Page 38 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
“I told him I was marrying Miss Fleming and there was nothing he could do to stop it.” He sucked in a breath, but there wasn’t enough air in this tiny room. He gave in and loosened his cravat. “But…I was wrong.”
“What did he do?” Miss Porter breathed, her eyes shiny and wide.
Matthew’s lips twisted. “He’d found a letter Fanny had written to one of her school friends. In it…” His voice dwindled, and he took a moment to find it again. “In it, she talked about how she’d duped me. She said she didn’t love me, but she was willing to do anything to be the next Duchess of Crestmont, including falsifying a personal interest in me, who she found dull, insipid, and morbidly overwrought by the loss of my parents.”
“Oh, Your Grace,” Miss Porter breathed. “I am so sorry.”
“Perhaps she was right,” Matthew said. “I learned the importance of keeping a stiff upper lip from birth, but when my parents died, I…I justcouldn’t. It was the biggest blow of my life, and it was difficult for me to face an existence without them in it. They were so healthy. I’d always believed they had many happy years in front of them.”
“Of course you did.”
He smiled down at her. “You’re very kind, Miss Porter.”
“No, not really.”
“Compassionate, then.”
“It’s difficult not to be. In the matter of a few months, you were dealt so many blows a boy of your age should never have had to face.”
He gave a self-deprecating shrug. “It was years ago. I should not have reacted as I did when you mentioned Fanny. But I never speak of it, or of that time at all, and it brought it all back so quickly, I—”
“I understand,” she said quietly. “And I really am sorry for forcing you to relive all those awful memories.”
“Don’t be.” He meant it. He felt better having poured it all out to her. Like the contents of a heavy sack of flour had blown off, bit by bit, from his shoulders.
The way she looked up at him, lips slightly parted, eyes shining… She did care, he had no doubt about it. And she was so lovely, so engaged. They were together, complete in sharing a memory that had, until this point, belonged solely to him.
He couldn’t help himself. He leaned closer. Closer still.
Reaching up, he stroked a single finger over her cheek. The silky softness of her skin was a balm to his soul. She tilted her head up to his, her eyes so wide and clear and honest.
He brushed his mouth against hers, feeling her gasping intake of air rush against his lips, feeling her body tense a hairsbreadth away from his. Her lips were warm, pillowy soft, and delicious. He slipped his arm behind her back and tugged her closer.
She gave in. He knew the moment she did, her hand, still holding his arm, tightening, her lips moving in tentative exploration against his own.
She tasted sweet and sensual and innocent, and he wondered if anyone had ever kissed her before. If not, she was a quick learner—her movements grew bolder, more erotic by the second.
He deepened the kiss, his hand sliding up and over the buttons running down her back, tugging her closer and closer still, until his fingers were submerged in the soft hair at her nape and both their breaths were harsh. Touching his tongue to hers, he moved his hand back down, flicking open the top button of her dress.
She froze, lips still pressed against his, and he stopped breathing. Slowly, he drew back.
God, what was he doing? What did he think, that he was going to bed her right here, right now? When she was about to procure her list of his potential brides? What was wrong with him?
He dropped his hand, realizing her dress was gaping just below her neck where he’d released the button. She released his arm, her own hand slipping down his forearm until it dropped limply to her side. She was gazing straight ahead, her eyes seeming to bore holes into his clavicle. He pulled all the way back.
“I’m so sorry,” he rasped out.
For the first time since he’d met the woman, she seemed utterly speechless. Her gaze jerked upward until she stared at him, eyes glassy, cheeks a dark pink, and lips shining from their kiss.
Her lips parted, and she murmured a breathy, “Oh.”
He blinked hard. “Forgive me. I just…” He shook his head. “Forgot myself. My apologies. Please…” He moved around behind her. “Allow me to…uh…remedy this situation.”
His heart was still pounding furiously. With fumbling hands much less smooth than they’d been while beginning to undress her, he rebuttoned her dress as she stood there as if she’d just laid eyes on Medusa. When he was done, he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him.
“Miss Porter?” he asked, as once again she turned her eyes to his. “Please…say something.”
Chapter Eleven
