Page 78 of Rules for Heiresses
“They could.”
But then he forgot all protest as his wife lifted those shimmering lavender skirts and climbed onto the sofa to straddle him. Her hands disappeared under those yards of fabric, and the sound of ripping drawers filled the room. It was the only warning he had before she sank down onto his cock. Courtland’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the silken sensation of her blanketing him,owninghim.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “You feel so good.”
He stared into Ravenna’s molten copper eyes, her pupils blown with lust and need and something else that she tried valiantly to hide. Her lashes dropped as she increased her pace, her movements jerky and frantic. Courtland felt the tension building in the base of his spine as his duchess chased her pleasure and teased him with his own. A wild sob fell from her lips, her pelvis grinding into his as she used him ruthlessly. She was close to breaking, and so was he. With a cry, she convulsed around him, the clenching of her sex fueling his own release.
Courtland stroked a lock of hair from her face as their breathing slowed and calmed. There was something decidedly erotic about the fact that they were both still fully clothed, and yet connected so intimately beneath her skirts. He felt himself softening inside of her, but he did not move, not wanting to relinquish the soft clasp of her body.
Ravenna worried her bruised lip. “You must think me such a wanton. I don’t know what came over me.”
“An orgasm?”
Her face flamed. “You’re quite good at delivering those.”
“I’m not sure I had much to do with that last one,” he said, teasing her and loving the flush that spread over her glowing skin.
“Part of you did,” she said gesturing down to where they were still intimately joined.
Courtland nodded. “A very happy part.”
But as the haze of pleasure faded, neither of them could ignore what had brought them there in the first place. Ravenna stood, accepting the handkerchief he offered her with a blush, as he tucked himself away and put his own clothing to rights. When the last of her skirts fell into place, she gripped the square of damp cloth in her hand.
“That’s mine,” he said, reaching for it.
She frowned. “But it’s soiled.”
“Still mine.” There was no way he was going to leave such an intimate thing lying around for anyone to find. He pocketed it and glowered at her as she made to leave the room without any explanation or apology. “Do you honestly have nothing to say for yourself about Sommers?”
His brazen wife opened the door and shot him a saucy wink.
“Yes, Your Grace. You’re welcome.”
Twenty-One
Ravenna frowned. The servants were unnaturally quiet at breakfast and no one would meet her stare, not even her usually talkative lady’s maid. Courtland was ensconced in his study with Rawley, her brother, and Waterstone, no doubt planning for the takedown she’d arranged. As expected, Sommers had written her the day after the ball a week ago, requesting use of her husband’s liner. He must have been desperate, but it was an opportunity that everyone was grateful for.
When another silent footman dashed out of the breakfast room after clearing her plate, she scowled and stalked out into the hallway where the butler stood. “Morgan, what on earth is going on?” The distress on his face made her nerves tighten with worry. “Just tell me.”
“It’s the newssheets, Your Grace,” he said.
“What about them?”
Silently, he handed her the neatly pressed pages. Opening them, Ravenna’s eyes chased over the front page in absolute horror, her chest clenching with every single damning word. It was one of the gossip rags, but still, the scandal would be interminable.
THE DUKE OF ASHVALE IS A SHAM!
How a Lowborn Bastard Lied and Manipulated His Way into the Ton.
A True and Unbiased Account.
Her heart ached at the vile and vulgar words. This had to be Stinson’s doing. Unbiased, her foot! No wonder he’d seemed so smug during the ball when they’d danced, saying that the truth would come out sooner or later. Ravenna hadn’t paid much mind to his ramblings.
“The dukedom was never yours, Stinson,” she’d told him gently, hoping he’d see reason.
“Because he stole it,” he’d snarled.
“He’s your brother.”
