The Duke of a Thousand Desires by Jillian Hunter

Author:Jillian Hunter [Hunter, Jillian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jillian Hunter

He had hastily washed in his closet and could wait for breakfast. He didn’t crave anything but her. Indeed, he was insatiable and had decided during the night that she had become as essential to him as food and air. Which did not justify consuming the whole of her at one time. In the throes of such intense longing, he had to remind himself again he could not afford to let marriage lull him into a disregard for caution.

He would continue his inquiry into Susannah’s death. But now Ravenna’s keeping took priority. He was coming to understand how easily a man could damage a woman’s heart, her body, her psyche, even a woman as fearless and intuitive as his duchess. The law gave a husband permission to control every aspect of his wife’s existence.

The servants brought hot water and towels to the bedchamber, built up the fire and quietly left like friendly ghosts.

He sat on a footstool while Ravenna soaked in a steaming bath, her hair rinsed, combed, and caught back in a knot. His soapy hands slid over her with studied gentleness. This was a ritual he vowed would become habit.

“You’re making me feel like a goddess,” she mused.

“Which to me you are.” The residue of lilac-scented soap outlined his forearms and chest. “I feel like an attendant in a bathing rite.” He dipped the sponge between her breasts, caressing the pointed tips until her head dropped back in enjoyment.

“What do you know about ceremonial bathing?” she asked, half-afraid of what he would answer.

“Only what one of my tutors taught me. The professor was enthralled with Greek mythology. He once showed my brother and me drawings of ancient Greek maidens who were bathed before marriage in a ritual to please the goddess Artemis. He was a lusty old sod now that I think about it.”

“I’m bathing after the fact. Moreover, I don’t have the least interest in placating any mythical deities.”

His gaze followed the descent of his hand to the apex of her thighs. Her lips parted in anticipation. “You have other interests?” he asked, slowly looking up.

“Sufficient unto this day is pleasing the mortal man who is moving that sponge where it doesn’t belong.”

“Hush for a minute,” he said, reaching back to the washstand. “Put this cloth over your eyes.”

“Whatever for?” she asked suspiciously.

“You are relaxed. It’s a good time to reflect. Go back in your mind to the night in the garden.”

She frowned. “Attempted murder isn’t as pleasant a topic as being compared to a goddess. I won’t be relaxed for long.”

“You were standing under the walnut tree,” he said. “A man dropped at your feet. What was he wearing? Did he speak to you? Can you see a face?”

“Yes,” she replied at length. “The face is yours. It is stark and handsome. And if you expect me to remember anything of that night, I shall not do so in the aftermath of having been reduced to a hedonistic state. Is it surprising that after you laid

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