How to Lose a Duke in Ten Days (12 page)

When he lifted his head, she was gazing up at him, hunger reflected in her bright green eyes. “I need to feel you again,
all
of you.”

That was his breaking point. 

With a low growl, he pushed her up against the nearest wall and yanked the hem of her skirt up roughly, past her knees, past her lush, shapely thighs. His fingers found the moist curls that shielded her entrance, grazing the soft folds. She sucked in a breath, her whole body tightening as he slid one, then two fingers into her wet channel.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe as hot, violent need slammed into him. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t have stopped it if he tried. He wanted—
needed
—to dominate her, pull her soft, lithe body beneath him and take her. 

“I want to come inside you, Pippa,” he whispered in her ear. The warmth of her breath brushed against his cheek, and he nearly lost control. “I want to give you my children. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” she breathed, arching her back, grinding her pelvis into his palm. 

In that moment, some long-dormant primitive instinct overtook him—a basic, human need to possess this woman, to bring her to climax and fill her with his seed. She was his.

Snatching her up, he gathered her in his arms and carried her down the steps to the master bedchamber. He kicked the door open and placed her on the large bed in the center of the room. 

He pulled away, gazing down at her, desire, want, need raging through him at a dangerous tempo. 

“Tell me this is what you want, Pippa.” The words were rougher than he’d intended, but she didn’t flinch, didn’t cower. “Say it.”

Her breath came in rough, frantic bursts. She swallowed and blinked up at him, all wide-eyed innocence. “I want this. I want you, Lucas.”

Her breathless words settled somewhere deep within him, twisting around his heart, taking root. She wanted him.

One knee on the mattress, he threaded his fingers through her hair and pulled her into a hot, languid kiss. His lips claimed her mouth, until she was writhing beneath him, tearing at his coat and cravat.

Standing, he moved to shuck his clothes, when she held her hand up to stop him. “Wait. Let me do it.”

He dropped his hands as she moved to her knees on the mattress and reached out to him. She removed his coat slowly, awkwardly, until it fell from his shoulders and pooled on the floor. His cravat, waistcoat, and shirt followed in short order, until he was standing in nothing but his boots and breeches.

She skimmed her delicate hand down his chest, biting her bottom lip in concentration. His cock hardened, thickened, desperate to sink into her.

Her gaze flicked to his falls, and she licked her lips. He shook his head. “You’re not quite ready for that yet, love.”

Christ,
she looked so damned innocent. He wanted to inhale her sweetness. He wanted it to surround him, transform him into the man he knew she deserved.

Smoothing his hand down her arm, he captured her wrist and pulled her off the bed, until she was standing before him. “Turn around,” he commanded.

Without hesitation, she turned, facing away from him. He reached up and pulled a pin from the tangle of curls on top of her head, then another and another until her hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back.

He swept the auburn strands aside, unlaced her gown, then pulled it down her shoulders, and past her full hips. Her chemise was next, then her short stays, until she was completely naked before him.

Trailing one finger down her arm, he was stricken by her smoothness, her lush femininity. She was perfection. 

“Turn back around,” he said roughly. “Let me see you.”

She turned slowly, and looked up at him.

Red, silky tresses spilled in waves down her shoulders, to the tips of her upturned breasts. Her tapered waist was flat with a hint of softness just above her auburn curls. Her hips flared deliciously, tapering down to long, slender legs. His mouth watered.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded.

He saw her throat move as she swallowed, indecision in her eyes.

“On the bed,” he repeated. “Or I’ll put you there myself.”

He was beyond niceties, beyond the gentle and loving seduction she deserved. Nothing short of her refusal would stop him now.

Three heartbeats later, she was on the bed, back pressed against the pillows, her long, slender legs stretched out in front of her. 

“Bend your knees and open your legs.”

After only a half-second of hesitation, she spread her legs. Her pink folds were slick, swollen and he groaned at the sight of her.

