Page 40 of Duke with a Desire

But, no. She was thoroughly soused, and he had to ring for her lady’s maid and make certain she found her way to bed safely.

And alone.

Very much alone.

“It belongs to you now,” he conceded, his voice thick with emotion.

Along with my heart, my body, and even my soul, Apollo thought.

But this, he would not say aloud. Such an admission terrified him, and he didn’t doubt it would frighten her as well. Sometimes, the depth of emotion he felt for Ophelia astounded him.

“Thank you.” She smiled—another true, genuine smile, filled with warmth. “I promise you that I shall take very good care of it.”

“I had no doubt you would.” He clasped his hands behind his back to keep them from reaching for her. “And now, madam, I should ring for your lady’s maid so that you might have your rest.”

“I don’t need her assistance,” Ophelia announced.

“I should think you would.”

“I have you.”

And there was nothing he wanted more than to strip her bare of every piece of silk and each last scrap of cotton until there was naught remaining. But he couldn’t do that this evening.

So, he gave her his most patient smile and moved toward the bellpull. “I’m afraid I can’t begin to have an inkling of what the duties of a lady’s maid entail. I would only fall woefully short, I assure you.”

“Do you mean to suggest you don’t know how to help a woman disrobe?” she asked, arching a brow.

Her voice had become husky.

This was going poorly.

“Of course I do, but I’m not going to help you disrobe, my lady.”

The bellpull was within reach, but so was Ophelia. She stopped before him and laid a hand on his chest. Her intoxicating scent wove its spell around him. Her eyes were luminous, fringed with long, spiky lashes that looked like spun gold in the lamplight. The freckles on her nose entranced him.

She gave him a soft smile that made his cock harden, despite his best intentions to remain impervious. “Just the hooks on my bodice.”

Then she spun about, presenting her back to him.

Apollo told himself he could do this for her. He could open the hooks and then ring the bellpull for her lady’s maid, who could assist Ophelia with the rest of her wardrobe. But still, he hesitated, for she had presented him with the opportunity to examine the freckles that continued where her bodice began.

She wriggled her shoulders. “Please?”

It was the please that broke him.

He couldn’t deny her.

“Very well,” he agreed reluctantly, reaching for her bodice.

The hooks were cleverly hidden. Discovering them meant toying with the silk fabric, his fingers grazing the bare skin of her back, where the tiny flecks of gold on her flesh were the most tempting sight he had ever beheld. He wanted to trace them, to connect them like constellations with his tongue.

He settled for pulling one hook free, then another and another until her bodice gradually loosened.

“There you are,” he said when his task was complete.

She whirled to face him again and, holding his gaze, pulled down one sleeve with deliberate care, then the other. Her lips were unsmiling, her eyes vivid and intent. He wished yet again that the bloody mask wasn’t obscuring his view. She tossed the bodice to the Axminster, and it landed with a hushed thud.

“Now my skirts.”