Page 78 of The Truth About Love and Dukes

“Irene,” he said, his breath warm against her dampness. “I want to do this. I want to kiss you here. I want to taste you. Let me.”

And then he did, and she gasped, a deep, shuddering gasp that jerked her hips against his mouth. “Oh, oh.”

He lifted his head again. “Should I continue?” he asked tenderly, nuzzling her, teasing her. “Do you like it? Not sure?” he added when she didn’t answer.

“Not sure,” she managed, her insides like molten jelly. “More.”

He laughed softly. “More it is.”

Her hands clenched the counterpane as he kissed her with his lips and caressed her with his tongue, tasting deeply of her, while she could only lie there, awash in sensations so exquisite she couldn’t form words to tell him so. “Oh, oh, oh,” was all she could manage, as the sweet sensations rose, peaked, and broke over her—not a new sensation, no, but more powerful, more intense, more shattering than ever before. And then it came again, and yet again, and all she could do was sob in helpless ecstasy as his shameless carnal kisses wrung every bit of pleasure from her body.

At last, he lifted his head. “I want to be inside you,” he said.

“Yes,” she panted, opening to him at once, spreading her legs wide as he moved his body on top of hers. He paused only long enough to find the red envelope, retrieve the condom—the shield that preserved her pretense of virtue. He slipped it on, and he took her, a hard, full thrust that drove the air from her lungs and made him groan.

“I can’t hold back,” he muttered against her throat as his hips rocked against hers again. “Sorry, Irene. Just can’t.”

Two more thrusts, and then, his arms were wrapping tight around her, and he came, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm, then he collapsed, panting, on top of her.

She lay there, running her fingers through his hair, still stunned by what he’d just done. She thought of all the times this week she’d sat in her office, staring out her little window to the brick wall next door, dreaming of their next rendezvous, but no daydream she’d had, no matter how erotic, had come close to this.

I am a man possessed of deep carnal appetites.

Yes, she thought, smiling. He certainly was.

Chapter 19

Henry stirred, pressing a kiss to her hair as his hand slid between them to retrieve the condom. Hiding it in his fist, he got out of bed. Naked, he walked to the window, and while she admired the view she had, he took a look between the drawn curtains. “It’ll be daylight soon,” he said, letting the curtain fall and starting toward his own room. “We’d better dress.”

He vanished into the adjoining room as Irene got out of bed. She moved slowly, her mind drifting back again and again to what had just happened and all the other sensual experiences he’d given her during the past four nights. He really was such an unexpected man. The things he knew, especially about women. From being married, perhaps, or the others he’d been with.

Not many. Enough to know what I’m doing. Not enough to be cynical about it.

She liked that about him. Some men, particularly of the aristocracy, were notorious philanderers. He wasn’t. In fact, she thought as she reached for her corset and began to put it on, he was not one to be in the pages of her paper much at all, and when he was, the gossip about him was of the tamest variety, the occasional speculation about which young lady he’d danced with at a ball, and could she be the one he might marry, that sort of thing.

He would marry, of course. Eventually, he’d have to, wouldn’t he?

A duke must marry a woman worthy of his position.

His words the first night she’d been in his home came back to her, and Irene’s hands stilled on the clasps of her corset busk. She was definitely not that woman.

She didn’t mind that, she told herself at once. Why, she’d scoffed at the notion of marrying him just a few days ago. They weren’t suited in any way. She knew it, and so did he.

I have a penchant, it seems, for women who are not suited to my life, and it is a life I cannot change.

Irene stared down at the floor, looking into the future, and it was a bleak point of view. She didn’t know how long this affair would last, but it would end. And then what would happen? She hadn’t allowed herself to think about that. During the past few days, she hadn’t thought about anything beyond the night ahead, and now she knew why she hadn’t indulged in that sort of speculation.

What would happen was inevitable. He would find someone suitable, and she would go back to the life she’d had before she’d met him, a life with work she loved in a world she understood. A life without him.

Irene felt suddenly dismal.

“Lord, Irene,” Henry said, his voice breaking into her thoughts as he reentered her room and scooped up his studs from her dressing table, “is that as far as you’ve got? We really must hurry. It’ll be light soon. And I’ve got to have at least a bit of sleep, for I’ve heaps of things to do before I leave for the country.”

He was leaving today for Hampshire. Another thing she hadn’t allowed herself to think about. Her corset fastened, she stopped dressing and turned, following him as far as the door as he returned to his own room. “What time is your train?”

“Two o’clock, out of Victoria.” He dropped his studs onto his dressing table, then reached for his collar.

Watching him, the realization of impending separation fully hit her, deepening her already dismal feelings. “Until this moment,” she said slowly, watching his back as he fastened his collar, “I didn’t think about the fact that I wouldn’t be seeing you tonight.”

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