At The Duke's Pleasure Page 22

  He arched a warning brow. “I would be careful about using absolutes, if I were you. Such statements often have a way of coming back to haunt their issuers.”

  “Well, that’s one ‘never’ that won’t haunt me, since I mean what I say. You are absolutely unreasonable, rigid and controlling, without so much as a spark of spontaneity. Your entire existence is dictated by duty and convention and doing everything that is expected of you.”

  “Unlike yourself, who does whatever you please, whenever you please, and devil take the hindmost.”

  Her hands turned to fists at her sides. “That’s unfair and you know it.”

  “As are your accusations against me,” he countered. “Just because I see to my responsibilities doesn’t make me rigid. If I were, you certainly wouldn’t have been allowed to get away with half the things you’ve perpetrated these last few weeks.”

  Pausing, he drew a breath. “I suppose you’re right, however, that I take my duties seriously. But then I must, since my actions have a direct impact on a great many people’s lives. People who look to me for their livelihoods and welfare, even the shelter over their heads. It’s true that I could shirk my responsibilities and be some self-absorbed, irresponsible ne’er-do-well, as far too many of my brethren are. I could indulge my vices and laze away my days while my tenants and pensioners are left to fend for themselves as best they may. But I happen to care about my legacy and my lands, and most of all, my people. If that makes me rule-bound and inflexible, then so be it.”

  She lowered her gaze. “I never meant to imply that you shouldn’t see to your people or your lands. Of course you must, and I would think very ill of you if you did not.”

  “Well then, that complaint appears resolved. As for your charge that I lack spontaneity, I believe you will find that I can be as unpredictable as the next man. Consider those clothes you’re wearing, for instance. You might imagine I don’t care for them, but you’d be wrong. I especially like the trousers and the way they hug your bottom when you move.”

  Her lips parted on a gasp.

  “And although I don’t much care for the coat, since it covers up the lovely shape of your breasts,” he went on, “the idea of removing the cravat offers several interesting possibilities. But I suppose I’ll have to keep those to myself for the time being.”

  She could only speculate about what he meant by that last remark, but her heart sped up nevertheless, her pulse throbbing in her neck and wrists.

  “Come here, Claire,” he commanded.

  “Why?”

  “Just come here.”

  When she didn’t move, he straightened away from the desk and strode toward her. “Fine then, I shall come to you.” Reaching out, he took her by the shoulders. “You’re the most contrary female I’ve ever met, do you know that? You drive me so mad that half the time I’m not sure whether I’d rather paddle you or kiss you.”

  Refusing to be cowed, she met his gaze. “I’d prefer the paddling, if you don’t mind,” she taunted.

  His eyes narrowed. “That can be arranged.” Catching hold of her wrist, he pulled her after him.

  “What are you doing?”

  He dragged her forward.

  “Surely you aren’t going to…no, I didn’t mean it,” she called as she fathomed his intent.

  “Did you not?” he tossed out in a gruff voice. “Has no one ever told you that you shouldn’t say things you don’t mean?”

  Clearing aside a space on one side of his desk, he whirled her around and bent her over its wide wooden expanse so that she lay on her stomach. She tried to squirm away, but he wouldn’t let her, his hold as strong as a steel clamp. Yet he wasn’t hurting her, she realized, careful to control her movements without inflicting any pain.

  “So you want a paddling, do you?” he goaded with dark satisfaction.

  “No! I told you to stop. Let me go.”

  “Not until you’ve learned your lesson. Perhaps this is what’s been missing from our earlier confrontations.”

  “Edward Byron, don’t you dare!” She squirmed again for good measure, but it made no difference, her body firmly under his control.

  “Oh, so I’m Edward again, am I? As for not daring, I believe you’ll find that I’m capable of daring a very great deal. Most especially when I’m provoked.”

  She lay there helpless and trembling, waiting to see what he would do next. But surely he was only trying to scare her. Surely he wouldn’t actually make good on this threat. Then he struck her bottom with the flat of his hand and showed her that he was indeed a man of his word. She wiggled, her bottom stinging as his palm made contact. The blow wasn’t painful, so much as it was humiliating.

