Dusk With a Dangerous Duke (22 page)

Grace had an annoying habit of challenging him.

It was maddening, but he could not say that his exchanges with his lady were boring.

“Now lie back down,” Hunter said, gently easing her body back against the pillows. Her grip on the sheet was so fierce, he might have to tear the fabric to free her from her linen cocoon, but he would worry about it later. First, he needed her to relax. “There you go. What came before you can be left in the past, Duchess. Direct your thoughts to the present … to us.”

Grace closed her eyes as he bent his head down to kiss her. Hunter was confident that she found him attractive. He had caught her studying him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. Lust was something he was intimately familiar with, and he could use it to shatter her defenses.

Her mouth felt stiff against his. She made no attempt to kiss him back, but he was undeterred. There had never been a female he could not seduce, and that included his reluctant bride.

“Are you chilled?” he asked, teasing the firm line of her mouth with his own.

“No,” she replied, her lips parting as he had anticipated, and he did not hesitate to take advantage of the deliberate distraction.

Hunter captured her mouth, and kissed her. The tip of his tongue darted out to moisten and taste. Her lips were as sweet as the wine she had imbibed at supper. He concentrated on her mouth, the softness of her plump lips, the flavor that was uniquely hers, and the faint stirring of her breath against his face.

“Open your mouth for me,” he commanded, ignoring the husky urgency he detected in his voice.

Hunter preferred to take his time with a lover. Many gents rushed through the tender love play, their sole purpose focused on sticking their cocks into their willing partner. He understood their urgency. His unruly cock had become troublesome the moment he had entered the bedchamber to discover Grace sitting naked in the tub.

She tipped her face upward and parted her lips. He did not need any other encouragement. Gently he teased her mouth with his while his tongue brushed against her tongue, silently coaxing her to allow him entry. His wife was unused to passionate kissing. This delighted him for several reasons. First, it revealed that there was no secret beau waiting for her to return to the country. It also would give him the opportunity to instruct the fair lady in the art of kissing. If need be, he was prepared to dedicate hours to the pleasurable task.

Hunter cupped her chin with his thumb and first finger and leisurely stroked her face. “You taste like ambrosia,” he murmured, indulging himself with another lingering kiss. “Now taste me. Use your tongue as I have.”

He made a low sound of approval as the tip of her tongue glided over his teeth and rubbed against his. Encouraged by his response, she repeated the action, subtly widening her mouth as their tongues slowly entwined and danced.

With his eyes closed, he blindly slid his hand from the mattress to her left breast. Hunter could feel her taut nipple poking his palm through the thin barrier of the sheet. His cock ached at the knowledge that Grace was aroused by his kisses. He idly wondered if she was damp between her legs as well.

Soon he would have his answers, but he silently counseled himself to be patient. His duchess was no harlot or scheming mistress who thought only of the coin she’d gain by pleasuring him. For once, Hunter would have to work for his pleasure. The woman in his arms needed to be gently wooed. Her innocence was something to be treasured, and as much as he hungered for her, he wanted her to find some contentment in their coupling.

As far as Grace and Regan were concerned, Hunter had already made a hash of things by kidnapping his betrothed and bullying her into marrying him. He could set things right in their marriage bed. One might say, he had been practicing most of his life for this moment.

Hunter playfully squeezed her breast, causing Grace to face away and end their kiss.

“None of that,” she said breathlessly. Their kissing had put color in her cheeks and the look was flattering. “It is unseemly—”

“For anyone to touch your breast,” he spoke over her, sensing a lecture. “Anyone, that is, but me. I, however, may fondle your lovely breasts anytime it pleases me to do so, and now seems rather appropriate.”

Eagerness ruined his good intentions as he strived for patience with his bride. Ignoring her protests, Hunter seized the edge of the sheet, and one abrupt tug bared her breast to his eager gaze.

“No, don’t bother cover covering them,” he said, lightly swatting aside her hands, though his eyes were focused on the bountiful display.

