My Fair Princess (22 page)

“Yes, I'll get to that in a minute.” Then he took her mouth in a fierce kiss, invading her when she gasped in surprise. Charles gave her no quarter, holding her tight against him as he devoured her with unforgiving hunger.

For a few long seconds, she seemed too surprised to react. Then she started to squirm in his arms. Finally, he broke away. “Would you please stay the hell still?” he rasped out.

Her mouth—soft and wet from his kiss—hung open in surprise. “Leverton, what are you doing?”

“I'm taking advantage of you, as should be obvious by now.” He swooped down to slip his tongue into her mouth for a brief, delicious taste. “And I don't give a damn whether you mind or not.”

She blinked up at him, looking rather suprised. “Oh. Well then, carry on.”

He narrowed his gaze. “Are you sure?”

“For God's sake,” she muttered. “Are all dukes as dense as you are?”

She grabbed him by the ears and pulled his head down, her mouth meeting his in a bold, passionate kiss that staggered him. He stumbled a bit on the uneven sand and then went down to his knees, almost dropping her in the process. She giggled, an endearing sound that vibrated against his mouth.

A moment later he had her safely stretched out beneath him on the soft sand. He nuzzled her mouth as his fingers clumsily groped with the buttons on her greatcoat. Gillian reached up to help him.

“Here, let me do it,” she gasped, her voice breathy with amusement.

“Madam, I do believe you are mocking me,” Charles answered as he shifted a bit to the side.

“Well, you did almost drop me. You're usually not so clumsy,” she said as she opened her coat.

“And you're usually not dressed in men's clothing. It's thrown me off my stride.”

She wrinkled her nose in mock dismay. “That sounds rather distressing. What can I do to help?”

He pretended to think about it. “For starters, you could unbutton that absurd waistcoat.”

She started on the small buttons. “I'll have you know this was made by a very fashionable London tailor. As were my breeches and my coat.”

He finally took a good look at what she was wearing. Her garments were simple, but obviously well made, hugging her gentle curves with expert precision. On a young man, they would have been unexceptionable. On her, they were devastatingly erotic, a blatant display of the sweet notch between her thighs and her long, slim legs.

Charles could easily imagine those legs wrapped around his hips as he entered her for the first time. Or draped over his shoulders as he took her with his mouth. Gillian might be considered too slender and athletic to be fashionable, but to his mind she had the body of a siren. And he had every intention of seeing it all, naked and spread before him.

Not here, though. This would be just a taste, for both of them.

“How did the tailor get the measurements so exact?” he asked, skimming his hand to her waist. “No, don't tell me. I would have to murder him for touching you.”

She rolled her eyes as she finished unbuttoning her waistcoat. “As if I would be so stupid as to go to the tailor myself. That's not . . .”

Her voice died away when he flicked aside the edges of her vest and slid a hand to her breast. He gently squeezed it, then rubbed his palm across her nipple. Through the fine linen of her shirt, he felt her nipple pull into a tight bead.

Gillian sucked in a breath and squirmed. Charles slung a leg over her pelvis, pinning her down.

“I take it you like this,” he said as he lazily played with her nipple. He flicked it, then gently pinched it between his fingers.

She let out a moan as her eyes fluttered shut. When he again rubbed the rigid tip, she arched up into his hand.

“That's as good an answer as any,” he whispered as he dipped down for a quick kiss.

She reached for him, trying to prolong the kiss, but he pulled away. Her eyes opened. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

He didn't answer right away, instead pulling the fabric of her shirt tightly over her nipple, causing it to stand out in sharp relief. Then he brushed across it with the tip of a finger. “I'm playing with you,” he finally said.

“Oh,” she managed around a gasp. “Well, that's all right.”

When he bent down and sucked her into his mouth, her gasp transformed into a choked cry. Charles circled his hand around her breast, plumping it into a tempting mound as he teased the rigid point with his tongue and teeth. Gillian squirmed in his arms, letting out breathy, enchanting whimpers.

When he finally pulled back, the fabric of her shirt was wet and almost transparent.

“Now, that is truly lovely,” he murmured as he palmed her breast. “But I think we can do better.”

Gillian peered at him, looking adorably flushed and dazed. “Um, I didn't realize it was a competition.”

He grinned at her. “I'm timing myself.”

As much as he wanted to linger with her, he wouldn't take any more risks than he already had. Dawn was fast approaching, and he needed to get her back to the house without being seen.

Still, he had no intention of letting her go until she'd climaxed in his arms. Because whatever happened going forward, she was now his. As the night had faded, easing toward the day, the decision had been made. It came to him as quietly as the approaching dawn. Yes, it made no sense, and probably never would. But it felt right. In fact, now it felt remarkably easy. Gillian had said something similar only a few minutes ago, as if it explained everything.

