Page 20 of The Duke Decides

The Marchioness glanced back and forth between them, her brow furrowing. She was an experienced woman; she recognized sexual tension when she saw it rising from them like smoke.

“Yes. I want—er, to lend my assistance.” The words came out a growl, and Gabe cleared his throat. “Perhaps you will give me a tour of the place before I pledge my…support.”

“Oh, how wonderful. The Duke of Barkham as a patron of the Hospital! I cannot wait to tell the Duchess of Clarence you have managed to reform a notorious roué. Well done, Louisa.”

Beaming with approval, the Marchioness rustled out with the small maid in her train, leaving them alone in the parlor.

His siren glared at him. She looked so prim and presentable in a day gown of cotton with small roses printed on a gray background. Her sleeves were banded at the upper arm and fell in modest folds, the attire of a practical woman who required ease of movement. A lace pelerine covered her shoulders and buttoned at her throat, and a simple lace cap covered her thick red-brown hair. She was delectable, and she watched him with pride and fury spilling from her eyes.

For a long moment Gabe hovered, straining, as if they were similar poles of a magnet pulsing in resistance. She’d discovered who he was now, his reputation, his sordid past. The way the members of his own class barely tolerated him. She’d feel the same. He’d never be allowed to touch her again.

Then something shifted and sparked in her eyes as she watched him. Hunger. Fleeting but raw. As if she wanted to touch him but would not allow herself.

The magnets flipped, and Gabe strode across the small room toward her, drawn by an irresistible force. She might deny herself, but he had no such restraint, not where she was concerned. He cupped his hands around her shoulders, pulled her close to his body, and bent his head to capture her mouth with his.

Before their lips met, her arms were swooping around his neck, her fingers digging into his hair as she pulled his head down toward her. There was no hesitation, no awkwardness, no uncertainty. She tipped back her head and parted her mouth as he slipped his tongue inside, and the small moan that escaped her made him want to howl with triumph.

Everything in him rose to meet her. Skin. Blood. His soul, dammit, because he felt the air rush out of his body as her warmth and heat surrounded him, leaving him light-headed and dizzy.

There was nothing else in the world that mattered but this woman, kissing him, fire in his arms, the promise of heaven and succor and pleasure and redemption in her touch.

Some knowledge crashed into his awareness. Nothing had ever felt so right as holding this woman. He wanted to hold her for always.

“A-hem.”

The huff came from just outside the door of the parlor. Gabe had no doubt that the little maid had entered, spotted them, and quickly stepped back out into the hallway. Who knew how long she’d fretted and stewed before deciding to break the spell. He couldn’t guess how long he’d stood there kissing Louisa.

Not long enough.

“Oh.” Her eyes widened as she stared up at him, shock chasing away the look of dazed pleasure. “Oh.” She unlocked her arms from around his neck and crossed them over her chest like she was an effigy on a medieval tomb.

Her cheeks turned a searing red. “Oh.”

He felt as overset as she did. Something about this woman made his good sense shear away.

He pressed a finger beneath her chin and tipped her face toward his. Her eyes were a light red-brown, the color of cedar, like her hair.

“I do not even know your name,” he said, his voice a low growl.

“Lou—Louisa Bickford.”

She was lying. The way she stumbled over the words alerted him. The world might know her as Louisa Bickford, but that was not her name.

He understood that sense of the world knowing someone other than who one really was.

“And now I’ve compromised you,” he growled.

She pushed him away. Out of reflex he clamped his palm over hers, anchoring her hand to his chest. She had claimed him; might as well admit it.

“Not in the way you think. Alice won’t say a word if I’ve lost my head, will you, Alice?”

“Not I,” said the maid in a lofty tone, “but don’t let that snitch Lizzy see ye. She’ll run straight to Sister Agatha, she will.”

Louisa yanked her hand from Gabe’s chest with another scowl. “And you call yourself a benefactor,” she accused him. “I assume you are here to make your offer in person?”

He frowned back. “I suppose you could say that.”

How else would he approach her but in person? It had been deuced difficult to get the Duchess of Rutland to confess to who his siren was, or where he might find her. Enjoyed being cagey, the Duchess did. Had teased him with the scent and brought out his hunting instincts. But he had found her now.