Page 22 of The Duke and the Darkness

Her traitorous heart skipped. Damn him. She couldnotbe affected by him as a woman. Nothim! Yet how many nights when she’d been a girl had she dreamt about hearing those exact same words fall from his lips? How could she thrill to hear them now, knowing what she knew about him?

Yet she did. And those doubting whispers began to shout out again, louder this time, that perhaps she was wrong…

“But your beauty won’t save you if you cross me. If you’re attempting to come after me or my family, if you harm one hair—”

“I would never harm them.” She wouldneverharm innocents. Especially family.

Yet disbelief flickered in his eyes. He’d obviously learned his lesson and wouldn’t underestimate her again, which made tonight even more of a challenge. One she had every intention of winning.

His eyes turned steely black in the darkness. “Who sent you after me?”

“No one.” She’d sent herself.

He lowered his face until his eyes were even with hers, until his warm breath teased at her lips. “Was it Horrender?”

She blinked. “Who?”

She had no idea who that was, nor did she care. The only person who concerned her at that moment was Lady Catherine Carlow, to make certain the woman believed she and Dartmoor had been intimate in the box.Which shouldn’t be too hard… The last button slipped free, and his black waistcoat fell open, revealing the white shirt beneath.

Holding her hands to stop her, he searched her face. “If not Horrender, then who? What do you want from me?”

“This.” She rose up onto her tip-toes and brought her mouth hard against his.

He stiffened, stunned at her brazenness, and she seized the moment. Her wandering hands tore at his cravat and slipped it off from around his neck, then set to pulling at his shirt to leave it hanging half-untucked around his hips. With one hand reaching up to further mess his hair, her other hand grabbed at her own dress to skew her bodice and wrinkle her skirt.

All the while, her mouth was on his. She fiercely kissed him, alternating between biting at his lips and sucking, daring to dart her tongue into his mouth—doingeverythingshe could to make him look thoroughly mussed when he left her box. She reached a shaking hand toward his fall—

He grabbed her wrist and stopped her. Breathing hard, with a faint expression of irritation darkening his face, he demanded, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Kissing you.” Her own irritation sparked then. Why wouldn’t he cooperate and let her seduce him? He was a rake, blackguard, scoundrel…wasn’t he? “Surely the infamous Dartmoor knows what do to when a woman kisses him.” Then, to bait him, she challenged, “Doesn’t he?”

“Yes, he does,” Devlin drawled, shifting closer. “This.”

Peyton tensed, readying herself for his assault, preparing to use the fighting skills Armand had drilled into her—

But there was no attack, not like that. Instead, he cupped her face in his hands and leaned in slowly to kiss her…gently, softly…so very tenderly. The surprise of that ripped her breath away.

So did the confusion he spun through her. He shouldn’t be kissing her like this, not when he could be forcing himself on her. He was a monster, a man who had coldly murdered her parents and then came after her. But…he wasn’t doing that. They were alone in the box, the door undoubtedly locked. For all he knew, she wouldn’t be able to stop him if he forced himself on her, and the musicians and singers on stage were so loud that no one would differentiate her screams from those on the stage if shetried to cry out for help. But he wasn’t even trying!Whywasn’t he?

Instead, he coaxed each slow kiss from her, cajoling her with his sensuous lips to kiss him back just as softly, just as tenderly.

A soft whimper for mercy fell from her lips. The doubts and confusion overwhelmed her, and she began to shake beneath his unexpected embrace as each kiss remained as tantalizingly gentle as the one before.

But he gave her no quarter to sort through her confusion, and his fingers on her cheeks began to tenderly stroke her soft skin. Each featherlight touch sent her spinning back in time until she felt as she had before that horrible night, when she was still innocent of the darkness. When she still had a bright and shining life ahead of her. When he was still the most alluring man she’d ever seen… Before her world had ended.

Slowly, her lips responded to his and returned the luxurious kiss with the same decadence as he gave it. Not sweet—nothingabout this kiss was sweet. It was sultry and sensuous with a lingering heat that only flamed hotter beneath the unhurried desire he conveyed. As if he had all the time in the world to do nothing more than stand there and kiss her, to savor her the way some men savored port…one luscious taste at a time.

“Truro,” she whispered, caught up in his spell.

He froze, his fingers stilling against her face. His mouth lingered above hers, poised to take another achingly tender kiss. Instead, he demanded, “Who?”

Her eyes flew open. Reality slammed into her, and with a startled gasp, she stared up into his face. Thesameface that had hovered over her the night of the attack—the same dark eyes and hair, the same deep concern…

The memories of that night flooded back in crashing waves, drowning her with their intensity and relentless confusion. Flashes of her mother’s face, her father’s body writhing as thelife was cut from him—the pain of her own fingers digging into the wood of the carriage and forcing splinters beneath her nails as she clawed to keep from being pulled outside by the attackers and devoured by the darkness.

Panic flashed through her, and the desperate need to flee gripped her. She wanted to run away as fast as she could, to escape andneverstop running—the same horrible desperation she’d felt that night. She’d long ago suppressed all those emotions, all those terrible memories, just to survive. But now they came rushing back in a tumultuous riot, upended by the attraction she still felt for him. Even now. Even knowing he’d played a part in that night, yet perhaps not the one she’d always assumed—

“No…no!” She shoved at him to force him back, to find room to breathe. “I can’t—”