And perhaps it did at that.

“You're timing yourself? What—” She broke off with a laugh. “Good Lord. You mean until I . . . you know.”

“Exactly.” He pushed her shirt up to expose her breasts. Gillian shivered as the cool morning air washed over her smooth skin.

“That sounds like quite the challenge,” she said, her voice breathy. “Would you care to place a wager?”

He'd been about to flick one of her nipples with his tongue, but her comment had him pulling back in surprise. He narrowed his gaze on a sudden, very unpleasant thought. “And what is your basis of comparison?”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, not doing that.” She waggled a hand in his face. “Doing this.”

He had to laugh. She was the most outrageous woman he'd ever met.

“I don't see why it's so funny,” she said. “I know it's not proper, and it's not like I make a habit of it. But one can't help being curious, you know. You can hardly ask someone about it, can you?”

He laughed even harder. It was the most ridiculous conversation he'd ever had. Although, given the circumstances—and given that it was Gillian—he shouldn't be surprised.

“You can ask me next time,” he said, once he had his amusement under control.

She looked almost shy. “Well, now that you mention it . . .”

“Next time,” he murmured, suddenly impatient. The image of Gillian, naked and with her hand busy between her thighs, had invaded his brain, making his erection strain even harder against the fall of his breeches. He had to touch her or he would lose his mind.

He bent and sucked her back into his mouth, reveling in her startled moan and in the feel of her rigid nipple and velvety skin. For several minutes he tempted them both, sucking and nipping as she writhed beneath him. He clamped both hands on her sweet mounds, gently massaging them while he tortured her nipples—like hard, sweet candies on his tongue.

Suddenly, she moved, twisting sideways. When her breast popped out of his mouth, Charles growled with frustration. But then she flung her leg over his hip, pressing her pelvis tight against him. “If you don't do something soon,” she gasped out, “I'm going to shoot you.”

His laugh turned into a groan as she undulated her hips against his erection. Only Gillian would threaten a man with murder for not getting on with it. And if she kept rubbing herself against him with such abandon, he would lose the few shreds of control he had left, strip her naked, and take her like a wild animal, right here in the open.

Hardly proper behavior for a duke.

“Hush, Gillian,” he murmured, stroking her back. “I'll take care of you.”

“That's good,” she said in a tight voice, “because I'm feeling rather desperate.”

“Lay back, my sweet girl.” He eased her down, then swiftly went to work on her breeches, exposing her beautiful body for his caress. He trailed his fingers over the slight curve of her belly, then down to the soft tangle of mink-colored curls between her thighs. She quivered under his touch, and it was all he could do not to push her legs wide and take her with his mouth.

Next time, he promised himself.

“Open, darling,” he whispered.

With a whimper, Gillian complied, letting her legs fall open. Charles carefully parted her soft folds, groaning at the slick moisture that covered his fingers. She wriggled her bottom, silently urging him to action. He gave her what she wanted, stroking gently, massaging her. When she arched into his hand and stretched her arms over her head, he couldn't help but glance up.

He was rewarded with the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. Gillian, half-naked, her shirt pooled up around her shoulders as her body arched in a lithe curve, breasts pushed high, nipples flushed and full. Her eyes were closed, her expression fierce with passion as she approached her climax. She was so sweet, so bloody natural, hiding nothing of herself and ready to give him everything. Just looking at her made something inside him explode like a powder keg, almost knocking him flat. He'd never felt anything like it before.

It was a simple and direct conclusion, and it swept through him to settle deep in his bones.

Gillian dragged her eyes open, her expression dazed until it focused on his face. Then her gaze flared with urgent emotion.

“Charles,” she whispered, his name a plea.

“Yes, love,” he murmured.

He leaned down to take her lips as his hands moved between her thighs once more. He pressed his tongue into her mouth, taking her with a kiss that was deeper, more intimate than any he'd ever known. Gillian's hands came up to his shoulders, her fingers curling into the fabric of his coat, holding him tight as she kissed him back with desperate intensity.

When she pressed her hips up, silently begging, he knew she was beyond ready. He slicked his fingers over her bud one more time, then pushed two fingers high into her body. Her tight flesh cinched around him.

Gillian wrenched her mouth away, letting out a ragged moan of release as she curled into his body. Charles pressed his hand firmly on her mound, satisfaction storming through him as she rode through her climax. His chest rose and fell like a bellows, as if he'd also had a release. He wished he had, since he was so damn hard he could barely move.

But it was worth every bit of discomfort to watch Gillian's face as she came, to feel her body shake and come apart in his arms. As she shuddered through her release, he eased her back down to the sand. He slowly withdrew his fingers and gently cupped her until the trembling fully passed.

