Page 24 of Rules for Heiresses
She gave a helpless moan. “Please.”
He knew what she wanted, and he had every intention of giving it to her. He wanted to give her wings, to make her rush over the edge with the confidence that he’d catch her when she fell. He wanted his duchess to soar.
He worked his hand faster, adding a second finger and stroking in and out, his thumb circling the neediest point of her, until her body went rigid. Huge copper eyes met his, scarlet flooding her cheeks as her mouth parted soundlessly on his name.
“Fly, Ravenna.”
When the cataclysm struck, she broke around him…so beautifully it took his breath away. Her body clenched and rippled, her beautiful eyes going wide and glazing over with such palpable passion it awed him. What would she look like when he was buried to the hilt inside her? Rosy color stamped every inch of her porcelain skin, her lips releasing such a delicious sigh that he couldn’t help but claim her mouth again.
“So lovely, you’re so damned lovely.”
His duchess came back to herself slowly as he removed his hand from her clothing, and ducked her heated face into his neck. He laughed. “Rule number four: never be ashamed of your body’s responses. Not with me, and not when you reach your peak so prettily. Pleasure is to be celebrated, not scorned.”
“That was…incredible.”
“Yes, it was,” he agreed, setting her skirts to rights and gently lifting her off the sideboard. He watched as her gaze darted to the porthole where the incoming guests were visible, and she turned instantly scarlet. “They can’t see us,” he assured her.
“What about you?” she asked, her soft gaze dipping to the noticeable bulge at his crotch. She slid a palm down to his waistband. “I could—”
Those eyes…they eviscerated him. Arousal and need swam in them, and so much melting emotion, it made him weak. Courtland stalled her, gently removing her fingers and lifting them to his mouth in a kiss, the insistent voice of reason finally penetrating his lust-fogged brain.
“Another time, perhaps.” He ignored the barest flash of hurt in her eyes as he turned around and adjusted his mongrel of an erection before putting some much-needed distance between them. “Get yourself settled. I’ll send Colleen back in to help you get ready for dinner. Your rooms are just beyond those doors.”
She blinked. “My rooms?”
“Yes.”
Now that the blanketing haze of desire had lifted enough for him to function, the truth was glaringly obvious. Hecouldn’tbe trusted, not even to pay heed to his own conscience. Clearly, being in any kind of proximity to her, especially with a bed anywhere in the vicinity, would only spell disaster.
Seven
The cuisine onboard theGlorywas beyond sumptuous. They could have been partaking of a ten-course dinner in any fancy dining room in London. Their every culinary need was met, from imported wines, to perfectly prepared and served courses, to melt-in-the-mouth desserts. It was delightful, and except for the fact that she’d barely seen her husband, Ravenna would have been having a wonderful time.
Right now, however, she was intent on drowning her fury at the bottom of a bottle in this very nice, very well-stocked library. Being foxed was vastly preferable to dealing with herfeelings.
“A pox on marriage,” she toasted, taking a healthy draught of the liquor and spluttering through a cough as the book she held nearly fell from her lap. “A pox on men everywhere.”
She’d met most of the guests onboard the ship, including, to her intense dismay, the prejudiced and very persistent Mr. Sommers. Lord knew whyhewas going to England and with them to boot. Ravenna decided to keep her distance the minute she recognized his leering gaze in the breakfasting room, and she had been moderately successful at avoiding him thus far. Her wretched husband could have warned her that the man was onboard…if she even knew wherehewas.
She’d cornered Courtland’s valet, a very nice man by the name of Peabody, but he’d been unable to string two words together at the sight of her. And now whenever he saw her, he scampered away like a mouse afraid of being trapped and mauled by the house cat. She didn’t want to hurt the man; she simply wished to know where the dratted duke was.
Ravenna had tracked down Rawley, too. To her frustration, Courtland’s man of business, and cousin as she’d learned, was his usual stoic and tight-lipped self, saying that Lord Ashvale had much to do before arriving in London and he wasbusy. If busy meant keeping himself away from her like a spineless coward, then yes, he was. The parting look of pity in the man’s eyes had been rather too much to bear.
The rotter wasn’t busy. He washiding.
It vexed her, she had to admit. The fact that he would rather run than speak to her after what had happened left her in a state of confusion. The way he had touched her and brought her to such pleasurable heights was never far from her mind. What hadshedone? Had she frightened him away with her overexuberance? Had she been too forward or too bold? Too impassioned? With gentlemen from her past, she’d feigned indifference, but with him, she had been honest. Perhaps too much so.
He’d seemed to be as immersed in the deed as she’d been, but then he’d refused her offer to reciprocate. She had seen the jutting evidence of his arousal herself. A quiver coursed through her. The thick, hard length of him had been obvious through the fine wool of his trousers. She didn’t have much experience with men’s anatomy, but that part of him had been straining against the fabric as if it intended to burst through at any moment. She wouldn’t have minded if it had. Ravenna had been desperate to see more of him.Feelmore of him. To make himcomeas she had. But Courtland had snubbed her, and then he’d run from her.
Why?
Perhaps she didn’t suit him in the bedroom, after all. Men seemed to be particular about their preferences from what she’d gleaned on Rhystan’s ship. Then again, what did a bunch of randy old sailors know? She wished she had Clara or Sarani to speak to. They were both married women and certainly would have some helpful perspective, but neither of them was here.
No, she was alone. On a ship in the mid-Atlantic. With only a bottle for a friend.
Ravenna sighed. She could don men’s clothing and cross an entire ocean without blinking an eye, but put her in a gown in front of a man who made swarms of butterflies spawn in her belly, and she was at a loss on how to function. But then again, that could be because she was shockingly drunk.
The fact that she rarely imbibed was evidenced by her atrocious state.
