Page 35 of His Auctioned Duchess
Caroline sank onto the chaise, skirts pooling around her like spilled cream. Richard knelt, actually knelt, between her knees, the sight of him there so unexpected it stole what little breath she had left. His hands settled on her thighs, palms warm even through layers of silk and petticoat.
He didn’t push; he waited, watching her face with the intensity of a man memorizing scripture.
“May I?” he asked, fingers inching the hem of her gown upward, exposing the delicate lace of her stockings.
Her nod was barely perceptible, but it was enough. Richard’s hands slid higher, gathering fabric until the cool air kissed her skin. Gooseflesh rose in the wake of his touch. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee, open-mouthed, lingering, then another higher, tracing the ribbon garter with his tongue.
Caroline’s head fell back against the chaise, a soft sound escaping her, a sigh and a plea. He took his time. Each kiss was worshipful, deliberate, as if he’d waited years for this privilege. When he reached the tops of her stockings, he paused, breathing her in, the faint scent of her soap, the warmer musk of her arousal. His thumbs stroked the sensitive crease where thigh met hip, coaxing her legs wider.
Caroline’s fingers found his hair, threading through the thick strands, not guiding, just holding on. Richard’s mouth brushed the thin barrier of her drawers, a feather-light touch that made her hips jerk. He hummed approval, the vibration traveling straight through her. With careful fingers, he loosened theribbon at her waist, easing the fabric aside until nothing separated them but trembling air.
The first slow lick was tentative, exploratory, a question. Caroline answered with a broken gasp, her thighs tightening around his shoulders. He learned her quickly—too quickly. The flat of his tongue, the gentle suction, the way he curled it just so to make her see stars behind closed eyelids.
Every stroke was measured, building pressure without rushing, as if he could draw this out forever and still not have enough. Caroline’s world narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the scrape of his stubble, the wet sounds that should have embarrassed her but only wound her tighter.
“Richard,” she whispered, the name a prayer and a curse. Her hips rolled involuntarily, seeking more, and he gave it, sliding one finger inside her, then two, curling in perfect counterpoint to his tongue. The dual sensation unraveled her. She bit her lip to stifle a cry, tasting blood, but he sootled the sting with a kiss to her inner thigh before returning to his devastating rhythm.
Pleasure coiled, bright and unbearable. Caroline’s back arched, one hand clutching the chaise, the other tangled in his hair as if she could anchor herself to earth. Richard didn’t falter; he read every tremor, every catch in her breath, adjusting pressure and pace until she was trembling on the edge.
When he sucked gently on the small, sensitive bud at her center, she shattered, soundless, breathless, her body clenching around his fingers in waves that left her boneless.
He stayed with her through it, easing her down with soft licks and murmured praise she couldn’t quite hear over the roar in her ears. Only when the aftershocks faded did he press a final, chaste kiss to her thigh and carefully right her drawers, smoothing her skirts with the same reverence he’d shown undressing her.
Caroline opened her eyes to find him watching her, lips swollen and glistening, expression unreadable except for the fierce tenderness in his gaze. He rose slowly, offering a hand to help her sit up. Her legs felt like water; she took it, letting him steady her.
Neither spoke. The room smelled of roses and secrets. Richard brushed a stray curl from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear with fingers that still trembled slightly.
Caroline leaned into the touch, just for a moment, before reality intruded, the ball beyond the door, the watchful eyes, the impossible future.
But for now, in this narrow room lit by a single lamp, the world could wait.
When he finally drew back, her pulse was still racing. His voice was low, unsteady. “Satisfied?”
Caroline stared up at him, her cheeks flushed. “Not in the least,” she managed.
He laughed softly, the sound brushing her skin like touch. “Good. Then we are even.”
He opened the door, composed again, and guided her out into the hall. Louisa caught sight of them as they returned to the box, her lips curving in a faint, knowing smile. Jasper, however, said nothing—his disapproval needed no words.
Sophia looked up from gathering her shawl. “Are you better, Caro? You look rather flushed.”
“Perfectly well,” Caroline said, her voice too bright. “The air agreed with me.”
Louisa’s eyes followed her with the faintest glint of amusement. “I am relieved to hear it, my dear. The opera can be so... overstimulating.”
Caroline smiled thinly. “Indeed.”
At that moment, John leaned forward from his seat near Lady Ophelia, his expression a mixture of teasing and brotherly concern. “Overstimulating, is it? I thought you fled in terror of the soprano’s final note. Half the audience did.”
Sophia laughed behind her fan. “Mr. Fernsby, you are wicked.”
“Entirely,” John said cheerfully. “But my sister looks as if she’s fought a duel, and I’ve learned it’s best to investigate early when she looks like that.”
Caroline shot him a warning glance. “I assure you, I am quite composed.”
John’s eyes flicked between her and Richard, then back again, a knowing gleam lighting his features. “Of course you are.”
Jasper rose to his feet, offering a stiff bow to Richard. “Cousin.” His eyes flicked briefly to Caroline, then away again, his jaw tightening.
