He jerked, sliding the stool back only slightly. She startled and jumpe
d at the movement, shaking her head quickly, as he did when he was properly foxed and couldn’t get his bearings. But before she could rise to her feet, he scooped her into his lap, turning her toward him so that her legs dangled over his thighs and she faced him. He wrapped one hand around her hip to hold her in place. Her warm breath touched his forehead as he ran his fingers into the thick of her hair at the nape of her neck, and he forced her to look into his face.
“Don’t stop,” she cried.
He didn’t intend to.
***
Sophia pulled back, fighting the gentle pressure of the duke’s hand at the nape of her neck, but he wasn’t holding her tightly enough to scare her. What did scare her was that she had little recollection of how she came to be in his lap. She wasn’t entirely uncomfortable being there, but one moment she’d been fully engrossed in a Beethoven tune and the next she was sitting across the duke’s thighs with his whiskey-laden breath tickling her lips.
Ashley’s thumb stroked across the ridge of her hip as he held her gently within his arms. “What are you trying to do to me?” he whispered against her mouth.
“The music,” she started, but before she could continue, his lips touched the corner of her mouth ever so softly. His hand was strong at the back of her head, but gentle as his fingers loosened and his clasp turned into an exploration. Playful fingers tickled across the back of her neck, making the hair on her arms stand up.
“What music?” he murmured as he very gently touched his lips to the opposite corner of her mouth.
There had been music only moments before. But now the only sound she heard was the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears. “Do you plan to kiss me, Your Grace?” she asked, wanting nothing more than to chase his lips with her own as he did everything but kiss her fully on the mouth.
His eyes were the color of the sky on a stormy day, ominous and foreboding, as his lips lingered there beside her cheek. “Do you want me to kiss you, Miss Thorne?” he breathed back. He adjusted her in his lap and groaned as though in pain when she wiggled her bottom against his thighs.
“I’m sorry,” she said, startling from her reverie at his torturous noise. “Did I hurt you?”
He chuckled lightly, his chest rumbling beneath her hand as it lay over his heart. “Not in the way you think,” he said quietly, his eyes flashing. Then he sighed heavily and removed his hand from the back of her neck.
His palm cascaded down the fall of her hair like water over the rocks at the edge of a brook, softly and slowly. He toyed with the ends of hair that fell over her shoulder and down the front of her nightrail. He picked up a lock of hair and brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply.
“Why are you in my bedchamber, Miss Thorne?” he asked, his voice raspy and quiet.
How could she explain? She couldn’t. Not without sounding like a complete ninny. Well, you see, Your Grace… I was in my own bedchamber and I heard music. And like some great beast had clunked me over the head, I lost all sense of propriety and dashed from my room in my bare feet to come and find it. That would never do. “I’m too heavy for you to hold me in your lap,” she said instead, as she moved to rise. But the hand that was clutching her hip just tightened.
“You’re perfect for sitting in my lap, Miss Thorne,” he said. “Stay.” It didn’t sound like an order. It sounded like pleading.
She raised her elbow to rest on his shoulder and let her fingertips play in the hair over his forehead. His eyes closed tightly and she saw a muscle tick in his jaw just before he inhaled deeply and relaxed, turning his cheek into the crook of her arm. His thumb began a slow slide across her waist. When her own hand slowed in his hair, he pressed the side of his head into her hand. It made her think of the caterpillars and the way they liked to have their backs scratched. They would do anything for a good tickle.
“You like a good tickle, too,” she said quietly.
He smiled a self-deprecating smile. “It appears as though I do,” he said quietly, almost as though he was speaking more to himself than to her.
“Have you been drinking?” she asked, trying to distract herself from the feel of his silky locks running through her fingers. She moved closer to him, her right breast pressed fully against his chest. If she could, she would straddle him and press every inch of her body against his. But somehow, she feared Grandmother would not approve. Not approve at all.
“I have had a little to drink, I’m afraid,” he said, tensing below her. She immediately castigated herself for mentioning it. He was on guard now, where he hadn’t been before.
“Does this feel good?” she asked, letting her fingertips move from his forehead to the nape of his neck and back again, abrading very gently as she did so.
He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. “It feels wonderful,” he said. But then he sighed heavily, a sigh of resignation, and caught her hand in his tight grip. He brought it to his lips and pressed a long kiss against her knuckles. “Why are you here, Miss Thorne?” he asked, his eyes boring into hers.
“To get you to kiss me, Your Grace. Why else?” She tried to keep from smiling but was unable. She pointed to the left corner of her mouth and tapped it gently. “You kissed me here.” Then she tapped the other side of her mouth. “And here.” She leaned closer to his lips. “And you keep calling me Miss Thorne,” she whispered heartily.
He looked at her from beneath heavy-lidded lashes. Then he leaned forward, as though to kiss her soundly. He was fully intent upon the task and smashed into her cheek when she turned her head at the last moment. A laugh rose from deep within her belly.
“Think you’re clever, do you?” he growled as he squeezed her tightly. There was playfulness beneath that gruff exterior. And she fully wanted to explore it.
“Not nearly as clever as you.”
“I’m not clever enough, unfortunately. Because I cannot figure out how to kiss a lady who has slipped into my bedchamber in the dead of night.” He swore lightly beneath his breath. She thought she heard him mention being a dolt, but she wasn’t certain.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself. I can’t determine a way to get you to continue playing.” She laughed despite herself. She couldn’t determine whether she wanted him to kiss her more or to play. Neither was conducive to her mission. Unpardonable Error Number Five: Never, ever fall in love with a human. She snorted. Like that would ever happen.