The Wicked Duke Takes a Wife

Chapter Twenty-three

She edged toward the door. “You’re-”

“-a ravaging beast?”

Heaven help her, he looked it, too, in the dark, speaking in the deep voice that seemed to enwrap her in heat. “I didn’t know your grace had returned.”

As he advanced on her, Harriet wove in and out of the marble columns until she stood, trapped, behind the middle pillar in the hall. “Do you know what you’ve done?” he asked quietly.

“I’ve… slandered you,” she whispered.

“And mortified Lady Constance right down to the hairs of her little white muff.” He circled the column, each step forcing her farther and farther down the hall. “You have cost me the wife I was supposed to bring home.”

She frowned. “You’re better off without her. Lady Powlis thinks so, too.”

“And when is it that I become this ravaging beast?” he mused. “At the stroke of midnight? Once a month, when the moon is full? Or do I merely need to throw off my cloak to make you tremble in terror?”

She stepped away from him. He followed, his eyes smoldering with dark intent. Her heart was pounding in her breast. She bumped up against the library door. He raised his hand. His leather-encased fingers traced the contours of her jaw.

“What sort of beast do you suppose I am at heart?” he inquired softly. “A Caligula? A Bluebeard who murdered his wives? If you continue to spread these rumors of my bestial desires, there will be no one left in London for me to ravish.”

Sweet mercy. His voice awakened the most ancient of all desires. She felt her body, her whole being, tense in expectation; whether she led or followed him into the library, she was unsure.

She only knew that once the door closed, he began to undress her, button by button, hook by hook, in the room where an hour or so ago she had sat in warm gratitude with his family.

“What if someone comes in?” she whispered, staring into the fire as he kissed her bare shoulder, then her breasts and her back, until she sank down upon the sofa, holding up what she could of her unhooked dress, shift, and simple corset.

“I have a lock on all my doors,” he answered with a hesitant smile.

“Your grace has the advantage,” she whispered.

“I don’t think so.”

“And do you think a locked door will allay her ladyship’s suspicions?”

“Indeed,” he said calmly, undoing his coat and then cravat, “it will not.”

“Then?”

He raised his brow. “I spent an entire afternoon collecting broadsheets and newspapers to protect your reputation.”

“Only to ruin me a few hours later?”

He smiled again. “I hoped that you could save me.”

She settled into the farthest corner of the sofa. The fire felt pleasant on her bare arms and breasts, although there was enough heat in his gaze to keep her warm for the rest of the night.

He sat down beside her, leaning forward to kiss her before she could catch her breath. Her throat closed. It felt natural to surrender, to stop fighting the temptation that tingled through her veins.

“I need you,” he whispered as his lips teased hers. “I need your comfort so very desperately. Don’t deny me, Harriet. I don’t want another woman. I think you know that. Maybe meeting you was the only reason I had to come to London.”

She stared up into his starkly beautiful face. “His grace has taken leave of his senses,” she said softly.

“No, he hasn’t. He’s being sensible for once.”

He stroked his hand over the curve of her shoulder, and Harriet let herself drift into a shimmering darkness. Her heart quickened in expectation, and a pleasant warmth weighed down her body. The next thing she knew he was cupping her breasts in his palms, trapping the hard tips between his fingers.

She drew a breath, her inner muscles tightening in anticipation. She stirred. It seemed an effort to even speak, and then her voice came out slurred.

“Men want women like me all the time. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“But I’m not like the others. I thought you knew that, too.”

“Perhaps I did.”

She closed her eyes as his body, large and breathtakingly male, overshadowed hers. His hand dipped in subtle degrees into the delta of her sex, and she whimpered, forgetting to breathe as his fingers parted her folds. She shivered, remembering how he had caressed her the night he brought her home. He had shown restraint in the carriage. But now he needed her. And she did him. His touch had promised secret pleasures. Her body moistened and ached to offer itself to him in return.

“I’ve never trusted anyone like this,” she whispered.

“Trust that whatever happens between us, you will not suffer for it.”

“So promises the demon of the world.”

“Am I a demon because I need you?” he whispered in a low voice. “Am I at fault because I look at you and cannot think?” He lowered his head to her breasts, his mouth seducing her will. “Too much or more?”

She sifted her fingers through his silky hair.

“More.”

He exhaled, repositioning his lower body.

His erection throbbed inside his trousers. He could find his soul in her tonight. He could pet and tease her into a hundred little deaths. But even then he would be at her mercy.

“You’re still a virgin?”

She nodded, lifting her arm to shield her eyes. “It wouldn’t matter,” he said quickly. “Harriet, whatever you are or have been is all that I desire.”

“The same old story,” she murmured in rue, “but so prettily told.”

He could reassure her otherwise. He could offer an oath to bind his word. But for this moment her delicately sculpted body invited seduction. His proof would come in due time.

Now. Now.

He groaned as she pressed against his hand in a slow, instinctual rhythm. That was it. He would tempt her beyond what either of them could endure. “Not too much at once,” he said thickly, working her faster, harder now.

She moaned, her body vulnerable as she neared her peak, her nipples dark and prominent. He clenched his teeth. Blood rushed to his groin at the thought of burying himself in her pulsing sweetness. Suddenly she gripped his wrist. Her spine arched. He had her now. He nudged her knees farther apart and dropped his head, fastening his mouth on her taut bud at the moment he sensed she would break. Her body convulsed.

He gave her no time to recover before he stood and unbuttoned his trousers. “I can’t wait,” he whispered, gently pushing her breasts together to form a cleft for his cock. “Hold yourself for me like this.”

She lifted her luminous eyes to his. Her gaze smoldered with acceptance, a willingness to please. Slowly, he slid his shaft between the pocket of her plump breasts, his shoulders flexing in anticipation. His hips pumped up and down in a mimicry of what he truly wanted. For now her warm flesh welcomed him, and he would find relief or never know a moment’s rest again.

His mind wandered into blackness. He heard light rain pattering against the windows. He bore the scent of her on his mouth. He stared down at her, his breathing suspended. Soon. She looked so beautiful. His body could not last another minute. Close. He felt the end approach, elude him. Another thrust. She whispered his name. Closer. Not inside her. He had spared her violation. Enough for now.

His body jerked. The force of his climax surprised him, a pulsing heat and energy that he could not control. He groaned. In blind instinct he brought his discarded cravat to her throat, then to her breasts and her hands, wiping away the evidence of his spent desire from her skin.

“Harriet.” Sanity returned one breath at a time. He sat beside her and stared into the dying fire. She rose to dress. He pulled her back, his hand tightening over hers. Even now his body could not be trusted. Even now he felt both a hunger and deep contentment in her company.

“Oh, duke,” she whispered in a wistful voice. “I never knew… well.”

From the corner of his eye he saw her tuck away a few tendrils of her hair and glance about the room, as if to reassure herself all was in order.

“What sort of wife,” he asked carefully, refastening his cuffs, “do you advise a man like me to marry?”

He dared not look up. He felt her temper flare halfway across the room.

“Perhaps one,” she replied, “who doesn’t mind your devilish moods or meeting your private needs while discussing the woman of your dreams.”

He smiled. “Go to bed, Harriet. Sleep well tonight. And”-he sighed-“thank you for keeping me company.”

For a time after she left, he stood in the firelight and reflected upon what he would have to do. As he turned toward his desk, he noticed the purse of coins Harriet had dropped on the carpet and the book that she had encouraged him to read. He picked up the well-worn volume and placed it on the bookshelf behind his desk. He wondered what in such a macabre story held fascination for Harriet. Perhaps if he studied it, he would learn why she was not afraid of him.