Page 29 of The Duke of Aces
Tom nuzzled her neck and mumbled close to her ear, “I want to touch you.” She tilted her head, exposing more of her soft skin. Tempting him. He ran his tongue along the long column of her neck while he simultaneously reached for her breeches. He reached beneath the material and glided his hand over her stomach and down until his fingers brushed against the soft curls that protected the sensitive mound he sought to touch. She peered up at him, her gaze trained on his lips. Her eyes glittered with desire and…and trust.
She trusted him. He would give her a glimpse into what being married to him would offer, but refrain from fully compromising her. He didn’t want to make the choice for her.
He bent at the knees and brushed his mouth over hers, not once but twice until she opened for him. He made quick work of opening her breeches and pulling them down to her ankles. As if his fingers had a mind of their own, his forefinger trailed down her womanhood and a groan escaped him as his finger slid deeper between her folds.
Rolling her hips forward, Isadora pressed against his palm, and he slowly inched his finger inside of her and then retracted it. His manhood pulsed with desire. Ignoring his own needs, he repeated the motion, drawing a guttural moan from Isadora. She skimmed her hand down his chest and continued lower below his waistband until she could cup his erection. He was certain she had no idea what she was doing, but she trusted her instincts and him. He continued to plunge a finger in and out of her and delighted in how she arched her back and cried out for more. The delight on her face washed through him. It was an encounter he’d never experienced but wanted to again and again. And as she reached her peak, he admired the pretty pink flush that suffused her body. It was a vision to behold. Something he’d never forget.
While he still had enough self-control, he withdrew his hand, trailing the back of his hand along her inner thigh, remaining in contact with her as long as possible. “Say you will marry me, and I’ll share with you more of what you can come to expect from me as a husband.”
Isadora rested her forehead against his chest. “Oh, how I want to…but I can’t. I can’t think straight, and Minerva always says…” She shook her head and peered up at him. “Never mind what Minerva would say. I promise to give you my answer tomorrow. Will that suffice for now?”
“Aye.” He wasn’t angry, nor was he disappointed. Oddly, he admired her for her strength to say no. “Let’s get you home safe. We can discuss this after we’ve both had a good night’s sleep.” Only he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping much, and probably wouldn’t be until he made her his wife, and she occupied his bed every eve. He wanted to hit himself on the forehead for sounding exactly like his papa.
Chapter Fourteen
Laughter peeled downto the foyer of Lord Torrance’s residence as the clock chimed the hour. Ten o’clock. Tom was on time, but not early, which would aggravate his mentor to no end. He shrugged out of his greatcoat and handed it over to the butler who was smiling. His staff never revealed any type of emotion in his presence. He’d spied a smirk or two from the Avondale staff when Charlotte was about, and they weren’t aware he was near.
Charlotte. She had been the mistress of Avondale for years, well before her time to run a household. With him often absent, she had assumed the role and managed the estate with a maturity well beyond her years. If he married, she would be relieved of the burden. She deserved a year or two of freedom, and he’d gladly bear the burden of funding multiple Seasons in order to make his sister happy.
The butler swung the door open, and Tom froze at the threshold at the sight of… mayhem. Torrance carried one small boy on his shoulders as he prepared a plate at the sideboard. Another dark-headed child of the same age sat upon Lady Ethel’s lap and was stuffing a muffin in his mouth while his mama rocked a cradle next to the table.
“Ah! Your Grace, is it ten already? Do come in and stop loitering in the doorway.” Lady Ethel nodded to a chair next to her. “Have you broken your fast this morn?”
He shook his head. He rarely ate before the noon hour. “Not this morn.”
“Nerves can kill an appetite,” Torrance said as he offered Tom a plate. “Welcome. We prefer casual dining when the children accompany us to Town.”
Tom accepted the plate and proceeded to scan the sideboard, hoping to find something that would dislodge the lump that had formed in his throat. He was rarely at a loss for words, but the scene before him evoked memories from his own childhood that he had buried long ago. He placed poached eggs, a corner of sliced bread, and a couple of pieces of ham on his plate before sliding into the seat Lady Ethel had motioned to.
“Well, Your Grace, it is with a heavy heart that I shall inform you that Captain Bane is expecting you to present yourself at four this afternoon. Don’t be late.”
The bitter taste of failure held him mute.
Torrance settled his son in the chair next to Tom. The young boy was a spitting image of his brother. Both boys shared Torrance’s wavey chestnut hair and square jawline, which left no doubt as to who had fathered them.
“Ye a real duke?” the lad asked.
“Aye, I’m the Duke of Avondale.” Tom nodded and made a mock bow in his seat.
Mouth half-full, the other mite slid from Lady Ethel’s lap and tugged on his brother’s arm. “Time to go.”
“I don’t want to go see the nanny. I want to watch papa question His Grace.” Despite his objections, the boy followed his brother out of the room.
The door latch fell into place, and Torrance said, “Captain Bane predicts you should reach Calais before dawn if the winds are favorable.” Tom’s host slid his hand under his waistcoat and extracted an envelope. “If all goes well, you should return in time for the Fairmont ball and resume your pursuit for a duchess.”
Both Torrance and Lady Ethel were acclaimed as excellent judges of character. They weren’t easily deceived. Why then did Tom feel affronted that they had not believed he had already fallen in love with Isadora? Confused. Would marrying Isadora be a love match or a marriage of convenience?
He withdrew the parchment with his orders from the envelope and scanned its contents. Switching his gaze between Torrance and Lady Ethel, Tom said, “How do you expect me to obtain such intel?”
Lady Ethel’s brow creased. “By the usual means. You are the master of extracting intel from the spouses of our enemies, and Comtesse Du Montford has a particular fondness for tall, dark handsome gentleman.”
“Then why not send your husband?”
Lady Ethel retorted, “Because he is married, and you are not.”
“But I intend to be, and I…”
“The assignment should not interfere with your plans, that is if our intel is correct,” Torrance offered.