  “Stop!” she beseeched.

  “Say please,” he said mockingly.

  Her spine grew rigid and she bucked against his hold again, trying futilely to free herself.

  “You know,” he remarked aloud, “I don’t believe I’ll ever be able to look at a pair of trousers the same way again after this. Maybe I should have a couple extra pair made up for you to wear when we’re alone.”

  “Ohhhh,” she raged, heat scalding her face.

  Then he struck her again twice more, sending another kind of heat flowing fast over her stinging buttocks and thighs. She lay tense, preparing herself for the next blow, when suddenly he stopped, his wide palm coming to rest on her bottom, but not with force this time.

  He stroked her, slowly, gently, as if trying to massage away the discomfort. She twisted again, but for an entirely different reason, no longer eager to get away. His movements slowed even more, turning into something that very definitely resembled a caress—and more. Closing her eyes, she gave herself over to the helpless shudder that racked her frame. Her nipples drew into taut, aching peaks, moisture pooling between her thighs in a way that left her shocked.

  How could she desire him now? Like this, when she was lying completely at his mercy? But to her shame, she did.

  Quite deeply.

  He shifted, leaning up and over her back. A whimper escaped her as he pressed his mouth to her ear. “Forgive me, Claire. I should not have done that. I’ve never struck a woman before in my life. I have no excuse. None at all.”

  “And I should not have goaded you,” she whispered, honest enough to admit her part in their skirmish. “It was just as much me as you.” To her horror, a single tear leaked from her eye.

  “Oh God,” he whispered, “don’t cry. Have I hurt you?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  But she couldn’t tell him. How could she when she herself barely understood all the feelings welling up inside her, threatening to overflow, warning of emotions best left unexplored.

  Brushing away her tear with his thumb, he kissed her damp cheek, soothing her as he silently begged her pardon.

  One kiss.

  Then another.

  Light and tender, gliding and gossamer as butterfly wings.

  Her lips parted on a shivery inhalation, her body flashing hot, then cold, then hot all over again. He kissed her, taking her mouth with a sweet suction that made the world melt away and her senses along with it.

  Her toes curled inside her shoes, her muscles aching to stretch and curve, needing to reach out and wrap around him like twining vines. Shifting, she tried to roll over, but couldn’t quite manage, accepting his aid once he realized what it was she wanted. She shimmied and scooted, inadvertently pushing something off his desk that dropped to the carpet with a muffled thump. Fleetingly, she found herself hoping it hadn’t been fragile or worse—ink.

  Then there was no more time to worry as he parted her trouser-clad legs and stepped between. Leaning fully over her, he left her in no doubt of his own desire, his erection pressing thick and hard against her belly, despite the barrier of their clothes.

  Claiming her mouth, he slipped his tongue inside, tangling against her own with warm dips and seductive glides that drove her half wild. Reaching up, she wrapped her arms around him,
caressing his shoulders and neck with languid strokes that incited his own answering shudder. Her senses spun, his every touch as intoxicating as wine—rich and sweet and supple. Drunk on him, she craved more, wanting him more forcefully than she did her next breath. Spearing her fingers into his hair, she kissed him back, matching his possession with a dark, heady longing of her own.

  Her breathing quickened, turning shallow and ragged. She discovered that Edward was in a similar state when he broke away to kiss her jaw and throat.

  Suddenly he growled, his movements plainly hampered by the cravat tied around her neck. “Of all the strange things, this is the strangest,” he murmured, tugging at the material without untying it. “I’ve never kissed anyone before who was wearing a neck cloth. It’s a pure nuisance.”

  “Oh, it’s not so bad,” she said, reaching up to run a pair of fingers under the edge of his own cravat. He groaned and paused long enough to give her a hard, dizzying kiss before returning to his inspection of her attire.

