Page 74 of If the Duke Demands

She reached up to trace her fingertips over his cheek. “Do you often wake up like this in the morning?”

“No.” He touched his lips to hers and grinned against her mouth. “But with you, it’s my favorite way.”

“But you’ve never woken up with me before.”

He teasingly repeated her words from the opera, “That’s why it’s my favorite.”

A bubble of laughter escaped her, then she bit her lip with a hint of shy seduction that sent his heart skittering. “Mine, too.”

Slipping her hand behind his neck to run her fingers through the hair at his nape, she turned her head to glance at the window.

“It’s after dawn,” she whispered. The happiness on her face faded, and he felt its absence like a blow to his gut. “I should have left hours ago.”

He nibbled at her throat to distract her and immediately felt her pulse race beneath his lips. Sweet Lucifer, the woman was insatiable, but so was he when he was with her. “I’ll take you home later.” Although his mind was already whirling to come up with a way to keep her right there in his bed for the rest of the day.

She arched a dubious brow. “And what excuse will we give for why I’m not at Audley House when your mother goes looking for me?”

He lowered his head to once more kiss at her breasts. “We’ll tell her that her eldest son is a debauched philanderer”—he took her nipple into his mouth and worried it between his teeth until a scrumptious shiver of arousal raked through her—“who kept you chained naked to his bed all night and ravished you insatiably until you begged for mercy.”

“Oh,” she replied, deadpan. “So the truth, then.”

He laughed, nuzzling his cheek against her breast and enjoying the scratch of his morning beard against her soft skin. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so much while in bed with a woman, if ever. She was one surprise after—

The door flung open. Quinton bounded into the room.

“Thought I’d head to Tattersall’s today and—” He halted and stared. “Dear God, apologies! Thought you’d be alone by now. I’ll just…” He whirled for the door, then stopped. And glanced back. Bewilderment darkened his face. “Miranda?”

She gave a soft shriek of mortification and pulled the coverlet over her head.

“Get out,” Sebastian ordered, cold fury speeding through him.

“But—but—” Quinn stammered, staring in stunned disbelief. “Miranda?”

“Get the hell out!”

The door shut with a bang, and Sebastian dragged in a deep breath for control. With concern for Miranda pulsing through him, he slowly pulled down the coverlet, only to find her hands firmly pressed over her face. All of her shook violently.

“It will be all right,” he told her as gently and reassuringly as possible. “It’s only Quinn. I’ll take care of him.”

“What will you do?” Her voice was a pained whisper from between her fingers, one that tore into his heart. In her humiliation, she was unable to open her eyes and look at him.

“I’ll explain everything and swear him to secrecy.” And when that didn’t work, he’d toss his brother’s murdered body into the Thames. “It’s Quinn. He would never do anything to hurt you.”

“It’s Quinn!” she choked out in exasperation from knowing his brother as well as he did. “When has he ever been able to keep a secret?”

“Starting now,” he said with conviction. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

He slipped out of bed and yanked on his trousers. When he looked back at her as he headed out the door, she’d once again pulled the coverlet over her head. Seeing her like that ripped into his chest, feeling the pain of her humiliation right along with her. And that only fueled his fury as he charged after his brother.

“Quinton!” he bellowed and raced down the steps.

He found his youngest brother in the entrance foyer, within steps of slipping out the front door and escaping. Grabbing his arm, he shoved him back against the wall. Anger seethed in every inch of him…anger at Quinton for barging into his room and finding them together, and anger at himself for being so caught up in Miranda that he’d recklessly left the door unlocked.

“You didn’t see anything,” Sebastian threatened through gritted teeth, his hand clenching at Quinn’s cravat.

“But Seb…Miranda?” Quinn stared at him incredulously, blinking with visible confusion and surprise. “How long— I mean, when—” In his shock, he stumbled over his thoughts. “For God’s sake! We all grew up together. She played in our nursery until she was twelve.”

“She isn’t twelve anymore,” he bit out. Christ! Didn’t any of his siblings realize she was a grown woman?