She Tempts the Duke by Lorraine Heath

Author:Lorraine Heath [Heath, Lorraine]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780062022462
Google: 6T0QZb9VrjsC
Amazon: 0062022466
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2012-01-31T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Only a kiss. She had used the phrase before when referring to what had passed between them and added the little caveat that it meant nothing. Nothing.

As his carriage rolled through the London streets, Sebastian wondered what he had expected. That she would confess to being devastated by it, yearned for another? That the kiss he’d delivered in the garden was far more powerful than the bold brush of his lips over hers that he’d delivered at the abbey ruins all those many years ago?

“You’re brooding,” Tristan said.

He looked up at his brother sprawled on the bench across from him. “I’ve been brooding for twelve years.”

“No, this is different. I suspect it has something to do with the words that passed between you and Mary before she took her leave.”

He wondered what it would be like to not have such a profound connection with another person. Lonely, he decided. Much more lonely than he was now. And at the same time, it would be a bit of a relief to know that one’s moods and the reasons behind them could not be so easily deciphered.

“I’m simply exhausted.”

“Then we should return to the residence. Calling on Fitzwilliam could be for naught. I don’t recall seeing any blood on him.”

“But you also admitted to being in the shadows and not having a clear view of him.”

“What would be his motive?”

“Perhaps he saw me kiss Mary.”

“Killing a man for kissing your betrothed seems a bit drastic.”

I would, he thought, surprised by the vehemence behind the words. An image of Mary lifting her face for a kiss suddenly loomed in his mind—only it was Fitzwilliam, not Sebastian, lowering his mouth to hers. His stomach knotted so tightly, he feared he might tear loose one of the stitches in his side. What the deuce was wrong with him? It had meant nothing to her. She’d said as much. It had meant even less to him.

A distraction. That was all it had been. A momentary escape from the blight that the night had become. Attending the ball had done little more than reveal the harsh reality of his shortcomings and he’d sought to regain something of what he’d lost. Passion was a powerful distraction.

With Mary it had been incredibly so. He had used her, and for that he should be flogged, but damnation if he didn’t want to use her again. Her lips were as plump as a freshly plucked strawberry. He wanted to settle his in against them and once more become lost in the pleasure of her.

“You’re not going to kill him are you?”

He jerked his attention to Tristan. “What are you on about?”

“You look to be a man on the verge of committing murder.”

“My thoughts turn to dark places. It seems to be the way of it of late. I think it more likely that he will murder me—if he’s heard the gossip regarding Mary and me.”

“If he hasn’t, are you going to tell him?”

He shook his head. “On the off chance that the rumors concerning Mary are not being spread.

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