  “At least this waistcoat is dispensed with easily enough,” he observed, gliding his hands over the gold buttons. Nimble as a tailor, he had them open with a few quick twists. Spreading apart the sides, he revealed a shirt made of fine white lawn, her nipples jutting visibly upward beneath the thin cloth.

  His hands moved to cover her breasts, her rib cage angling up on a quick breath at his touch. “My God, are you bare under there?” he said.

  She nodded. “I couldn’t wear my stays, and a binding didn’t seem necessary, not with my coat and waistcoat to provide protection.”

  “I’m glad I didn’t realize that earlier,” he said, flexing his fingers gently over her aching flesh, “or I wouldn’t have been capable of thinking about anything else.”

  He squeezed her breasts again, letting them completely fill his palms before circling the peaks with his thumbs. She moaned, arching into his touch with unconcealed pleasure. Hunger pounded through her, leaving her wanton and restless. Her body turned to fire when he leaned low and drew one taut peak into his mouth. Suckling through the cloth, he did things that made her mind whirl, her nerve endings turn to embers.

  Then, without her quite realizing that he’d managed to yank the shirt free of her trousers, he suckled on her again. Only this time her breasts were naked, the shirt bunched up just below her neck. His hands stayed busy too, playing with her other breast using clever, devastating moves that sent her flying, before his fingers roved lower to trace over the sleek, flat length of her belly and back.

  She was utterly dazed, blood thrumming in dizzying beats and heady pulses through her system by the time he left her breasts to trail a line of kisses across her stomach. Somehow, the buttons on her trousers had come free, his big hands reaching inside.

  “No drawers either?” he murmured in half-amazed, half-appreciative tones, his fingers stroking over her hipbones and around to her bare bottom.

  “N-No. Too big for me.”

  He kissed her just above her triangle of pale blond curls, her stomach drawing in tight, while a fist of aching need lodged between her thighs.

  Then he was pulling down her trousers, stripping them to her knees before yanking one leg completely free, a shoe tumbling to the floor along with it. She didn’t have time to say a word, or even think, before he dropped to his knees and kissed her again—in the last place she’d ever thought to be kissed!

  Arching upward onto her elbows, she tried to reach forward, tried to tell him to stop. But in the next second, her body bucked against his mouth as he did the most incredibly wicked thing with his tongue. Suddenly she didn’t want him to stop at all, knew it would have killed her if he did. Or she would have killed him, the ache throbbing like a heartbeat deep in her core, begging to be assuaged.

  Sliding down again onto her back, she lay there atop the desk and let him take her with his mouth, whimpering and moaning with each new sensation. His palms slid under her buttocks, spreading her wider, angling her so she was totally at his mercy.

  In those moments, she felt as if her very breath, her life, was completely dependent on his next move. He lapped longer, deeper, apparently relishing how wet she’d become, enjoying her every groan and quiver, as though he were dining on some succulent dessert.

  She wasn’t sure how much more she could stand, how far he could take her before she went mad. Her fingernails slid against the smooth wood surface of the desk, searching for purchase and finding none. She nearly roared with frustration.

  “Please,” she moaned. “Oh, please.”

  He paused for a moment, leaving her in even worse agony than before, especially when he slid a finger inside her and began to stroke. “Please what?” he asked in a deep devil’s voice.

  “Y-You know.”

  “Know what?” he teased, stroking her deeper.

  “Don’t be horrid,” she panted on a moan.

  He laughed. “But it’s so much fun.” Then he grew serious again, easing two fingers inside her so that her flesh pulsed around him. “Beg me, Claire. I want to hear you say my name while I drive you wild. Say it while I make you come.”

  She gasped, but couldn’t stop herself. “Pl-Please, Edward. Please.”

  Smiling, he went back to his ministrations, sliding his fingers free again as he drew upon her with even more intensity than before. He swept her high, then higher still, his name on her lips often as he truly did drive her wild. Quaking in his grasp, she was nearly incoherent by the time he brought her closer. Opening his mouth over her, he raked her with his teeth in a way that sent her plunging hard over the edge.

