The Regency Season: Decadent Dukes: Rufus Drake: Duke of Wickedness / Griffin Stone: Duke of Decadence / Christian Seaton: Duke of Danger. Carole Mortimer
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you?”
Her slender throat moved as she gave another swallow. “I— As you can see only too well, I have nothing on my person I might give you.”
“Except for yourself.”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “I— How dare you!” she gasped in outrage. “I have not— I do not— I am not that type of woman.”
Rufus could see by her indignation that she certainly had not. “I am only requesting a kiss, Anna, not marriage,” he assured dryly, having discovered since inheriting the Drake title that a duke was a far more marriageable commodity than a mere mister, even one as independently wealthy as he was.
As such, the marriage-minded mamas of the ton had done nothing but thrust their daughters at him this past month whenever the Duke of Northamptonshire had appeared in public, to such a degree that Rufus had quickly learned not to appear in public. Even the sophisticated widows of the ton, with whom he had associated so congenially with before inheriting the title, now seemed to look upon him with avaricious eyes rather than come-hither ones.
Consequently Rufus had soon started to avoid those ladies too, resulting in there being a distinct lack of physical dalliance or relief these past few weeks.
Indeed, since inheriting the title Rufus had formed a new respect for his cousin Zachary and the other Dangerous Dukes, for having managed to avoid the parson’s mousetrap for as long as they had.
Although that was no longer true, since his cousin and two of his close friends had all married in recent months.
Rufus had always relished his freedom too much to have even the vaguest intention of joining their number. He enjoyed too much being able to bed whomever he chose, whenever, to even think of marriage to one single woman.
But, as he had already stated, his thoughts were not of marriage. “A kiss is not too much to ask for rescuing you, is it, Anna?” he now cajoled temptingly.
Despite her feelings of restlessness, those wistful hopes and dreams she had of a different, more exciting life, Anna had necessarily led something of a sheltered existence up till now. But not so sheltered that she had not suffered the occasional kiss on the cheek—or on one distasteful occasion, clumsily on the lips—from the young men in the area who had thought they might be allowed to court her.
The difference being, of course, that the man she knew only as Rufus was not a young beau interested in courting her, but a rakish gentleman who wished only to claim a kiss. He was also, Anna recalled with a quiver of delicious anticipation, a man who boldly claimed she should not assume he was a gentleman.
Here, standing before her, was the adventure, the illicit excitement she had so longed for.
And, really, how terrible could it be, to allow herself to be kissed by a man as handsome and assured as this one? A man Anna was sure would know exactly how to kiss a woman, so that she also enjoyed the experience?
“Are you visiting with people in the area?” she questioned warily. The last thing she wanted was to later discover that she had allowed herself to be kissed by a gentleman who was staying in Northamptonshire with friends or relatives she might also know.
His jaw tightened. “I am not.”
“Then you are merely travelling through?” she prompted just to be certain.
He gave a wicked rake of a smile. “Merely travelling through the woods, yes,” he nodded.
Anna gave a relieved sigh. “Very well, one kiss.” She gave a haughty inclination of her head. “If you will help untangle my gown and assist me down from this tree.”
“That would appear to be two kisses.”
Her eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”
“The price of the original kiss was for untangling your gown,” her tormentor drawled. “The second is for helping you down from the tree.”
Anna glared at him. “You, sir, are an opportunist.”
“Yes,” he confirmed unapologetically.
Anna was sure she had never met a man more infuriating, more audacious, more outrageous, more intriguingly, meltingly roguish as this one.
“Should you not put on your pantaloons first?” Anna prompted in alarm as Rufus began to climb the tree with the dexterity of one of the primates she had once seen pictured in a book in her father’s study.
He paused briefly, the warmth of his breath currently fanning across her exposed knees. “They are expensive and I would not wish to damage them,” he mockingly returned her own earlier comment in regard to her lack of stockings and boots.
Anna’s trepidation grew as she realised just how vulnerable she was to whatever this man might wish to take from her.
Or, more worryingly, what she might wish to give.
Heat suffused the whole of her body as he continued to climb the tree, and she realised as he did so just how big he was. Everywhere. His tanned shoulders really were impossibly wide, and the bareness of his chest, with that down of silky black hair, was far too warm and immediate as he reached up past her to grasp on to the branch above, so that he might release the back of her gown, before then twisting his body round to sit on the branch beside her.
A warmth and immediacy that caused Anna to tremble as he sat far too close to her, the bare skin of his shoulder warm against her own, and allowing her to smell citrus and spice on his body, his cologne, along with a musky, totally male smell that she found equally as enticing.
“One,” he murmured pointedly.
Anna could make no pretence of not knowing what he was referring to, and her heart gave a leap in her chest as her gaze lowered to his chiselled lips just inches away from her own.
Sculptured lips. Wickedly sensual lips that surely did know exactly how to kiss a woman.
Her eyes widened as he slowly licked his bottom lip, before drawing it enticingly into his mouth with his teeth.
Rufus recognised Anna’s flush of arousal for what it was, and he realised too that he was enjoying himself, more than he could remember doing in a very long time. Years, perhaps. If ever?
He had taken bachelor apartments in London after finishing with Oxford, and the past ten years had seen his fortunes change dramatically. He had no interest in cards or a life of idleness, but had instead concentrated on his investments, doubling his money within months, before investing further.
Until one day Rufus realised he had so much money he could easily buy himself a house in one of the most fashionable areas in London, along with the servants needed to run such a residence, whilst he quietly continued to amass even more wealth.
He had enjoyed the company of ladies during those years too, of course. Very much so. He had stayed well clear of married ladies, however, nor had he wished to become entrapped into a marriage with one of the simpering young debutantes of the Season.
The young debutantes and their families were desperate to make a match to one of the richest men in England. His family connection to the prestigious Dukes of Hawksmere and Northamptonshire were not to be dismissed, either.
Cynical perhaps, but Rufus had no illusions in regard to London Society and how those loveless marriages were decided upon. And he wanted no part of it—not the suitable marriage, nor the demure miss, who would no doubt have been advised by her mother to lie passive and unmoving in the marriage bed while her husband impregnated her. After which she could banish him from her bed until her lying in was over. When the whole miserable cycle would begin all over again.
An heir was now necessary, of course, but Rufus had every intention of choosing his own wife when