Page 82 of The Duke Says I Do
It was more than fine when it offered Granville a chance to meet Portia away from prying eyes. His smile was probably inappropriately bright when he responded. “It is, at that. Good night, Matty.”
The boy cast him a startled glance before bowing again and making his way up to the front door.
“Shall we go and find our Portia?” Granville asked Jupiter, who was on his feet and wagging his tail.
Another surprise for Granville was how quickly he’d taken to conversing with the hound. It wasn’t much use regretting the lack, but he wished his stiff-rumped grandfather had let him have a dog when he was a boy. He’d been a lonely child, and even these short days with Jupiter had proven what good company a dog was.
With Jupiter trotting at his side, he crossed the empty street to the garden in the center of the square. As he slipped through the black iron gate, he heard the chimes for eleven o’clock. Most society events wouldn’t finish until around two, so with a bit of luck, he’d enjoy a couple of hours with Portia.
She wasn’t waiting in the copse, which he supposed was a good thing, even if every second without her seemed wasted. Lorimer Square was among the safest places in London, but an unescorted woman shouldn’t be out on her own in the dark.
Although knowing Portia, Granville wouldn’t be surprised if she carried her pistol. She stood on her own two feet, and he admired her all the more for it.
He removed his gloves and unclipped Jupiter’s lead so the dog could snuffle around in the bushes. Leaning back against a tree trunk, he strove to rein in his impatience. He took a deep breath and told himself to enjoy the anticipation. It was difficult, but he should look at it as the sauce that added extra spice to his need.
Until he’d met Portia, his life had – most of the time – been full of undeserved pleasures, if not precisely exciting. Meeting Portia had catapulted him out of a black-and-white etching and into all the drama of a Caravaggio oil painting. His days had color and flavor and impetus in a way that they never had before.
He hoped to hell that she never changed her mind about wanting him. The idea of reverting to that dull, gray man sent a chill down his spine.
In the quiet night, he heard the gate on the other side of the garden click and the scuff of her boots on the path. He straightened and every cell in his body tingled with exhilaration.
He was so attuned to her, he caught her hand without seeing it. She wasn’t wearing gloves either, although she had at the ball. The warm slide of skin on skin smacked the breath from his lungs.
“You came,” he murmured.
“Of course I did.” Her fingers laced through his with gratifying eagerness. “It’s been so long since you kissed me.”
With a muffled laugh, he drew her closer, close enough to catch her floral perfume. When they’d danced together, that scent had tempted him to do things that had no place in aballroom. Now they were alone in the dark, and he didn’t have to act the gentleman. “Let’s fix that.”
His lips descended for a kiss clumsy with need, evoking poignant memories of the first time that he’d kissed her in his stables. Could that only be a week ago? He’d been through a lifetime since then.
With a broken moan, she plastered herself to his body. He stroked her derriere. Even through her skirts, he felt the luxuriant curves. She’d worn silk at the ball, but she’d changed into something in a heavier material that presented more of a barrier.
By God, he wanted her naked. He wanted her in his bed. He wanted her with him for the rest of the night. He wanted to wake up with her and spend the day at her side.
He just wanted.
Portia wanted, too. She never made any secret of that. Good intentions fled the moment that she stepped into his arms. She was so warm and ardent. So perfect and passionate. How could he go on without her?
He swung her around until her back collided with the tree. She gave a faint gasp against his lips, then snarled her hands in his hair to drag him closer. He hitched up her skirt and caught her under the buttocks, hauling her up until her quim was level with his aching prick.
“Oh, yes,” she sighed, crooking her legs around him. She hooked her hands over his shoulders. He staggered as he took her weight, then braced her against the tree.
“I didn’t…I didn’t mean us to fuck,” he grated out, pressing his cheek to hers and breathing air that smelled like Portia.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered and scraped her teeth along his jaw in an unmistakable invitation. “Please don’t stop. I’ve missed you so much.”
He’d missed her, too. Mad as that was, after less than a day apart. Only now that she was here did his world seem right. “Hold on to me.”
She grasped his shoulders, as he shifted one hand from her glorious arse and ripped at his pantaloons. He was panting as if he climbed a mountain. During those heady days in Surrey, they’d come together like this several times. She knew what to do. Resting her thighs on his hips, she arched forward.
He released his cock and holding it, leaned in to find the slit in her drawers. His nostrils flared to take in more of her rich scent. The whole world became Portia.
She tilted her hips and took the tip of his dick inside her. The sensation became even more compelling when she clenched around the sensitive head. She was already hot and wet, and he fought the urge to lose himself before she climaxed.
“Stop teasing me,” she rasped into his ear, then bit the lobe.
“Very well,” he grated out and thrust hard. A blast of heat threatened to blow the top of his head off. When she nipped his ear more sharply, his balls contracted in pleasurable agony.
