Page 77 of The Duchess in His Bed
He walked her backward, reached out, and slammed the door shut. Suddenly she found herself pressed against the pine, his hands gathering up her skirts while her fingers made their way to the fall of his trousers.
Then he was inside her, pumping away, growling with the intensity of his thrusts. His hand skimmed along her thigh and he brought her leg up until it circled his waist, and he plunged deeper still.
“I love the way you feel,” he rasped, dragging his mouth along her throat. “So hot, so tight, so wet.”
“I love the way you fill me, so large, so thick, so heavy.”
His rough laughter only added to the spiraling sensations building within her, propelling her toward the pinnacle of release. When she reached it and screamed his name in a manner that rather sounded like a benediction, she imagined all the ladies in the paintings looking on blushed or perhaps turned red with envy. He undid her in ways she’d never imagined a person could be undone.
And she knew in her heart that no one else would ever touch her as he did, no one would ever follow him into her heart.
“You’ve spoiled me.”
Although he’d spoken the words low, almost muffled by his mouth being pressed to the nape of her neck, they still disturbed the silence that had settled in around them after they’d had another rousing coming together—this time in his bed.
He hadn’t planned to take her in the attic like a savage unable to control his urges, but then she’d looked at him with wonder and something he couldn’t quite identify. It was the way Gillie looked at Thornley, Aslyn at Mick, Lavinia at Finn. He might have labeled it love, but it was not what she wanted of him, not what he wanted of her. Love would be bad for business, curtail his ability to flirt with the ladies, to make each one feel special.
He’d already begun getting a few icy glares, a few speculative looks. While the ladies came here to lavish themselves in vices, they also enjoyed his attentions, teasing though they were. He couldn’t risk upsetting those who were putting coins in his coffers.
“In what way?” she asked lethargically, as though his taking of her—rough, fast, and hard—had left her too spent to even form words.
He didn’t know why he’d said what he had. She spoiled him in ways he didn’t want to admit. Their bodies fit together like the perfect interlocking pieces of a puzzle. They communicated without words, knowing what the other needed, wanted, desired. He’d never spoken as honestly with any other woman—save his mother and sisters—as he spoke with her. He could tell her anything, wanted to tell her everything. It was the reason he’d shared his paintings. He only displayed a few; no one except his family knew they were his. Some were far too personal, had come from the depths of his soul. Sharing them made him feel vulnerable—but he hadn’t had that feeling with her. How could he when she’d had him at his most vulnerable: tied to a bed? He’d trusted her then, even if it had been poor timing on his part. He trusted her now. Still, he couldn’t confess all that, couldn’t allow her to know what an important part of his life she’d become. Because a time could come when she wouldn’t be a part of it at all, when she would grow weary of doing so much in public alone and would be in want of a man who could be seen by her side. “I shall resent wearing a sheath when I’m with other ladies in the future.”
Within his arms, with her back to his chest, she went completely still. He wasn’t even certain she drew breath. “I will never be with another man.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. Her response was not what he expected. He tightened his hold on her, wanted to encourage her to find someone else, another duke, because he couldn’t bear the thought of her living out her years in loneliness. “You’re too young to never again marry.”
“Lushing said the same thing as he grew weaker. He encouraged me to find someone else, to remarry. But if I become someone else’s wife, I’ll no longer be able to come to you.”
He couldn’t imagine her being content to spend the next half century sharing only stolen moments with him. Eventually the world would again open up to her once she was out of mourning. She would be flirted with and courted. Marriage proposals would come her way. How long before one appealed to her? Another man would then have influence over his child. He didn’t want to consider that. Turning her over, he offered a self-deprecating smile. “Perhaps we should avoid speculating about our futures.”
Her eyes were limpid pools as she nodded. “We should concentrate on the present. Make the most of it.”
Pulling her onto him until she was straddling his hips, he intended to do just that, make the most of every minute, hour, day that she was with him. As she took him within her, he fought not to think of the future because it would be a lonely abyss without her.
It was nearly dawn before she prepared to take her leave. Their short time at Sheffield Hall had spoiled her, and she’d wanted a few hours of sleeping within the circle of his arms, inhaling his purely masculine smell laced with the scent of their lovemaking. And she loved watching him donning his clothes to begin the day almost as much as she enjoyed watching him take them off.
He didn’t bother to take a razor to his face, perhaps because of the early hour, so thick dark whiskers shadowed his jaw. “I like the beard.”
He rubbed the stubble, and she heard the rasp of the bristles against his palms, knew the sensation they caused, having felt them against the soft skin at her throat and breasts when he’d tucked her beneath him upon first awakening and made love to her.
That was how she thought of it, what he did to her. It was as though he gave more to her than just his seed, that he gifted her with portions of himself, parts she was arrogant enough to believe he’d given to no other. Being with him was more profound, more fulfilling, more satisfying than she’d ever dreamed it would be. It was more than the way he made her body thrum with pleasure. It was the manner in which he made her soul glow.
“Maybe I’ll keep it.” He opened a drawer of a small wooden box that rested atop his bureau. He held out a key to her. “For you.”
She took it, closing her fingers around something that seemed significant. “Why?”
“So we can be a little more discreet and my customers don’t get the notion that I’ve taken a lover. When you arrive, just come on up. I’ll have Angie send one of the footmen to let me know you’re here, and I’ll join you when I can.”
He’d told her that he’d never brought another woman here, so instinctually she knew she was the first to whom he’d given unfettered access to his lodgings. Closing her fingers tightly around the brass, she was reluctant to part with it, to put it safely in her reticule. She wanted to place it on a chain and keep it nestled between her breasts, close to her heart. Quite suddenly she wished she had a gift for him, something of equal value. “Thank you for striving to protect my reputation.”
A corner of his mouth hitched up. “It’s better for business if I’m seen as unfettered.”
“Oh? Have I fettered you, then?” She made her voice light and airy when in fact she was profoundly touched by his dedication to her.
“You know you have.” Snaking his arm around her, he pulled her up against him and blanketed her mouth with his, kissing her deeply and thoroughly, as though needing to prove that she was equally fettered to him.
Only she feared she was more so. That she and her heart would remain bound to him until the end of time.
