Page 54 of All Duke and Bothered

And he couldn’t. His brother’s murderer deserved vengeance. It was the least he could do for Spencer.

But still. He couldn’t bear to tell her what kind of man her father really was. She had said he was the only parent she had. How could Preston destroy her image of the man so completely?

“Yes, Penelope, there was an auction. Yes, I bought the right to marry you. What does it change between us?”

She stopped and looked at him, her beautiful eyes wide, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to find words.

“Nothing,” she said finally. “And that is exactly the problem, isn’t it? Because you still won’t tell me the truth. What was my bridal price, Preston? What are you holding over my father?”

“You already hate me,” Preston said somberly. “I don’t want you to hate him.”

She stopped pacing. Tears filled her eyes, and she slowly shook her head in disappointment. Seeing her like this broke his heart all over again. Without saying another word, Penelope stormed out of his dressing room, but in two large steps, he caught up with her and grasped her arm, turning her to him.

He couldn’t let her leave, so hurt, so vulnerable. He would hurt her even more, he knew. His secrets would destroy her heart.

And their chance at a happy future.

But just for now, she was his, and she was still in his arms. She stared at him with her big eyes full of tears, so incredibly beautiful.

“Please, Penelope,” he said. “Don’t go.”

“You cannot keep this information from me and yet expect me to—”

“I don’t expect you to do anything. But just for now, just for tonight, don’t leave. Please.”

She didn’t say anything. But she also didn’t move. And that was all the invitation he needed. He kissed her then. Scooped her into his arms and carried her into his bedchamber, never allowing his lips to leave hers for a moment.

When he reached his desk, he dropped to his knees in front of her and slowly raised her skirts up, exposing the most beautiful legs in the world, wrapped in thin white cotton stockings. Her breath hitched and her hands clutched his shoulders.

“Preston, what are you doing?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

“I wanted to thank you for the portrait,” he said as he placed a tender kiss on the inside of her thigh. “And tell you I don’t want to argue anymore. I want to make up. I want to ask you to please forget our differences, just for tonight.”

“Preston…” she said, her voice protesting.

“Did you miss me?” He licked the bare skin above her stocking on her other leg, and noticed with satisfaction as a tremor went through her. Her divine scent had his head spinning. “Because I missed you like a severed limb. It killed me not to come to you every night.”

“I did miss you,” she whispered softly, and his stupid heart lurched in his chest.

“De Luca,” he said, pushing her crisp petticoat higher to her belly. “Turner. Rembrandt’s paintings. Any gallery in the world. Whatever you wish.”

There it was, the small gathering of her hair at the apex of her thighs. The entrance to his own personal paradise. He leaned down and kissed the naked flesh of her thigh above the stocking. She shuddered and gasped softly. Good. She still liked that. She couldn’t fake it.

“I am on my knees in front of you,” he said and pressed his lips higher. He could feel her soft hair on the side of his face. “Whatever you desire is yours.”

Then he gently spread her folds and kissed her soft, hot flesh. She tasted divine, sweet and fresh, and the scent of her arousal, the feminine scent of her body got his blood boiling. When she clenched her fingers around his shoulders even tighter and wavered, he picked her up, hooking his arms around her thighs, and placed her on his dressing table.

“Preston—” she said, her voice throaty and alarmed.

“Shush, love,” he said, spreading her legs and lowering himself to kneel on the floor again. “I’m just getting started. I’ve been hungry for you for days.”

She gave out a whimper of sweet distress when he sealed his mouth with her folds once again and lifted her legs to rest over his shoulders. He was having a feast with her. He licked and teased her with his tongue, knowing exactly where she liked it the most. He ran the tip of his tongue up and down and around and around her inner lips.

He gently took in her clitoris and sucked on it until she was calling his name. Oh, how he wished that she called it with love and admiration, and not just because he brought her pleasure. But she never could love him, could she? Not when because of him, her papa suffered.

And yet, he couldn’t stop.

He couldn’t stop his revenge. And he couldn’t stop wanting her. Adoring her. Giving her the world just to see a smile on her face.