Any Duchess Will Do (Spindle Cove #4)

“You declined to ravage me last night,” she said. “Surely you don’t expect me to fear it now.”


“Not at all.” He leaned forward, until they were nose-to-nose. “I expect you’ll enjoy it.”

He took her mouth in a deep, demanding kiss. His tongue moved against hers, again and again, and he angled his head to slide deeper still. Exploring her, possessing her. Relentless.

And it didn’t stop there. His hand slid to her bodice, claiming her breast.

Oh, sweet heaven.

He cupped the batting-enhanced mound capably, his fingers lifting and stroking. His thumb skimmed back and forth, searching for her nipple. The padding thwarted him. He gave up with a curse and tugged at her off-the-shoulder sleeve, working her neckline downward.

She sucked in her breath. He couldn’t mean to do this here.

Or perhaps he could.

With a firm, unapologetic motion, he gathered what there was to gather and lifted, hiking her breast above the border of her corset and exposing it to the cool night air. It was dark, but she felt thrust into a spotlight, vulnerable and quivering.

He kissed her again, exploring her mouth with possessive sweeps of his tongue. As their tongues sparred, he rolled her nipple with his thumb. His masterful caresses destroyed all will, all reason. Somehow, between the delicious sparks and shivers of bliss, one simple, straightforward goal began to coalesce.

This time she wanted to touch him, too.

She slid her gloved hands inside his coat, surveying the ridged, stony muscles of his torso and chest. Even through his waistcoat the power in his body was palpable.

She yanked his shirt free of his waistband and thrust her hands beneath. He growled in encouragement as she ran her flattened palms over the hard cobblestones of his abdominal muscles and traced the light furrow of hair bisecting them. Then she swept her touch upward, grazing over his nipple and centering on the fierce thump of his heart.

Boom.

Something exploded. She felt the concussion of it in her chest, and thought it might have been her heart bursting. Then flashes of sparks from the heavens lit the space between them.

She laughed at herself as the realization dawned.

Of course. “Fireworks.”

With one last brush of his lips against hers, he lifted his head. She held her breath, expecting him to speak. But he didn’t say a word. He just stared down at her, the same way he had that first day in Spindle Cove—as though she were the most wonderful, terrible, puzzling, perfect thing he’d ever beheld.

No, no. This was all too much.

She held his heartbeat in her hand. He treasured her small, insignificant breast with his. And overhead, great bloody fireworks exploded with trails of silver and gold.

The power in the moment was soul-rattling. Without the shield of a kiss, she couldn’t hide her own feelings. There was nowhere she could look but straight into his dark eyes.

Her own pulse was an incoherent flutter, but there was no hesitance in the rhythm beneath her palm. No stutter, no doubt. Just a strong, insistent beat of wanting.

Pauline, she could almost imagine it to say. Pauline, Pauline, Pauline.

That couldn’t be right. It had to be saying something else.

Probably, You fool, you fool, you fool.

Somewhere nearby, love was an ominous, gaping hole in the earth, widening every moment. Unless she were very careful, she’d be sure to fall straight in.

“Griff,” she whispered. “You need someone. Everyone needs someone.”

With an impatient motion, he hiked her bodice, covering her breast. Then he stepped away.

“You don’t understand this.” His words were dark and fierce. “Don’t tell me I need someone. My whole life has been an endless string of someones. Another ‘someone’ is exactly what I don’t need. I most especially do not want to stand in a room of pitiful, lackluster young women and hear, ‘It’s your duty to marry, Halford. Just choose someone.’ ”

She reeled away from him, stung. “Oh. I see.”

He cursed. “That’s not what I—”

“No, you’re right.” She edged away in small, hurried steps. “Choosing a lackluster girl from a crowded room. What a nightmare. No good could ever come of a scene like that.”

“Pauline, wait.”

She turned and ran, leaving him in the darkened grove and emerging into an open square where a crowd had gathered to watch the fireworks. She stopped in her tracks, working for breath. All around her, people were laughing and cheering and gasping with joy.

An unseen man bumped into her, hard. The old Pauline would’ve elbowed him back, but she didn’t have the heart for it right now. Instead, she turned to face him, laying her hand to her throat in apology.

Oh, God. Oh no.

He was gone. It was gone.

Griff made his way through the grove, searching for her.

At last he caught sight of her gown on the far side of the crowded green. That throbbing blur of pink, illuminated by gold pulses from above. He felt as though he were watching his own heart, separated from his body.

Then a man emerged from the shadows—and his heart stumbled.