An Indecent Proposition (19 page)

No, Caroline assured herself quickly as he shoved the bedroom door shut with his booted foot. No one would find out.

He set her on the bed and his long fingers went to his cravat. “I need you naked.”

The words weren’t said with tenderness but instead with a compelling urgency. “Is that a suggestion or an order?” It was amazing how things had changed in just a few days. Had Edward said those same words to her, she would have wanted to run out of the room. With the Devilish Duke, she sat up and kicked off her slippers, boldly lifting her skirts to remove her stockings. His glittering gaze observed her every movement even as he shrugged out of his superfine jacket.

“Hurry,” he said softly.

And somehow that one word was arousing. Caroline closed her eyes in a brief flash of sensation, and then lifted her skirts, bunching them above her waist. She brazenly spread her legs. “Is this fast enough?”

Nicholas gave a low inaudible curse, the sentiment clear enough without the words. He tore his breeches open. “It’s perfect.”

Why wasn’t she afraid?

Because he wouldn’t hurt her. She knew it. Fear was the last thing on her mind as he shoved his breeches down his lean hips and climbed on top of her. It wasn’t in him to force her to do anything she didn’t want, and she definitely did want this in every way possible. His entry was impetuous and even in the moment of impatient, complete need he paused, checked halfway through carnal penetration, and asked hoarsely, “Are you all right?”

“I need you.” Caroline could feel the heat from his powerful body through the fabric of his shirt. Her fingers splayed across his chest, testing the muscular contours.

In response to her protest over his hesitation, he fully sheathed himself inside her, all the way so she could feel the entire rigid length of his desire, the extent of how she’d aroused him.

Her hips lifted from a command she didn’t even know she gave as he began to move. He slid backward and then surged into total possession again, so hard she gasped. Delirious sensation saturated her senses, took over her hungry body, and she gloried in it, his ostentatious carnal appeal like a drug. Under the fine lawn of his shirt his muscles were rock hard with tension.

Their first night she’d been frightened despite her resolve, but he’d held back and reassured her. The afternoon spent making love in the sun-filled glade, she’d been a little more free, less inhibited by her past, curious, and still cautious.

Now she was . . . eager. Wet. Needy.

For him. For his generosity and skillful dispensation of rapturous pleasure. Each stroke brought forth a low, telling moan and she arched back in response to his thrusts, somehow the decadent fact they couldn’t wait long enough to undress inflaming her senses.

She felt wanton. It was wonderful.

Nicholas
had made her wanton.

And she gloried in it.

Their rhythm increased, the flow of his body into hers became more frantic, wilder, and she clung to him with increasing urgency. Caroline let her head fall back as she moaned in pleasure and he muttered something she didn’t catch.

Then he climaxed. She registered the stiffening of his tall body, the eruption of breath from his chest, his dark lashes lowering abruptly as he went still completely except for the deep pulsing eruption of his release. The burst against her womb was forceful and as rash as the way he’d swept her off the terrace and up the stairs.

The scorch of his breath brushed her cheek as moments later he gave a short laugh. “My apologies. Give me a minute or two and I promise I’ll make it up to you. Apparently moonlit dances with beautiful auburn-haired ladies arouse my passions to an embarrassing degree. I can’t remember ever spending myself so fast.”

Though she doubted he realized it, the idea she’d made the smooth, experienced, and oh-so-devilish Duke of Rothay lose control was empowering, intoxicating. Caroline closed her eyes so he couldn’t see the sudden sheen of tears. They were joyous ones, the stinging sensation evidence of her realization that all the hurtful jabs and derision she’d experienced at the hands of her husband were being erased with each tender touch, every flashing smile and wild, wicked kiss.

She wished this week would never end.

Nicholas withdrew and she stifled a sigh of disappointment that he had no trouble interpreting. His grin was a flash of white teeth. Lounging next to her on one elbow, his breeches unfastened, his dark hair a little disheveled, he was the picture of decadent, erotic promise. One finger traced a path down her cheek and across her lower lip. “Don’t worry. In my current state of male mortification, I am determined to redeem myself in every way possible. Let me undress you and we’ll begin again, my darling Caroline.”

She liked the idea of being his darling.

A small smile curved her lips. In dishabille, her skirts still bunched around her waist, she felt languidly dissatisfied, though she doubted it would last. “You haven’t disappointed me yet.”

“The vote of confidence is appreciated.” His fingers skillfully unfastened her gown as he shifted her into his arms. “I told you a woman has a great deal of control over a man when he desires her the way I do you.”

“Too bad it’s only because of the competition between you and Manderville.”

He paused, going very still.

She was, in turn, horrified.

There she went, for the second time in one evening, saying whatever was on her mind. What did she expect? A declaration of affection from a man who barely knew her? He might have explored every inch of her body, but a few days in each other’s company hardly constituted a deep relationship and their unusual circumstances had to be taken into consideration.

Her cheeks heated at her own audacity and gauche ability to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. It was why she usually stayed so quiet, so rigidly suppressed when it came to conversation in public. She might—as she had just proved—blurt out something embarrassing.

Luckily, he was much more practiced in the intricacies of the casual liaisons that can exist between men and women and he shrugged, seeming to pass over the implications of her ill-timed remark. The last button on her gown slid free and he smiled in his quixotic way. “That infernal bet brought us together, so I am not going to regret it. At this moment, you are here”—he slid her gown downward and exposed her taut breasts under her thin chemise—“and so very carnally available.”

He kissed her as he continued to leisurely remove her clothing, long, slow, enticing kisses that seduced and beguiled and were a testament to his well-deserved reputation. In the ensuing hours he more than made up for his small sexual faux pas, bringing her to an orgasmic peak time and again, selfless and proving his legendary stamina was no myth but based in pure fact.

