Page 44 of How to Tempt a Duke

“It was the same with my father’s journals,” he replied. “But there must be at least one or two pages where it works. It has to be here somewhere.”

“This is so very interesting...” Lottie peered down at the book.

Charles knew Eleanor would prefer to be alone with him, to get his answer to her request. Part of him wished to be with only her as well, yet part of him feared it. Thoughts of Eleanor had burned through him since the masquerade ball, of kissing her and how much he longed to touch her.

Then there was the answer she still awaited.

He cradled the weight of the journal in his hands, its leather soft and cool against his palms, its secrets scrawled on fine paper. He knew he had to have them all.

He would have no choice but to agree to Eleanor’s terms—and hope to God he was correct that she would never press him to make good on his agreement. And that he could stay his growing attraction.

Chapter Fourteen

Eleanor found using the key to be far less fascinating than reading the journals themselves had been. And Lottie found not a jot of it interesting, despite her initial claim. After only several pages she cast a flippant excuse and made her way from the drawing room.

Eleanor’s pulse sped up a notch. She and Charles were alone. She would have her answer.

“We ought to forgo all the pages with images...”

Charles spoke beside her, near enough for his warm breath to tickle the sensitive skin of her neck. Each time he did so delightful prickles of pleasure danced over her, like the little bubbles of champagne floating up the sides of a glass.

“Good idea.”

There would be no words on those pages, of course. Though she also suspected he feared some of the drawings would be too vulgar for her. And they were. She’d seen them herself, but she would not confess as much.

She tried to turn the page showing a roughly sketched tower, but it caught on her glove and she turned several pages rather than only the one intended.

“You should take off your gloves.”

He took the book from her and set it aside with the key. Her heartbeat tripped over itself. Charles took her hand in his and slipped free the button at the heel of her palm. The blunt edge of his forefinger ran up her inner wrist. Eleanor sucked in a breath. When had the skin there become so sensitive as to make such a simple touch feel so terribly intimate?

“Your Grace...” she whispered.

“Charles.” His voice was low, quiet—a silken caress in her mind. “Call me Charles, Eleanor.”

Her mouth went dry and she found she could no longer speak. Instead her eyes remained captivated by his and she nodded. He pulled at the gloves and they slipped off, unveiling her palms to the cool air of the room one glorious inch at a time until her hand was bare and in his.

There were small calluses on his palms, but his long, tapered fingers were cool and smooth against the heat of hers. He held her hands between his, letting their skin press together.

Eleanor’s breath came faster, and she wondered idly if he could feel the wild thrum of her pulse against his skin. His fingers moved over hers, restlessly exploring, including the carefully rounded edges of her nails and the highly sensitive dip of her palm.

Eleanor watched the graceful slide of his hands over hers and tried to keep from closing her eyes at the blissful sensation of their naked flesh against each other’s. He put his hands to hers, palm to palm, so his fingertips extended an inch over her own, and slid his fingers between hers.

There was a sensuality in the act of joining them together which left her flushed and her insides trembling.

She gasped. “Your Grace, this is—”

“Improper.” He released her and cleared his throat. “Indeed, it is. Forgive me.”

He laid her gloves gently on the table and passed the journal to her. She took it with trembling fingers. Her skin still hummed with the tantalizing warmth of his caress.

“And it’s Charles.”

He winked at her, appearing unaffected by an encounter which had left her hot and flustered, with that strange thrumming racing through her veins. He reached over her and used those magnificent hands of his to find the page they’d last left.

“Do you have an answer for me?” Her voice had gone breathy and it made her sound altogether foolish to her own ears. “For my second request?”

“Say my Christian name.”