Dusk With a Dangerous Duke (26 page)

Grace glanced at this magnificently male specimen and was breathless with the realization that he belonged to her. “I would return the compliment by touching you as well, Your Grace.”

“Not yet, my impatient wench,” he said, chastising her lightly by molding his fingers around her hips and squeezing, before moving down to her thighs. “I will not last if you put your hands on me.”

“Hunter. Stop. I do not understand,” she said when he parted her thighs. “Why are you doing this? I thought you no longer desired me.”

He stilled at her accusation.

His amber eyes blazed with the flame of lust and anger. “Not desire you? Duchess, I burn each night for you. Alone, I stroke myself in private, longing for your hands to bring me to completion. Not want you? Denying myself has brought on a fever that dreams along cannot quench.”

“Hunter.” She whispered his name in growing wonderment.

“Well, no longer. I have grown weary of waiting for you to forgive me,” he said huskily. “I will deny myself not a minute longer.”

Without warning, he buried his face between her legs. His fingers parted the soft folds and his mouth unerringly found the delicate flesh within.

Grace instinctively reached for Hunter, her fingers threading though his hair. She moaned as he tasted her. He stroked her with his tongue, over and over, until she fell back against the mattress and surrendered to his lovemaking. Her thighs trembled and her entire body ached as he continued his tender assault to her senses.

The dampness between her legs increased, but any embarrassment was banished by her husband’s growl of pleasure. He savored the taste of her, and the response of her body.

She gasped, feeling a flutter of sensation across her pelvis as her womb tightened in anticipation. Hunter raised his head, his gaze glowing with satisfaction and anticipation.

Chapter Twenty-six

“Your desire is sweet and thick as honey on my tongue,” Hunter said, rising to give her full view of his arousal. It was a magnificent display of virility. One he intended to put to good use, he mused, as he crawled up her body and used his hand to position that rigid length against her womanly folds.

“I have bedded many women, Grace,” he admitted, gazing longingly into her beautiful face. “However, this will be a first for me.”

Not giving Grace a chance to question him further, Hunter guided his cock, rubbing the thick head against the drenched folds, teasing the small knot of flesh within until she writhed against him. He squeezed the rigid flesh in his grasp, striving to control his responses.

It was obvious his duchess was unaware how much he craved her. Saint was correct. He had waited long enough to claim his wife. Whatever their differences, they could work them out in and out of bed.

Hunter moved his hips, nudging and withdrawing until her body accepted his invasion. His jaw clenched as his pace quickened, but his thrusts deepened until one thrust stretched her maidenhead and allowed him to fill her completely.

Although he had attempted not to hurt her, Grace’s eyes widened and she gasped as his pelvis met hers.

“Am I hurting you?”

She shook her head. “Not precisely,” she replied, her voice sounding as strained as his.

It was all Hunter needed to hear. Drawing in a deep breath, he kissed her on the lips. It was a tender apology for hurting her, even though he could not bring himself to regret it.

He withdrew slowly, testing her resolve as well as his own. If she had begged him to stop, he did not know if he had the strength to heed her command. He had figured out from their first meeting that Grace was hell on his good intentions.

She smiled up at him, her expression full of wonderment and innocence. Never had seduction felt so right. Hunter grinned down at her and then began to move in earnest. He heard her soft gasp, but he did not slow his pace. His right hand slid down her side and cupped the soft curve of her buttock.

Hunter thrust fully into her womanly sheath, using his grip to deepen his penetration. Grace moaned, her hands wandering as she explored the flesh within her reach.

He would never survive, if she ever got her hands on his cock.

“You are so wicked,” she murmured against his mouth.

Hunter took advantage of her exposed throat and tasted the salt of her flesh as it glistened and glided against his body, which was slick with his exertions and restraint.

He was so caught up in relishing her responses that some of the rigid control he had always prided himself on slipped. His thrusts had slowed in tempo, but were forceful and deep. His testicles slapped against her bottom with each delicious thrust.