Finally, she let out a long sigh and opened her eyes, staring straight up at him. She gave him a misty smile. There was so much emotion in her gaze that his throat went tight.

“Well, that wasn't how I anticipated my evening would conclude,” she said in a husky voice. “But it was quite thrilling nonetheless.”

It took Charles a good thirty seconds to comprehend that Gillian obviously considered him the consolation prize to a disappointing night.

Chapter Nineteen

Gillian bolted upright from sleep. She darted a glance to her side, half expecting to see Leverton stretched out beside her, his blue gaze heavy-lidded and seductive, his mouth curling up in an enticing smile. Her body seemed to ache with unspent passion, tricked by a dream so real that she swore she could still feel his hands caressing her.

Almost as real as what had happened on the beach only a few hours ago. Then, Leverton had done much more than simply caress. He'd awakened an unexpected passion, catapulting both her mind and her body into the most heavenly state. Oh, Gillian had experienced pleasure before, but nothing like this. Nothing like the joy she'd felt when she fell to pieces in his arms. It was both terrifying and wonderful, and her mind still struggled to comprehend the change in their relationship.

Groaning, she flopped back onto the pillows, rubbing her bleary eyes and trying to sort out the conflicting emotions that were muddling her sleep-deprived brain. Exactly how Leverton felt about her was entirely unclear. First he'd been angry, then passionate, and then simply annoyed. There'd also been that disgraceful display of tears on her part, which still made her cringe. Gillian hated to cry. Tears made her feel stupid, vulnerable, and messy, and they never solved anything.

The effect they'd had on Leverton, however, made her uneasy. Had their lovemaking simply been an attempt on his part to comfort her? Or, even worse, had it sprung from a sense of pity? That would be appalling, but it was something she had to consider given the aftermath of their heated encounter. She'd barely recovered before he was straightening her clothes in a decidedly unromantic fashion, and dragging her off the beach to his horse. When she'd protested his brusque behavior, Leverton had simply hauled her into his arms for a thorough kiss before hoisting her onto his horse. Unfortunately, he'd then spent half the ride back to Fenfield lecturing her about the need to be safely stowed in her bed before anyone discovered she was missing.

Gillian couldn't blame him. After all, her reputation was already in tatters. And ever the paragon of correct conduct, Leverton might even believe he was now obligated to offer his hand in marriage. Men like him didn't dabble with gently bred girls without suffering the consequences. But the idea that she could be his duchess was too absurd to contemplate.

Sighing, she enumerated the reasons why marriage to the Duke of Leverton was the worst idea in the history of mankind. The list started with the fact that he didn't love her and ended with her admission that she was, unfortunately, falling in love with him. But mooning over Perfect Penley wouldn't solve any of her problems, including the still missing jewels and her grandmother's opposition to returning home to Sicily.

As for her disastrous feelings for Leverton, she had every intention of ignoring them until they simply went away.

She threw back the bedclothes, pleased to have everything so neatly—if depressingly—sorted out. Grabbing her wrapper, she glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Seeing it was already late, alarm jolted through her at the thought that Leverton might already have spoken to her mother. He wouldn't mention their tryst on the beach, but she wasn't confident he would keep his mouth shut about the smugglers. He was intent on preventing any further action on her part, and he knew Mamma's distress was the one thing that might make Gillian hesitant about continuing her search.

Cursing, she rushed behind the Oriental screen and was dragging her night rail over her head when she heard the door open. Peeking around the edge of the screen, she saw Lady Filby's maid enter the room.

“Good morning, miss,” Clara said in a cheerful voice as she went to open the drapes. “Lady Filby and the contessa are waiting for you in the breakfast parlor. I'm to help you dress this morning.”

Since breakfast was a rather casual affair at Fenfield Manor with no set time, it boded ill that the others were awaiting her arrival. “Is His Grace also waiting for me?” Gillian asked.

Clara handed her a clean shift. “No, miss. I believe he's in the library with Mr. Scunthorpe.”

Gillian's anxiety eased. Likely her mother was simply concerned that she'd slept in so late. “It's very nice of them to wait breakfast for me,” she said as she slipped into her stays.

“Yes, miss.” The pregnant pause before Clara had answered set off warning bells in Gillian's brain. She glanced over her shoulder, but the girl was intent on her work. “Now, Miss Gillian, don't be twisting around like that. I'll never get you laced up.”

“Not too tight, please.”

Clara's sigh had Gillian biting back a smile, since she'd had the same discussion with every maid who'd ever waited on her. She preferred not to wear stays at all, but her efforts in that regard always led to bleats of alarm from her mother, and stern orders from her grandmother “to dress like a lady.” It was one of the many reasons Gillian wished she'd been born male instead of female.

