The Ugly Duchess by Eloisa James Read Free Book Online Page B

father, but his jaw was measurably stronger, and his eyes were steady—even though he was tipsy. Just then his face came much closer.
    “Are you about to fall over?” she squeaked.
    But he wasn’t.
    Instead, he did the one thing that she had never imagined James doing: he kissed her. His lips came even closer, and then they touched hers.
    His lips were very soft, Theo thought dimly. That surprised her, though it shouldn’t have. It was her first kiss, after all. Yet it was so unlike the kisses she had imagined.
    She had imagined kisses as a delicate brushing of one pair of lips against another. But what was happening now was nothing like that. It wasn’t the part about his lips, but that he put his tongue straight into her mouth, which was strange and yet intimate at the same time. In fact, the whole kiss was like that: a mix of the James she knew and a James she didn’t know at all, a wild James. A manly James. It was all odd, and yet her knees went weak and she found her arms twining themselves around his neck.
    James stood back from the wall, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her against his chest. “Kiss me back,” he demanded, low and fierce.
    “How drunk are you?” Theo asked. “What are you doing?”
    “You’re my Daisy,” he said, staring down at her. His voice was unsteady, his breathing harsh.
    His eyes burned with an emotion that she didn’t recognize, but it sent an instant thrill through her whole body. She started to speak, but he bent his head again and silently demanded that she kiss him back. The problem was that she wasn’t sure how. At the same time, she rather desperately wanted to do whatever he asked, so she touched his tongue with her own. She expected it to be revolting, but instead . . .
    Dimly, she knew that she should have laughed, or pushed him away, or called for help. Her mother—not to mention the Prince of Wales himself!—was only a matter of feet away, on the other side of the screen.
    She should slap him, really. That’s what a well-bred young lady would do after being grabbed by an inebriated gentleman and kissed in public. Or in private, for that matter.
    But she wanted more of the taste of James, more of the melting fire that was sweeping her body, more of the irresistible longing that made her move closer and closer to him.
    “That’s it,” he said, his voice a thread of sound.
    Giddy heat seared what little logic Theo had left. She took his face in her hands. She could kiss the way he wanted. It wasn’t really about tongues. It was a matter of possessing him. The way he was possessing her.
    Once she realized that, kissing him was easy. Her tongue tumbled over his, and her fingers clenched his hair, knowing that the same flame that touched her singed him.
    James made a kind of inarticulate noise, almost a groan, and pulled her closer. The sound of his growl was so heady that Theo shivered all down her body, a direct response to his tight grip and the sensual touch of his tongue. She had never thought of herself as particularly feminine—no girl who grew up with such pronounced features could do so—but in James’s arms she suddenly felt feminine, not in a delicate way, but in a wild, erotic way.
    It was intoxicating. It made her tremble with desire, from an almost savage feeling of wanting more of him. She pressed closer and felt her breasts flatten against his chest; he made that sound deep in his throat again. And then he bit her lip.
    She gasped and—
    Found herself reeling backward, thanks to a hand pulling her free as if she were a dog in a fight. To her profound dismay, it was her mother. “James Ryburn, what in the name of heaven do you think you’re doing?” Mrs. Saxby demanded.
    Theo stood still, breathless, her eyes fixed on James, feeling as if he’d somehow passed his intoxication on to her.
    “And you, Theodora,” her mother cried, rounding on her, “what in God’s name do you think that you’re doing? Have I taught you