Page 9 of Kathryn

“You are not Lady Mariska,” he said stupidly, lunging to his feet.

The red-haired imposter smiled again as she gracefully stood, her dark pink lips spreading into an impish smirk, which was every bit as brain rattling as her first smile had been. “I could be Lady Mariska. If you wanted me to be.”

Gerrit’s jaw sagged. Nothing in his prior seven-and-thirty years, one-hundred-and-sixty-nine days prepared him for such a response.

She chuckled throatily at his slack-jawed stupefaction and then closed the distance between them with swift grace, her attractively tilted eyes lowering to his mouth.

Gerrit only realized as her hand warmed his chest through the fabric of his clothing that he had not flinched at her touch.

An unprecedented reaction for an unprecedented situation.

“You have such a stern mouth,” she mused.

And then she reached out and touched his lower lip with one finger.

This time, his body responded in a familiar way and flinched—a reaction that seized him almost every time he was touched by another person—his muscles seizing as tightly as pins in a tumbler lock as he stared at her in wide-eyed disbelief.

And then she pushed up onto her toes and pressed her lips against his.

Chapter Four

Katie had no idea why she was behaving like a common strumpet, not that she had ever met a strumpet, common or otherwise, but the urge to bring this disdainful, disagreeable man down a few pegs was impossible to resist.

But not as irresistible as the duke’s mouth.

As stern as it appeared, his lips were astonishingly soft and warm.

They were also unmoving. In fact, after he’d flinched, he’d gone utterly still. Katie was reminded of Hy whenever Katie forgot herself and embraced her sister. Hy, too, froze when confronted with human contact. Well, except for her husband and children. It was quite astonishing how physically affectionate Hy was with Chatham and her sons Elliot and Charles when she was so stiff and reserved with everyone else, even her siblings.

The longer the duke stood still and unresponsive, not even his chest moving, unease threaded through her.

You are assaulting the man.

Chilled by the thought, she began to pull away. But before she could detach completely, he abrupted reanimated, his arms lashed around her and he drew her body closer, tilted his head, and pressed his mouth against hers.

Katie was only half-aware when his hand slid from her lower back up to her shoulders and pulled her even tighter, his kisses deep and drugging. Desire rippled through her as his far larger body molded itself to hers, hard sinew and muscle closing around her—engulfing her—and his stern lips softened and teased and caressed and enticed.

Katie had always liked kissing and engaged in it as often as possible. Or at least she had done until the past few years when every activity—illicit or otherwise—had become too dull to bother with.

Although she’d contrived this asinine kissing contest, never had she dreamed it would actually be pleasurable. But the cold, unsmiling Duke of Dulverton’s hot, eager mouth and deft, breath-stealing touches were all the more exciting when contrasted with his icy, disapproving mien.

Katie’s hands were still on his chest, trapped between their bodies, so she freed them and explored the fine, soft wool of his coat, which lovingly hugged his muscular back and shoulders. The more she touched him, the hungrier she became, until wave after wave of desire thundered through her body.

He gave an approving growl, his lips and tongue teasing and taunting her in ways that were far more erotic than any other man she had kissed. Even Mr. Morecombe—a confident, impassioned kisser who’d shattered her composure—could not hold a candle to Dulverton’s wits-scattering assault.

But unlike Morecombe, Katie had no desire to get away when the duke’s palm slid around the back of her head, tilting her so that he could consume her. Instead, Katie’s hands met at his nape, and she stroked the brutally cropped hair, which felt like bristly velvet beneath her fingertips.

His chest rumbled and his powerful hips flexed, the action branding her midriff with a long, hard ridge.

Shock and arousal swirled inside her at the feel of his erection, and Katie opened her eyes and looked straight into his. Gone was the supercilious peer; in his place was a hot-eyed lover. The rolling thrust of his hips was rough and raw, but his muscular arms held her with a tenderness that made her feel precious and protected, a combination that left her fairly swooning with desire.

One of his huge hands slid down her back, not stopping until his palm was on her buttocks. He massaged her with a firm, erotic touch that soon had her grinding against him and not caring how shamelessly she was behaving. Nor did she care when his fingers began the slow process of lifting the diaphanous material of her gown and equally fine petticoat, until cool night air caressed her calves.

He is going to mount you right here in the garden.

Good.

Katie met him thrust for thrust the next time he ground his iron-hard erection against her. Never in her life had she wanted—