Grace’s gaze was unfocused as she delighted in his wild claiming. Then she dug her nails into his sides and cried out, her body shuddering as the pleasure washed over her. She was not alone. Hunter tensed, his teeth snapping together as he could no longer resist the siren call of her body. His hot, virile seed burst forth, and he groaned at the exquisite agony of pumping himself into the woman who had tormented him from the very beginning.

Hunter shuddered, drawing her tightly against him. The crazed lust was easing, but the longing had yet to diminish. “Grace?”

“Yes,” she replied, sounding bemused and out of breath.

“Can you take me again?”

His cock twitched within her, and she laughed.

“Are you ever satisfied?”

“Ah, a challenge,” he murmured, kissing her while he indulged himself by filling his hand with her breast. “Have I mentioned how much I enjoy challenges?”

For the first time, Hunter had no desire to slip away from his lover’s bed.

*   *   *

Grace awoke uncertain what had disturbed her sleep. She rolled over and sighed, realizing that she was alone in the bed.

Hunter had sought his own bed.

She had no right to be disappointed, but she was. Before he had fallen asleep, he had told her that he was staying. She was supposed to awaken in her husband’s arms.

Perhaps it was one promise Hunter was incapable of keeping.

Grace sat up and winced. She was sore, but it was to be expected. Her husband, she discovered, possessed an insatiable appetite. He had reached for her three times during the long night of lovemaking. She wondered if the last time truly counted because she had been half asleep when he had taken her.

Thankfully, her body had not disappointed her. It had recognized Hunter’s touch, allowing him to claim her with little coaxing. She shivered and blindly reached for her nightgown.

If her husband was incapable of sleeping in her bed, perhaps she could slip into his. Grace pulled the nightgown over her head and walked to the door. When she opened it, she gasped. Immediately, she began coughing.

Now she knew what had awakened her.

The heavy scent of smoke.

The house was on fire.

“Hunter!”

*   *   *

Hunter awoke facedown on the marble floor. What was he doing in the front hall? Had he been drinking? His head hurt, which confirmed that too much brandy might be the culprit.

Grace.

His memories returned like a flash of lightning. He had not been drinking. He had been shagging his wife in her bedchamber. Numerous times. Why had he left her warm bed?

He had promised to stay.

“Hunter!”

His head lifted sharply at the sound of his name, and he groaned. He tried to touch his head, and that was when he realized that his wrists were bound behind his back.

“Grace?” he called out, and grimaced at how weak he sounded. He coughed a few times. His throat felt raw. He turned his head to the side and noticed the smoke billowing from the corridor that led to the kitchen. He squinted at the smoke and saw the eerie glow that indicated one thing.

There was a fire.

“Good, you have awakened.” The familiar voice had him turning his head to confront the intruder. “I had despaired that I might have hit you too hard. My goal was not murder, but to addle you so I could restrain you.”

“Christ, Walker, if this is some sort of jest,” he snarled, struggling against his bindings. Overhead, he heard Grace call out his name.

His cousin crouched down in front of him. “It is no jest, Hunter. In fact, I am deadly earnest in my desire for your demise.”

Hunter lowered his head until his forehead rested on the cool marble. “It wasn’t Strangham. Grace was never the target. It was me. You shot at me when we stopped along the road.”

Walker seized him by the hair and pulled up his head so their gazes met. “It was truly brilliant on my part. I knew you had your suspicions about Strangham. After all, the man had stood by as his brother died, and then he proceeded to poison the widow when she told him that she was possibly breeding the duke’s heir. Can you believe it? What rotten luck, I say.”

He twisted his head free from his cousin’s merciless grasp, and turned his head to the side to cough. “Considering the murderer possesses the title and still lives, he has done fairly well.”

“Not as well as one might believe, my dear cousin. Regretfully, Strangham has perished from a regrettable accident.”

“Did you murder him?” Hunter rasped, attempting to keep his cousin distracted. He tugged on the ropes at his wrists. They held, but he had an incentive to keep trying.

“Let’s just say that I helped him along. He was a despicable man. No appreciation for his good fortune or the title.”

“And you showed him the error of his ways.”

If he could just keep his cousin talking, he might be able to escape the ropes.

