The Duchess War (Brothers Sinister #1)

She couldn’t even feel his hands through her skirt. And yet she could imagine them, imagine that the slight pressure he exerted on her skirts transmitted itself to her petticoats, and from there to her drawers, her stockings, her legs. She shut her eyes as he worked his way upward.

The higher he got, the more she could feel it. When he got to the last bit of paste, there was nothing but the truth. He was touching her stomach. Through layers of cloth and corset, yes—but that was his hand against her belly. She sucked in a breath.

“I can’t believe you threw paste at me,” she muttered. “That has to be the stupidest thing—”

“Of course it was stupid.” He looked at the damp end of his scarf and then shrugged and tossed it over his shoulder. “That’s just the way these things go.” He stood as he spoke, leaving Minnie looking down—directly at the buttons on his vest.

“That’s the way things go?” she echoed dubiously. “Are you claiming to be a fool, Your Grace?”

“Under certain circumstances.” His voice dropped to a low murmur, and he leaned down so that he was almost whispering in her ear. “You see, there’s this woman.”

She wasn’t going to look at him. She wasn’t.

“Normally, one might say that there was a beautiful woman—but I don’t think she qualifies as a classical beauty. Still, I find that when she’s around, I’d rather look at her than anyone else.”

He set two fingers against her cheek, and Minnie sucked in a breath. She was not going to look at him. He’d see the longing in her eyes, and then…

“There’s something about her that draws my eye. Something that defies words. Maybe it’s her hair, but I tried to tell her that, and she told me I was being ridiculous. I suppose I was. Maybe it’s her lips. Maybe it’s her eyes, although she so rarely looks at me.”

Those fingers on her cheek trailed down to her jaw. Minnie felt frozen in place.

“She’s clever,” he murmured. “Every time I see her I discover that I’ve underestimated her prowess. She ties me in knots.”

They were just words—words that any man would say if he wanted to turn a lady’s head. Just words. They didn’t mean anything, not really.

But they were not just words. Nobody had ever said them to her; she hadn’t even known she wanted to hear them until he uttered them. Now they lodged like a knife between her ribs. She longed for them to be true—yearned for it so much that each breath hurt.

“What are you trying to say?” Minnie said to his waistcoat buttons. Her voice didn’t waver. It didn’t falter. “That you’re overmatched? We had already established that.”

“Of course I’m overmatched.” He was lightly stroking her cheek. “The male of the human species has a fundamental flaw. At the moment when we most want to say something clever and impressive, all the blood rushes from our brains.”

“It does?”

“Physiological fact,” His Grace said. “Arousal makes me stupid. It makes me say idiotic things like ‘I like your tits’ and, ‘Help, we’ve had a paste emergency over here.’ It makes me want to stay around you even though I know I’m overmatched, even though I’m sure you’re going to win.” His voice lowered. “You see, I want to watch you do it.”

She swallowed. And for that moment, she believed him. That she would win, somehow, win through to some future so impossibly bright it blinded her even to think of it.

“Even though I know I’m going to say foolish things,” he said. “And, apparently, throw paste at you.” There was a pause. “Sorry about that,” he finally said. “God, that was dumb.”

“I thought there were…things…that the male of the human species could do about this physiological shortcoming.”

He was still touching her, those two fingers lightly pressed against her jaw. She really couldn’t look at him as she spoke. Her whole face heated just thinking about what would be entailed in those things.

“Not right here,” he said, sounding amused. “Not right now.”

His thumb whispered against her lip, faintly recalling a kiss.

“Not,” he said, very quietly, “with you. Alas.”

Oh, she burned at that. Her skin seemed to catch flame. She felt herself grow damp beneath her skirts. But that wash of liquid want only made her sad.

They’d both read the moment aright. Minnie was too genteel for him to bed in so casual a fashion, and yet not high enough for him to marry. That left her as nothing to him, a nonentity in skirts. Whatever this was between them, it was both heartbreakingly real—and impossibly nonexistent.

His voice was rough when he spoke again. “So beat me to flinders,” he said. “Win. Overmatch me, Minnie. And when we’re alone…”

His fingers touched her chin lightly.

“When we’re alone,” he whispered, “look up.”

He could have tilted her chin, forcing her to do so. But his forefinger remained warm and steady on her face. He waited, and in the end, Minnie couldn’t help herself. She looked up.

His eyes met hers with a warm greeting.

“Hullo, Minnie.” He didn’t smile. He didn’t lean down to her. But when he whispered, “I wish you’d call me Robert,” his voice was almost a caress.