All laced tight within her stays, it had been difficult to deduce the plump flesh Grace had kept bound behind a cage of whalebone. Hunter cupped one of her breasts now, savoring the velvety feel of the warm flesh and the weight. He had never been particular when it came to the size or shape of a woman’s breasts. Large or small, he had enjoyed fondling all of them.

Hunter admired the way her nipples tightened under his regard. A deep rosy pink, the sensitive flesh made him literally salivate at the thought of suckling them. In between her breasts, there was a light gold dusting of freckles. One, two, three, four … no five. He wondered what other surprises he would find as he explored his duchess’s body.

“Beautiful.”

Her eyes flew open at the sound of his voice. Before she could guess his intentions, Hunter leaned down and kissed one of her nipples.

“No!” she exclaimed as she tried to push him away.

Without looking up, he grabbed her wrists and pressed them into the pillows. His grip was firm, but he had no desire to hurt her. “Have a care, Duchess, I do not want to leave marks on your wrists.”

“Then cease—”

She sucked in her breath when Hunter laved her nipple. A quick glance revealed that the tension in her arms had more to do with her fighting the new sensations he was creating within her than any attempt to free herself.

He shifted his attention to her other breast.

“Your Grace!”

Hunter smiled while he teased the swollen bud with his tongue. Taking a chance, he released her wrists, idly wondering if she would try to tear out his hair or box him on the ears now that she was free.

Grace did neither.

Instead she moved her arms from the pillows to the mattress. Her fingers dug into the thick padding as she shuddered. Hunter rubbed his lower lip against her nipple and raised his head while his fingers moved downward until they splayed across her both of her breasts.

“So you enjoy my caresses, eh?” he asked, not expecting an honest response from her. “Let us see if I can change your sighs to cries of joy.”

“Your Grace?”

“I keep telling you that Hunter will suffice, Duchess,” he said, suddenly getting a mischievous look on his face. “You’ve earned the right. Or perhaps I might be able to persuade you into using my given name.”

A look of panic crossed Grace’s features. “No persuasion is necessary, Your Grace—Hunter!” she added hastily.

“Now you’re just trying to spoil my fun,” he teased, moving lower and taking the sheet she had drawn over her body with him.

“No … wait!”

The only thing Hunter was interested in prolonging was their mutual pleasure. Grace had already proven that she was responsive to his touch. He suspected fear more than aversion spurred her reluctance. If he was correct, then delaying the inevitable would be cruel.

He would claim her innocence, and then later they could figure out what sort of marriage they could build. Lust and attraction were poor materials for a solid foundation. Even so, it was more than either one of them had expected.

The sliding sheet revealed more of Grace’s body. A delicate rib cage, the flat plains of her stomach with a delicate indentation Hunter longed to explore with his tongue.

Her entire body stiffened as his hands found the soft curves of her hips. “This is highly improper,” she muttered, turning her head away as if she could not bear to witness what he planned to do next.

“Only if I do it right,” he teased, but his bride failed to appreciate his humor. “And I promise, you will ask me to do this again.”

Chapter Twenty-two

Grace had never felt so vulnerable in her life.

Never had a gentleman been permitted to caress her so boldly, and the Duke of Huntsley was proving to be quite thorough in his inspection of his latest acquisition. She refused to dress up her current circumstances with pretty lies. Nineteen years ago, Hunter’s grandmother had conspired with her grandfather. She had cleverly figured out a way to do a favor for an old friend and expand her family’s holdings. From all accounts, the old dowager had an analytic mind and a coldness to sacrifice anything and anyone to achieve her schemes.

Her grandson and Grace were suitable pawns.

She had been too young to understand and appreciate the dowager’s Machiavellian efforts. However, her grandson had known. Was it any wonder that he had spent the past nineteen years pretending that he wasn’t betrothed to a lady?

“Shift your leg,” Hunter ordered, pressing a kiss to her bare hip bone. When she did not immediately comply, he placed his hand on her thigh and parted her legs.

Grace felt cool air between her legs as her husband’s face hovered inches from a part of her body even she rarely gazed upon. The chill was an odd contrast with Hunter’s breath, which was hot against her thigh.