“Enough! Do you think I am a fool, Hunter?” He stood and slowly turned, his gesture intended to encompass the entire hall. “You hope to distract me. Perhaps even talk me out of my murderous intent.”

“Why would I do that, cousin?” A bout of coughing prevented him from continuing. “You clearly have developed a taste for killing.”

“Not just killing,” he admitted. “I have other vices, too. Not that you appeared to appreciate my skills. Do you recall the time I worked up the nerve to ask you if I might become of a member of Nox?”

“I told you to forget it, but I never told you the real reason why.” Hunter grinned up at him. “Shall I tell you? It was because you were unworthy. All of us laughed at the notion of inviting you.”

Walker retaliated by delivering a ruthless kick to Hunter’s left side.

“Gah!” Christ, he hurt. His cousin might have broken a rib or two with that kick. “Is that all you’ve got? The dowager kicked harder than you.”

It was difficult to ignore the fire licking up the walls, but Hunter had more pressing problems. This time when his cousin attacked, Hunter rolled onto his side and brought his legs together in a scissor motion.

“No!” his cousin screamed as he landed on his arse.

Hunter kicked at him again, but the man simply rolled out of reach.

Damn!

Prepared for his tricks, Walker avoided Hunter’s next attack and managed to deliver three more hard kicks to his cousin’s bruised side.

“Bastard,” Hunter hissed and spat. There was blood mixed in with his spittle. “It’s me that you are angry with. Let Grace go.”

Walker groaned in frustration. “Were you not listening about Strangham? The mother was breeding an heir. That’s why she had to die.” He pointed heavenward. “If you had managed to keep your hands off her, I might have allowed her to live. But I know what you were doing upstairs in her bedchamber. I’ll wager you could not resist spilling your seed in her. After all, she has to deliver your heir in eighteen months.”

If Hunter had resisted Grace one more day, he might have spared her a grisly death by fire. Coughing, he curled into a ball and tried to think past the pain. If he didn’t think of something, Grace was going to die.

“Walker, you have no desire to hang for Strangham’s murder.” He swallowed and tried to clear his throat. “Perhaps we can negotiate new terms. I married Grace, but I am willing to give you the dowager’s inheritance. It’s yours.”

“Why should I settle for just a stipend when I can have the title, too?” Walker braced his hands on his knees. “I will regret killing Grace. She’s a beautiful woman. As you smother and burn on your marble flooring, I want you to lie here knowing that I will be the last man to fuck her before she dies.”

“Leave her alone!” Hunter roared, which was ruined by another coughing fit.

“There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“Perhaps not, but I might have something to say about it,” Grace said, swinging her weapon with all her might. The copper bedpan connected with Walker’s temple, and he dropped like a stone. “A very nice lady once told me that a bedpan was a highly effective weapon when dealing with querulous husbands. It apparently works on murderers, too.”

“Duly noted,” Hunter said dully, fighting to remain conscious. “Did you manage to kill him?”

Grace dropped the bedpan and picked up a large vase that was once treasured by his grandmother. “Not quite. But I am not convinced the bedpan has done its job. He might be feigning his injuries.”

With that she brought the vase down on the crazy fool’s head. It shattered on impact.

Walker did not move.

“Did you cut yourself?”

Grace frowned as she stared at her hands. “Not a scratch.”

“Good. Now pick up one of those shards of pottery and cut me free,” he said, his voice strengthening as his concern for their lives increased and the flames climbed. “You did notice the house is on fire.”

“It is kind of you to point that out, my love,” Grace said as she sawed her way through Hunter’s bindings.

When he was free, he grabbed her wrist. “Am I? Your love, that is.”

“Of course, you daft man. I fell in love with your miniature years before I met you in the flesh.” Her gaze shifted to his cousin. “I suppose we have to save him.”

“Aye. Newgate prefers living prisoners,” Hunter said, getting onto his feet without his wife’s assistance. “And one more thing, Duchess.”

“Yes?”

“I love you,” he said, his declaration bringing tears to her eyes. “I didn’t marry you out of duty. I married you because I realized that I have always belonged to you, ever since that first day when you set your sharp baby teeth into my wrist. I am so damn sorry that I fought it so long.”