Crawling onto the bed, he moved between her thighs and slid his hands beneath her. Gripping the lush globes of her backside, he lowered his head and pulled her toward his mouth. He brushed his lips lightly against her slit.

She stiffened, her muscles tightening. “What are you doing?”

“I’m devouring you.”

He swirled his tongue around her clitoris, then sucked, drawing a startled gasp from her beautiful bow-shaped mouth. Her hands fisted the sheets, and she arched her back. He swept his tongue up the length of her slit, then down again before delving inside.

He groaned, his cock nearly pulsing with the need to fuck her. She tasted like honey, sweet, thick, and more delectable than he remembered a woman ever tasting. Still gripping her arse, thumbs pressed into her inner thighs, he spread her further, opening her wider to him.

She was so damn responsive, so pliant beneath his tongue, his hands. He could feel her body begin to tighten, the telltale hitch in her breath as her body prepared for orgasm. She threaded her hands through his hair, holding him in place, and he sucked her hard, and then thrust his tongue in and out, over and over.

Her climax came hard and fast. She cried out, arching her back. He continued to lick her, wringing out every last whimper, until she finally went limp beneath him.

She was wet for him, so ready. He couldn’t resist any longer.

Pulling away, he unbuttoned his falls, freed his swollen cock, and guided it to her entrance. She was slick, the scent of her desire thick in the air between them. He teased her entrance, dragging the swollen tip of his cock up the length of her opening, then back down again.

Everything in him demanded he surge forward and take her deeply, filling every inch of her. She whimpered, and he nearly shattered.

“There will be pain,” he said.

“I know, and I’m ready.”

Slowly, he pushed into her, past the barrier of her maidenhead, seating himself inside her welcoming heat. She sucked in a breath and stiffened, but he was lost, so completely lost inside her. Her channel gripped him tight, and all he could focus on was the sheer, undiluted pleasure that surged through him. He couldn’t remember it ever feeling so damned good, so
right
to be inside a woman—and not just any woman,
this
woman.

Rocking forward, he sank into her, impossibly deep. Fingertips digging into her hips, he thrust again, and again. Her breasts swayed as he drove into her, her throaty moans feeding his own pleasure. 

Over and over, he surged into her, the tension inside him building, building until he was certain the end was near. With every muscle pulled impossibly tight, he surged into her, his thrusts quick, urgent. He wanted to see her face, drink in her beauty as he came inside her, branding her as
his
woman.  

He gazed down at her and what he saw made his heart ache. Her eyes were filled with such open trust and innocence; it pushed him over the edge, into the abyss.   

With a low guttural groan, he thrust into her one last time, burying his cock deep inside her body, and let go. Hot, undulating waves of pleasure rolled over him as he spilled inside her, his hips twitching, his cock pulsating.

When it was all over, his head swam, and his heart felt as though it would burst out of his chest.  They remained connected for long minutes, before he finally rolled to the side and gathered her into his arms. She fit snugly against him, and for the first time in all of his twenty-seven years, he felt whole, content.

His thoughts drifted back to the initial reason he’d wanted to marry her. He should have told her the truth in the beginning—that the match between them had been nothing more than a strategic move on his part. He’d crossed the boundaries of morality to win her—and he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Kissing her temple softly, he whispered, “Vow you will marry me.”

She turned to him, and smiled softly. Her finger traced his bottom lip for a moment before she answered, “With my body, I just gave you every assurance I will marry you. Does it really need to be stated?” 

“Promise me.”

Her brow furrowed, a question in her gaze. “Why?”

He glanced up at the ceiling, anywhere but her sympathetic eyes. His chest squeezed tight and his gut churned. When he didn’t answer, she rose up onto her elbows. “Tell me,” she said, “please.”

He shook his head, unable to answer.

Something deep down, the boy he’d once been, feared this woman. He’d spent his whole life fortifying himself. Wealth and power had been the antidote to his vulnerability and fear. Long ago, he’d sworn he would never be so vulnerable again.

But with one word, one look, this delicate woman could destroy him.

