Page 52 of Duke with a Desire

“Mmm,” she murmured, a complacent sound of pleasure.

Her hands, resting on his back, moved to inspect another corded slab.

And then she went stiff as realization coursed over her like a pail of ice water.

He’d said her name.

Prestwick had said her name.

Sweet God. That could only mean one thing. One terrible, impossible, very wrong, and very bad thing. Her mask hadn’t been sufficient. He had seen through her ruse.

Raising his head, he held her gaze as he untied his mask and tossed it to the side, revealing the full, devastating extent of his handsome countenance. “I trust we can dispense with these now.”

“You knew?” she rasped in disbelief.

“Of course I knew it was you.”

“When?” she demanded, pushing at his chest.

He obliged her by rolling off, a thick trail of their mutual release dripping across her thigh in the process. She threw her arm over her eyes, mortified. Where was a handkerchief when she needed one? Why hadn’t she known that he knew? When had he made the discovery, and why hadn’t he told her before now?

Questions swirled, bubbling up like boiling water threatening to overflow. She scrabbled at the counterpane, frantically moving until she was beneath both it and the sheet beneath, her nude body shielded.

“From the moment I set eyes upon you across the room,” he said, his voice rumbling and pleasant.

But, no. She would not be swayed by that glorious baritone of his.

She was aghast. “Why did you not say something before you…before we…when we were…?”

Ophelia couldn’t bear to give words to what had happened. She was too embarrassed. She removed the arm from her eyes and turned toward him. He had rolled to his side and was watching her with an earnest expression, his body unfairly beautiful and uncovered, all long legs and lean muscle, his skin stippled lightly by dark, masculine hair on his chest and legs. His cock was no longer as large and thick as it had been before, and it had collapsed against his thigh, wetness glistening on the head.

What was she doing, ogling him? Good heavens!

She jerked her gaze away from his length and back to his face where it belonged.

A slow, rakish grin tilted up the corners of his mouth, and his dimples appeared. “My lips were rather occupied, as I recall.”

Oh, blessed angels’ sakes.

They had been. She remembered all too well where they had traveled, and to delicious result. Her face was flaming. She had never been more ashamed in her entire existence. She had allowed her dear friend’s brother to pleasure her. Fully and in every way a man could please a woman, including some she hadn’t known existed.

“And my tongue,” Prestwick added with masculine pride.

“I’m going to swoon,” she announced weakly.

Prestwick’s smile died. “Why?”

“Why?” she repeated, her voice high-pitched with ever-escalating horror. She gestured frantically between them. “Because I… Because you… Because we… Oh dear God.”

“Because we made love together,” he said succinctly.

And although they had been naked and as intimate as two people could be and his seed remained inside her, somehow this vocal attestation felt even more wicked and wrong.

“No,” she cried out, as if denial might somehow undo all that had been done.

“Because I made you come. Three times, if I recall correctly.”

She clapped her hands over her ears. “Cease talking, if you please.”