Page 97 of His Arranged Duchess
Abruptly, Lucien gave a low, wry laugh and seized both of her wrists in one of his hands, pulling her arms above her head and pinning them to the pillow above her. Frances’s eyes flew open, and she gasped.
His grip was not hard, but she knew without trying that she would not be able to wriggle free easily. Of course, if sheshouldbegin to struggle, Lucien would release her immediately, but even so, there was something truly thrilling in it all.
“Now, now,” he chided. “Don’t be impatient.”
Color flooded Frances’s cheeks, and her breath hitched in her throat. He resumed his ministrations, pleasure building up inside her with agonizing slowness.
After a few moments, he released her wrists, but Frances obediently kept her arms above her head. Grinning wickedly, Lucien sat back on his heels. His hands dropped to his waistband, and Frances watched with fascination as he freed himself, leaning forward to kiss her again.
“We can stop here, if you wish it,” he whispered.
“Stop?” she echoed. “Don’t you dare.”
He chuckled against her skin, the vibrations thrilling through her. “Breathe, my love.”
He pushed inside her slowly, giving Frances ample time to accommodate to the new feeling. It was strange, and at first she could not decide whether she liked it. Then he began to move, slow at first, then gradually increasing in pace. Something sparked inside her, and Frances sucked in a ragged breath, arching her back.
Lucien growled, low in his throat, and reached up to pin her wrists once more. He trailed the pad of his thumb tenderly across the inside of one of her wrists, and Frances closed her eyes.
Pleasure built up quickly inside her now, a determined rhythm that matched Lucien’s movements. His hips stuttered, and Frances bit her lower lip hard enough to taste copper. He leaned down, impulsively kissing the sore spot on her lip, and her climax rushed upon her without warning. Gasping, Frances wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held on tightly while the aftershocks rushed through her.
He groaned roughly, pressing himself against her, and gradually slowed.
They lay like that for a moment, until Lucien abruptly lifted himself up onto his elbows. He was flushed, sweat beading on his brow, and stared at her in a disoriented, dazed sort of way.
“Forgive me,” he whispered. “I’m crushing you with my weight.”
Frances, still out of breath, reached up to touch the sharp line of his jaw. “No, I like it, oddly enough.”
He broke into a smile at that, and leaned down to give her a quick, hasty kiss—rather chaste, considering the circumstances—and rolled onto his side.
“Did I mention,” Frances offered faintly, “that I love you, too?
“You did not, but I think I should like to hear you say it again.”
“Very well,” she twisted onto her side too, propping herself up on her elbow and smiling down at him. “Lucien, you insufferable man, I quite adore you.”
EPILOGUE
TWO YEARS LATER
‘Timon seized Eleanor about the waist,” Lucien read aloud, “and hauled her into his arms. He kissed her fiercely, one hand sliding tantalizingly up her ribs towards the swell of her breast.’ Heavens, Frances, this is strong stuff.”
Frances blushed. “The publishers adored it, although I will have to publish anonymously. What do you think? Is it too much?”
“Too much? Not enough, I’d say. It’s well-written, all of it.”
Eleanor rolled onto her back and sighed. “I cannot believe it has taken me a full two years to finish my book.”
The two of them were lounging in the middle of the East Tower Library—which was strictly off-limits to everybody but Frances and Lucien, of course—on the widechaise longue,the new one. The oldchaisewas entirely too narrow for two, and Lucien had kept rolling off and landing with a thump on the floor, whichof course made Frances laugh and put a stop to any amorous activities.
Outside the walls of the Abbey, Frances was vaguely aware that life was going on. Seasons came and went, marriages and engagements were contracted, balls were attended, and so on. During these social triumphs, a good deal of gossip was exchanged, and a favorite story was of the infamous Frances Knight, a bastard girl who became a duchess.
Frances did not much care. The business of facing down Society was not easy, but with a pair of dukes at her side – Uncle Cassian and her Lucien, not to mention Aunt Emily, the famous Anon – the scandal seemed to melt away rather faster than the scandal sheets had predicted. Some people still seemed to quietly disapprove, but who cared what they thought? Her true friends had only grown closer to her. In fact, for every person who haughtily turned their backs on her, there seemed to be two more people who sought her out deliberately, fascinated by her celebrity.
“I think you are too hard on yourself,” Lucien said decisively, reaching over Frances’s bare shoulder to the table beside the chaise, where grapes, wine, and pastries were laden. He picked up a glass of wine and took a long sip. “You’ve published several short stories—by the way, the pseudonymA. Knightis fooling nobody—and you took a rather significant break to carry and give birth to our child, my darling. To get it all finished in two years, considering all of that, is quite an achievement.”
Frances allowed herself a pleased smile. “I must say, I am proud of my book, but little Matthew makes me much prouder.”