He pushed to his feet, buttoned his breeches, then tugged his shirt over his head.

She reached out to him, drowsy and contented, the white sheet tangled around her hips. “Where are you going?”

His cock pulsed at the sight of her, so beautiful and trusting. He itched to pull her back underneath him and fuck her until every part of her was branded with his scent, the feel of him, his very essence. He never wanted her to forget to whom she belonged. 

He raked a hand through his hair, panic welling in his chest.  In just nine days, she’d managed to thoroughly ensnare him. And already, his carefully constructed control was beginning to crumble.

Christ,
what was wrong with him?

He felt lost, vulnerable, like he was losing control—emotions he’d vowed to never experience again.

He needed some air—a little space to clear his head, take stock of the situation, and regain control.

“I will inform the driver that we are ready to leave.” His words were short, clipped. “I’ll be back up in a few minutes to lace you up.”

Then he turned on his heel and walked out the door.

The ride home was excruciating. If not for the strained, awkward silence between them, it would have been tolerable, pleasant even. But as Pippa glanced at Lucas from across the compartment, dread knotted in her stomach.

He was different. Something had shifted between them.

Charles’s words rushed back to her with crystal clarity.

Once he’s had you, he will lose interest.

Pippa’s heart sank. Of course, that’s exactly what had happened. She’d managed to accomplish precisely what she’d hoped for, but now, in the bright light of day, her victory felt hollow.

Ashur lay curled up in her lap, his warm little body offering her comfort. She stroked his coarse black fur idly as she watched Lucas. He was leaning against the squabs, his legs stretched out in front of him, head tilted back in slumber. He looked peaceful. So unlike the man she’d encountered in her father’s study nine days ago. She took the opportunity to let her gaze wander over him freely—from his boots to his long, muscled legs and flat torso.

Her gaze traveled to his face. With high cheekbones and a sharp, aristocratic nose, he was handsomer than most men. But his lips were what had always captivated her. Soft and warm, they’d caused her body to react in ways she’d never deemed possible.

Her heart ached for the passion they’d shared, which would only be a memory now.

He would marry her still. Despite Charles’s assurances to the contrary, she had little doubt of that. Lucas could be ruthless, but he was honorable and wouldn’t shirk his duty, of that she was certain. Still, what kind of life would they have together?

It didn’t matter. The die had been cast. She’d made love to him, and there was no turning back now. Indeed, she could very well be carrying his child.

Her heart clenched. She’d just given him
everything
and now he acted as though they’d never met. When they married, would it be this way every time? Hot all-consuming passion followed swiftly by awkwardness and silence? 

How would she endure his coldness—especially in moments like these, when she needed his comfort and assurance the most?  

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she shifted her gaze to the rolling hillsides outside the carriage window. The sun dipped low in the sky, illuminating the clouds in pale shades of pink and orange. In the distance, black smoke curled into the sky—chimney smoke—an indication that they weren’t far from London.

She tapped his boot with hers. He lifted one eye, too easily awoken to have been deep in slumber. Had he feigned sleep to avoid talking to her? “We’re almost home,” she said, voice tight.

He straightened and cleared his throat. “I’ve asked Smitson to stop off at my house first. There’s something I’d like to give you.”

Smitson was the driver, she gathered, though she’d never heard him called by name. She glanced down at Ashur, who’d twisted onto his back and was now snoring indelicately, one paw twitching. She suddenly felt tired herself, exhausted actually. “I really should be returning home.”

“It will only take a moment.”

Minutes later they pulled in front of his town house and he helped her alight, then snatched Ashur off the seat and tucked the pug under his arm. Benson met them at the door and ushered them inside. Lucas handed the dog to him. 

“Please show Miss Welby to the parlor and order tea.” 

Pippa interjected, “No tea, thank you. My visit will not be long.” 

She was quite famished, in fact, but didn’t wish to prolong her visit any longer than necessary. She wanted nothing more than to go home, burrow under the covers, and nurse the terrible ache in her heart.