A Kiss To Remember | Herophine

Chapter Twenty One - The Crave

Josephine

… a woman who will love you as much as I always have

Josephine slowly lifted her head. The savage beasts who had been an inch away from ripping out her intestines were now sitting back on their haunches with their tongues lolling out, just two overgrown puppies with only one goal in life—pleasing their master. A master who was looking none too pleased at the moment. Hero reluctantly offered her a hand. Josephine took it, allowing him to haul her to her feet and pretending not to notice when he immediately withdrew it. She brushed an invisible speck of dust from the skirt of her wrapper, still nursing her bruised dignity.

“You’re lucky you didn’t have to step over my eviscerated body on the way to breakfast in the morning. Of course, according to your friend the marquess, you wouldn’t have any trouble finding another bride to replace me.”

“Ah, but where would I find one so infinitely intriguing?” Hero seemed determined to keep a barrier between them, even if it was only the muscular arms folded over his shirtless chest. Remembering the salty-sweet taste of his skin beneath her tongue, Josephine felt her mouth go dry. She lowered her eyes, then wished she hadn’t. The top two buttons of his trousers were unfastened, revealing a triangle of skin a shade paler than his chest. Following the direction of her gaze, he abruptly turned away to retrieve two thick slices of pork from his own untouched supper tray. He gave one to each of the dogs, along with an affectionate scratch behind the ears. They went padding back into the gloom of the portrait gallery with their prizes, leaving Hero to close the door behind them.

“And what would you have given them had they brought you one of my ribs?” Josephine asked. “A rack of lamb?”

He leaned against the door. “Contrary to their appearance, they haven’t a vicious bone in their bodies. They were much more likely to have licked you to death.” Although his provocative words sent a shiver of awareness dancing through Josephine's veins, his sulky expression never changed. To escape it, she turned and studied the room.

The duke’s suite was even more ostentatious than her own. The massive bed was a twin to hers but draped with hangings of midnight blue velvet that had been gathered at each corner with gold cords. Although Hero’s hair was tousled and his lids heavy, the bedclothes were undisturbed.

“So this is your suite,” she murmured, taking in the fire crackling beneath a mantel of black marble, the domed skylight panelled in stained glass, the freestanding columns carved from jasper, the gilded cheval glass perched near the foot of the bed.

“This is my uncle’s suite,” Hero said flatly. At her surprised look, he added, “Mercy has been the only occupant of Deansbrook Hall since he died six years ago. I’ve been off with the army for over a decade. On those occasions when I did visit London, I preferred to stay at Felix’s.”

She dared a sheepish smile. “I don’t suppose you were with the infantry, were you?”

“I was an officer,” he informed her gently.

Josephine barely resisted the urge to spring to full attention and snap off a salute. “That must be why you’re so accustomed to having everyone scramble to obey your every order.”

“Everyone but you, of course.” He strode to a table and poured a splash of something amber into a glass. She’d been wrong about the brandy. This appeared to be his first drink of the night.

Perhaps he only required fortifying when she was directly in his line of sight. He swung one leg over a delicate Chippendale chair, straddling it backward, and waved the glass in her direction.