Later, replete and drowsy against him, she pondered the future with a sense of fatalistic introspection. It was easy for her to feel wanted while nestled in his arms, his rangy presence a symbol of the monumental change in her life.

She had to wonder if though she might be cured of her crippling insecurity, she could also be damned. With her level of inexperience, she had naively assumed the intimacy of making love could be disregarded. After all, Nicholas and Derek Drake both had a reputation of being able to seduce and abandon with ease, transitory pleasure their only goal.

What if she couldn’t be as detached?

Next to her, Nicholas had slipped into sleep, all glorious male beauty, his even breathing lifting his chest in a steady rhythm. He was the problem, she realized, staring at where the night breeze gently lifted the curtain. Since all of this—all of him—was so new, so glorious, she found it hard to sift through the reality and the fantasy.

He
talked
to her. It was more compelling than his undeniable skill in arousing her body. Had he simply done what she expected in the first place and dragged her into the bedroom for the whole week, maybe she wouldn’t feel so unsettled. Instead he’d been considerate, gentle, and attentive in every way.

She had an aching fear that now she couldn’t walk away with ease.

Nicholas shifted position, pulling her closer even in deep slumber as if he’d done the same thing a thousand times with other lovers.

He probably
had
done it a thousand times. That should not bother her.

But it did.

A
nnabel turned obediently, the material of her elaborate wedding dress falling in folds around her, pins everywhere as the seamstress knelt on the floor and toyed with the hem. Margaret watched with a critical eye, occasionally making a comment or two.

Was it obvious, Annabel wondered, how distracted and indifferent she was to something that should mean a great deal to her?

She hoped not but was afraid the truth was written all over her face.

That fear was confirmed when they left the modiste’s establishment an hour later and headed home. Margaret Drake was still lovely with soft brown hair slightly graying in a graceful way, her skin showing tiny lines that did not detract from the beauty of good bone structure and her fine, sparkling eyes. She settled into the seat of the carriage across from her and came right to the point.

“Is something wrong?”

Annabel tried to look bland. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You look tired, my dearest child, almost listless, and you pick at your food. Just now, when being fitted for your wedding dress, no less, you barely offered an opinion, even when asked directly.”

It was all true, and since Margaret was like a mother to her, Annabel found it difficult not to confess what was really bothering her. Except she couldn’t. If she said it out loud, she’d have to really think about it and that was out of the question. “I never knew planning a wedding was so . . . involved,” she explained, with a true twinge of guilt. It wasn’t precisely a falsehood—the details were a little overwhelming—but neither was it the truth about her abstraction.

Margaret tilted her head a little, studying her, eyes just slightly narrowed. “Lord Hyatt agreed to whatever size of a celebration you wish. It needn’t be so big if you’d prefer something a bit quieter.”

That was part of the problem too. Alfred was a very accommodating, nice man.

Unlike someone else she could name, a certain earl who on the surface seemed beautifully mannered and utterly charming, but underneath the handsome exterior was selfish and unfeeling.

“I
want
a big celebration.” The words came out too crisply, and with effort, she modified her tone. “What I mean is that marriage is quite a step and I want to share my happiness with my friends and, of course, my family.”

Margaret lifted her brows. “All right, then, but you might show more enthusiasm for the details. And yes, one’s wedding dress is one of those details.”

She bit her lip and then sighed. “I’m very sorry I’m poor company this afternoon.”

“My darling child, I’m not scolding you, just concerned. If you regret this engagement, now is the time—”

“No,” Annabel interrupted swiftly. “I regret nothing.”

What a terrible lie to someone she loved.

There was a long pause while the only noise was the rattle of the wheels over the street and the call of the occasional vendor hawking wares on a corner. Then Margaret nodded, upright on her seat, her face serious. “If you’re certain you wish to go through with this, you know I will do my best to make it a wonderful event you’ll always remember.”

She would, Annabel never doubted it, and she felt doubly guilty for being deceitful. “Alfred is kind, generous, and gentle. Moreover, it’s possible he’ll actually be faithful, not something most wives can hope for. Why wouldn’t I want to go through with it?”

“Are you actually asking me a question? If so, be careful. I might answer it.”

It was Annabel’s turn to narrow her eyes and stare. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m concerned about you. I think that, for whatever reason, you are really not happy about this upcoming marriage, as much as you pretend otherwise. Thomas has even said something, and my dear, when a man notices and remarks on what a woman is feeling, it might just be obvious. They are not the most observant creatures.”

She wouldn’t be so rattled, so openly unhappy, if Derek all of a sudden wasn’t everywhere she turned. In the past year she’d barely seen him, but in the past five days, he’d come to dinner three times and tea twice, and even shown up at a small musical performance given by the daughter of one of Margaret’s friends. His unprecedented behavior lifted eyebrows all across the room, and the poor young woman was so flustered to have the infamous earl in attendance she stumbled through her renditions of Bach and Mozart in a way that would have made both composers wince. Annabel had endured it with gritted teeth, and it wasn’t the discordant notes that bothered her but Derek’s magnetic presence at such a small affair. The covetous looks the women there gave him were unmistakable. In elegant evening wear, his blond hair gleaming in the candlelight, he had an inscrutable expression on his face as he sat and listened and appeared to ignore the incredulity of everyone in the room over his attendance.

No one was as startled or uncomfortable as Annabel. She was afraid even Alfred might have taken note of it.

Derek’s absence in her life made everything easier, but this sudden reappearance shook her world.

It shook her resolve to forget him, and she despised both herself and, even more so,
him
for making her have even a single doubt.

It was that damned letter he’d written to her in part. It sat locked in a drawer in the bottom of her armoire, the contents inviolate, a symbol of her indifference.

But every single day without fail she wondered what it said, and it was more tempting than ever to tear it open and read it.