  Bliss shook her, her body trembling, rapture soaring through her as though she’d taken flight. A keening cry sang from her throat. “Edward!”

  Then she couldn’t speak, limp and lax and satiated.

  Standing, he glided his palms over her body, caressing her with bold, possessive strokes that were a claiming of their own. Leaning over her, he took her mouth in another long, rapacious kiss that drew a fresh moan from her. He straightened and reached for the buttons on his falls, his erection straining visibly against the cloth.

  A knock sounded at the door. “Your Grace, are you there?”

  She and Edward both froze, his head whipping around as the doorknob began to turn.

  “No!” he ordered loudly, his voice harsh and strained. “I mean, do not come in!” Turning in a protective move, Edward placed himself so that his body blocked as much of hers from view as possible.

  The door opened the faintest crack, but not enough to see inside. “I am sorry to interrupt, but I have additional correspondence to be signed. I can come back later.”

  This time she recognized the voice. It was Mr Hughes, Edward’s secretary.

  Her passion vanished. Suddenly cold and violently aware of her state of undress, she sat up and began tugging her clothes into place.

  Edward took a few steps toward the door. “Yes, come back later. I am…busy at present.”

  “Oh, of course, Your Grace. So sorry to have disturbed you.”

  Hughes shut the door, his footfalls retreating in the direction of his office. Crossing the room, Edward reached for the key and turned it in the lock.

  She’d just fastened her trousers and was searching for her shoe when he returned.

  Without a word, he leaned down and picked up a small black leather men’s dress pump. “Looking for this?”

  “Y-Yes,” she said, doing her best not to notice the very obvious erection still tenting his trousers. Accepting the shoe from him, she fit her stockinged foot into it.

  “Your waistcoat is mis-buttoned.”

  Her gaze flew to his. “What?”

  “Your waistcoat,” he said. “You’ve buttoned it wrong.”

  Automatically, her fingers moved to the garment, searching for the mistake.

  “Here,” he said in a gentle voice, brushing aside her hands. “Allow me.”

  Rather than argue, she lowered her arms to her sides. “How can you be so calm?” she mur
mured after a moment, unable to meet his gaze.

  “My rigid control, remember?”

  Of course, that’s not the only thing that was rigid about him at the moment. She suppressed a blush at the thought.

  As for his remark, she knew he was teasing, but she couldn’t laugh. Another minute and he would have taken her. Another minute and she would have let him, and gladly. And then where would her plan have been?

  Mr Hughes, quite ironically, had saved the day. Or her virginity at least. So why wasn’t she happier about it? Or at least relieved?

  But I am. Of course I am, she told herself.

  “Claire.”

  She forced her gaze up to meet his. “Yes?”

  “Everything will be fine. You’re not to worry. Not about anything.” Finishing with her waistcoat, he drew her coat closed and buttoned it too, giving the hem a quick, sharp tug to set it to rights.

  “There. No one will suspect. Except for your hair.” Reaching out, he combed his fingers through her locks—what little there was left of them. “I wish you hadn’t cut it,” he mused, rubbing the end of one short strand. “Your hair was so beautiful.”

  “It’ll grow back.”

  “And so it shall.” With a sigh, he lowered his hand. “I think you should set a date.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “For our wedding. I want you to decide on the day, and likely sooner rather than later. If you prefer, we can wait long enough to arrange a formal church ceremony. It’s what Society will expect, I am sure. Let’s limit the guest list to no more than five hundred though. Anything additional will start to take on the trappings of an army encampment.”

  “But—” she said.

  “And the talk will die down much sooner if we make the announcement now,” he continued in a matter-of-fact tone. “Better to have this new scandal over with quickly and out of the way.”

  Like our wedding, she thought. Another duty fulfilled, another responsibility to check off the list.

  Her heart sank to her stomach, realizing that he was just as adamant as ever about proceeding with their marriage. Perhaps doubly so because of the intimacy they’d just shared, and had shared in the past as well. But as instance as their passion, it didn’t change any of the essentials between them.