslyn couldn’t bring herself to answer or even to look at Arden as he let himself out of the library. When he was gone, she stood there trembling and cursing herself.
How could she have allowed his lesson in kissing to go so far? She’d lost any shred of common sense the moment his lips touched hers.
She could never let him make love to her. She had absolutely no intention of losing her innocence before her wedding night. She was saving herself for marriage, for a loving husband who would cherish her for the rest of their lives.
Yet she couldn’t deny the maddening desire the duke roused in her so effortlessly.
Roslyn shut her eyes, recalling her response to his erotic kisses, how she had come alive in his arms, all yearning hunger. The tremulous pulsing that still heated her body was a clear reminder that she was in deep trouble.
Moving to a chair, she sank down and raised a shaking hand to her temple. Her head still swam with drugged pleasure, her heart still pounded thickly. It was no wonder Arden was renowned as a marvelous lover. She had no doubt that he could make women weep with delight. He had the power to compel any woman to surrender, to want his possession….
But a rakish nobleman like the duke was only interested in physical pleasure, not love or marriage or children.
She had absolutely no future with him, and she would be an utter fool to let herself think otherwise.
No, Roslyn vowed. After this, she would keep far, far away from the Duke of Arden. Certainly she would never again ask him to give her any more lessons in seduction!