While his features were lovely to gaze upon, she was finding his change of mood and the way it translated on those features to be of far more interest. For example, he quite clearly was in pain now from the line that appeared between his brows, and she thought it likely it had something to do with the thought of having to kiss her.
She tried to step back, but he held her too tightly.
“It’s quite all right, but I shall not hold you to the custom.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The customary kiss. Do not feel obligated to perform the ritual. Our agreement on the matter suits me.”
His laugh was softer this time.
“It isn’t so much a custom.”
She was close enough to smell a hint of coffee on his breath and something spicy, like cinnamon. She leaned in, just a little, hoping to catch that tantalizing whiff of sandalwood, but his words drew her back.
“It isn’t a custom? Then why would you suggest it?”
His eyes clouded, and she wondered if she’d said something wrong.
“You’re questioning why a man would want to kiss you?”
“Well, it’s never happened before, so if it’s not a custom, I can’t think of a reason why you would want to.”
Once again his eyes took on the quality so much like a dog, deep and fathomless. Something she had said had caused him to think and whatever it was, he did not seem to like where his thoughts took him.
“You’ve never been kissed?”
“What an absurd question. Of course, I have not.”
His hands dropped away from her, and she swayed ever so slightly at the loss of his strength. Her stomach rolled at the sensation.
“What is absurd about it?” His eyes had come back to her, sharp and focused.
She gestured to her person. “Are you quite serious?”
His frown could have frozen lava.
“I see nothing amiss that would prevent a gentleman from attempting to procure a kiss.”
She returned his frown. “You do not need to waste pleasantries on me, Your Grace. I know very well how plain I am. The term used is wallflower although I cannot see why. I think wallflowers are quite pretty. I understand we may choose to stand on the periphery of gatherings as wallflowers enjoy climbing walls at the edge of the garden for growth, but I still cannot ascertain its application to one’s appearance.” She shrugged. “Be that as it may I see no point for this kiss if it’s not customary.”
She may have gone and dumbfounded him now for he did not speak. He blinked several times and licked his lips again.
Finally, he spoke. “Allow me to be absolutely certain. You’re saying there is no reason I should want to kiss you other than a demand of custom or ritual that calls for such an action.”
“Yes, that’s quite precisely what I’m saying.”
He crossed his arms now. The effect was unsettling as his jacket strained against his broad shoulders, and his hands fisted like meaty lumps. God, his hands were huge. How had she not noticed before? Henry whined beside her, and she scratched his head.
“Are you always like this?”
She bit her tongue. It was a reflex from the many times her father had spoken similar words when she’d said something inappropriately witty for the occasion.
“I do beg your pardon, Your Grace.” She took a small step to put herself behind Henry and allowed a slight, unassuming smile to take her lips. “I’ve never received a proposal before, and I apologize if my behavior was not appropriate. I promise to do better.” She cast her gaze to the floor as was her habit when she’d drawn too much attention to herself because of her sharp tongue.
“Do you have any more ham?”
She had to look at him then. “Ham?”
He nodded to Henry.
She held up the hand that contained the last morsel of ham. He extended his own hand, and she dropped the piece of meat into it.
Ashbourne dipped low toward Henry, a smile coming to his face. “Henry, I hear you’re a very good boy. Do you like to play fetch?”
Before she could understand what he was about, Ashbourne straightened and threw the piece of ham down the length of the drawing room. Henry bolted. He cleared the sofa in a single leap of furry tail and flinging drool. But that was all she saw because just then Daxton Kane, the Duke of Ashbourne, swept her into a kiss.
As she had never before been ravished by a duke, Eliza wasn’t sure what to think or do for that matter, and there was a moment of time where she hung suspended, both in the kiss and on the periphery of it as if she were her former self looking in.
For this kiss obviously marked a place time. Forever now there would be Eliza before and Eliza after. There was no way around it. Something in her shifted with the realization, and with a start, she realized it was something cold and sad. Almost like this kiss marked the end of wallflower Eliza, and that would be terrible because Eliza rather liked herself as a wallflower.
But surely that didn’t make sense. One kiss from a duke didn’t change matters, but was this really just a kiss?
Because Ashbourne’s hands were like vises, pulling her in until she was pressed against the entire length of his body. Her knees knocked against his legs, her stomach his torso, her lips…
This was no ordinary kiss. It couldn’t be. If she were to kiss someone like this every day she would evaporate.
Finally, she had conscious of mind to touch him. It was only to quietly lay her hands on his towering shoulders, but at least, she had an anchor should he release her suddenly, which she would not mark as impossible because she had not been expecting this kind of kiss in the slightest, and surely he could end it just as abruptly.
But then he shifted. It was so subtle she thought she might have missed it, but no. He held her tighter, the hand against her back—did he just fist the back of her gown into his palm to pull her closer?
That was when she became aware of her own emotions as a thrill shot through her so violently she was forced to tighten her grip on Ashbourne’s shoulders. Her stomach clenched, and she had to remember to breathe through her nose lest she faint because—
Oh God, this kiss was marvelous.
It was more than she’d ever dreamed kissing could be. His lips were so soft against hers, gentle and coaxing. She tasted the coffee now, but her senses were overwhelmed with the tantalizing lure of sandalwood she had discovered upon their first meeting.
The kiss was not in the least fixed as she had thought kisses would be. She had always pictured lips coming together and parting, but this was not that. Ashbourne’s lips never stilled against hers. He caressed and nibbled, and her stomach clenched against a roll of sensation so acute a whimper escaped her.
She had hoped he wouldn’t have noticed it, but he must have because he gave a responding groan and—yes, he was holding onto her gown, and yes, he was pulling her even closer. She came up on her tiptoes, no longer able to hold herself up on her own, and she clutched at his shoulders as he plundered her mouth, all gentleness gone.
And she reveled in it.
Pure light coiled deep within her, spreading through her limb by limb. Heat rose, easing its way through muscle and sinew until she had no choice but to push back against him, fight this clawing sensation to be even closer to him. His groan turned into a growl as he pressed her against the drawing room door, his knee sliding between her legs as he lifted her just off her feet.