“Artists would pay you a fortune to paint you thusly,” Hunter said, his voice almost sounding reverent. His finger teased the hair nestled at the apex. “If such a painting existed, I would have it locked away in a private room for only my amusement.”

Grace felt his thumb against the hair-covered folds between her legs.

Of all that is holy and sacred!

“Ask me what I would do in my private room?” he asked.

She gazed helplessly at the top of his head. His touch and scrutiny of the heart of her femininity was almost her undoing. She longed to push him away and cover herself with the sheet.

However, she was made of sterner stuff than that. Grace remained still as he stroked her, learning every line and contour of her body. It wasn’t until he spoke again that she realized that she had yet to respond to his question.

“W-what would you do in this private chamber of yours, Your Grace?”

“Formality has no place in our bed, my lovely duchess,” he mildly rebuked as he tested a particularly sensitive spot just within her delicate folds.

Grace gasped at the sensation. “Stop that at once!” She slapped his shoulder to emphasis her point.

“I disagree,” Hunter countered, raising his head until their gazes met. His light brown eyes gleamed like amber at her. “I do not wish to be indelicate, but you are wet.”

Although her husband seemed quite pleased with his discovery, its significance meant little to her. “Of course I am wet, you lout! You dragged me out of a tub of water.”

Grace had hoped to anger him enough that he would cease touching her so intimately. She could barely think with him making those tiny circles with his thumb.

Instead of being insulted, Hunter merely grinned at her. It was as if he knew exactly how she was feeling, and there was a good chance that he did. Thundering rake!

He gave her damp flesh a final caress before he held up his hand. “You believe this is water from your bath? No, my little innocent, this wetness is proof of your desire … for me,” he said, practically purring the final two words.

Grace shook her head. “No. It isn’t true. I am quite certain I abhor you.”

Hunter snorted. “If this is abhorrence, we will get along famously.” He placed his hand just below her breasts and gave her a gentle push. “Now behave yourself, and let me concentrate.”

“Behave myself? Me?” She had done nothing to
him.

“Yes, I know what I am asking is a trial for you.”

Grace shivered as his damp fingers sought to test her sanity.

“However, if you behave, you shall learn that ceding to my instruction can be rewarding. Now close your eyes and stop arguing with me.”

Grace complied, solely because she could not bear to watch. Oh, Hunter was not hurting her. It was quite the opposite, in fact. It amazed her that such large hands could be so gentle and teasing, and the sensations so intense. Her responses to his touch frightened her more than she could even admit to herself.

“And stop thinking,” he muttered. “It only leads to trouble.”

She opened her eyes and glared at him. “How do you know I’m thinking anything at all?”

He returned her angry stare with an exasperated look. “Your body stiffens whenever an unpleasant thought drifts through your head. Considering your current state, I’d wager it will take a raging bonfire to melt the iron in your bones.”

“You consider this courting?”

“No, I call this bedding my wife,” he replied, raising himself onto his elbows. “Are you planning to debate me the entire night?”

From his expression, Grace could tell that it might be prudent to remain silent. However, it just wasn’t in her nature.

“You might want to summon the innkeeper for some wood.”

Hunter appeared baffled by the change in subject. “And why would I want to do that?”

“Well, since you persist in being disagreeable, you might as well start building that bonfire,” she said, reaching for the bedding he had pushed aside and pulling it over her breasts and abdomen. “I do not foresee me losing my stiffness.”

Understanding flashed across his handsome face, and there was a hint of anger in his amber gaze before he groaned and allowed his forehead to connect with her upper thigh.

“With your sharp tongue, I can most certainly foresee the possibility.”

“I beg your pardon?”

A heavy knock at the door startled them.

True to his name, Hunter’s head snapped up. Absent was the man who took turns teasing and berating her. The intensity she noted on his face was different, almost predatory.

“Who—”

Hunter silenced her question with a gesture. He sat up and padded over to the door. “Who is it?” he demanded in a gruff voice.