Page 45 of The Dueling Duchess

“Oh. I was hoping you’d forgotten.”

“Why is marriage so difficult to talk about?”

“Let’s talk about you, Cecile—or do I need to call you Miss Tremblay even when I’m naked?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Because you aren’t naked yet. Keep going.”

His hands dropped to the catches on his breeches. “Why aren’t you married?”

“Why should I be?”

He blinked at the unexpected answer. “Er, I don’t know—because women like to get married?”

“What a typically male response.”

“I have five sisters, Miss Tremblay, three already married and two looking forward to it. Trust me, I know plenty about women and their attitude toward marriage.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that women might not want to marry but are forced to do so?” Her eyes dropped to his breeches, where his fingers had, once again, paused. “Surely you can think and get undressed at the same time?”

He laughed, flicked open the catches, and then reached for the five buttons that held his fall closed, hissing softly when he grazed a hand over his erection.

“What do you mean forced to marry?” he asked through clenched teeth, less and less interested in their conversation.

“I mean a woman alone in England is vulnerable. She needs a man for almost everything. She has few legal rights over her person or—” Her eyes followed his hand as he unfastened first one and then the second button and the breeches slid lower on his hips.

She swallowed audibly as he flicked open the last three and allowed the breeches to slide to the floor, leaving him in only his smalls and stockings.

Guy settled a hand over the obscenely tented muslin of his drawers and squeezed his shaft lightly.

Cecile sat up on the bed. “Come here,” she ordered, every bit as imperious as a queen.

Guy shuffled toward her, purposely leaving himself hobbled with his breeches, which of course made her chuckle. And God, did he love hearing her laugh.

“You fool,” she chided, her body shaking with mirth. “Kick them off—and the drawers, as well—and come stand here.”

Guy did as she bade him, sloughing off both drawers and stockings in one motion while he bent low, and then stood and stepped out of the bunched clothing.

She made a sharp hissing sound, her chest swelling as she filled her lungs, her black gaze fastened to his erect cock.

His penis—a shameless exhibitionist—jumped at the hungry look on her face and Guy hastened to obey and step closer, intensely aware of his state of undress and the fact that she was fully clothed.

How was it that he’d never noticed the power one’s clothing afforded one? Possibly because he was usually on the other side of the equation—the one ordering the stripping.

Her throat flexed when she swallowed, and her eyes traveled slowly from his prick up to his abdomen, lingering on his chest for a long moment before meeting his gaze.

“I have to agree with you.”

“What have I done to bring on such an unprecedented statement from you?” he teased, unable to resist sliding a hand around the soft curve of her jaw.

“I’m agreeing that you have plenty to gloat about.”

“I’m glad that I please you, because you are the most fascinating woman I’ve ever met, Cecile.”

Predictably, she scoffed. “Why? Because I resisted your advances for six entire weeks?”

“That’s certainly part of it.”

She made a disgusted huffing noise, and it was his turn to laugh.