Although she certainly hadn't minded being female last night, when Leverton's hands and mouth had roamed her body.

“Stop squirming, Miss Gillian,” Clara said. “You're like a worm on a hook.”

“Yes, Clara,” she said meekly.

Over the maid's protests, Gillian hurried through the rest of her dressing, simply running a brush through her hair and pulling it back into a simple knot. She dashed for the door, throwing Clara a quick word of thanks over her shoulder.

She took the stairs two at a time down to the entrance hall, arriving at the bottom as the butler exited the family dining room. “Good morning, Miss Dryden,” Hewitt said. “The contessa and her ladyship are still at table, so I do not believe there is any need to rush.”

Gillian grinned at the gentle admonition. “Sorry, but I didn't want to miss any of Mrs. Peck's excellent cheddar biscuits. I'm not usually this late to breakfast.”

“I will bring you a fresh plate,” he said kindly.

She couldn't help noticing the slight frown on his face or the way he seemed to be studying her. What the devil was going on this morning? Leverton had, in fact, gotten her back to Fenfield before the servants had risen. Only Reid knew about her escapade, and Gillian was quite certain the duke had sworn him to secrecy.

Nodding her thanks to Hewitt, she entered the small but cheerful room with its floral-patterned wallpaper and Chinese-style furniture. The windows faced east, catching the pale sunlight that struggled to dissipate the chilly morning fog that had rolled in from the coast. One advantage of going back to Sicily would be escaping from all the dreary English weather.

But you weren't cold last night, were you?
Gillian mentally groaned. She needed to stop thinking of Leverton and what they'd done last night or she would go insane.

“Good morning, Mamma, Lady Filby.” She crossed to the table to give her mother a kiss.

Predictably, her mother sat closest to the fire, since she too hated the cold. Mamma would probably be just as glad to return to Sicily as Gillian was. At least Gillian hoped so. Without her mother's support, it would be much harder to convince Grandmamma to go along with the plan. Gillian had the funds to finance her own trip, but the idea of returning to Palermo without the support of her family was daunting.

“Good morning, my love,” her mother said. “I was beginning to worry about you, since you never sleep in so late.”

“I don't know what came over me.” She cast an apologetic smile at Lady Filby. “I'm usually up before anyone.”

The countess arched an ironic brow. “Perhaps you were unable to sleep last night. Was that it?”

“Um, not really.”

When her mother and Lady Filby exchanged a knowing glance. Gillian's heart took a dive.

“My dear, why don't you get yourself some breakfast,” her mother said. “Then we need to have a little chat.”

Confound it.
“Have you been talking to Leverton?” Gillian demanded.

Her mother smiled and patted the seat beside her. “Get something to eat and then come sit with me.”

Gillian stalked to the sideboard and poured herself a cup of coffee from the silver service. Whatever it was they were going to say, she needed coffee to help clear the cobwebs from her brain.

She took a seat at the end of the table so she could face both women. After taking a hefty sip, she sat back in her chair and crossed her arms.

Lady Filby flashed her a quick grin. “No need to look so put out, my dear. Certainly, we have a lot to discuss, but I do believe most of it falls under the category of good news.”

Gillian frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yes, that is true,” said Mamma, giving her a surprisingly stern look. “But first we must discuss your exceedingly foolish behavior last night.”

Her mother was never stern with her. Nor did she exert much in the way of maternal control. But over the last week or so, Mamma had begun to develop a rather decisive demeanor. Though it was wonderful to see her parent come out of the mopes, Gillian didn't relish the notion of Mamma's suddenly trying to make up for years of benign neglect.

“I'm not really sure what you mean,” Gillian said, trying to brazen it out.

“Of course you do. You snuck out last night to track down those awful men who robbed us.” Mamma shook her head with disapproval. “I can't even bear to think about what would have happened if they'd discovered you.”

Gillian breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She could manage this. “Mamma, I've been doing that sort of thing for years. I'm quite good at it, as you know.”

“So good that you ended up with a bullet in your shoulder,” her mother said.

“It was just that one time,” Gillian protested. “Surely you're not going to hold that against me.”

Mamma leaned forward, suddenly looking pale. “You could have been killed, Gillian. I lost your stepfather to violence. I don't want to lose you, too.”

Gillian struggled to defend herself against the familiar rush of guilt. “I know, Mamma, and I'm sorry I made you worry. But nobody else was going to avenge Step-papa's death, or even try to bring his killers to justice. It wasn't right.”

“I understand, my love. And for too long I was utterly selfish, failing to be there for you when you needed me. If I'd provided you with comfort and support, you never would have felt the need to embark on so reckless a quest.”

“You weren't selfish in the least,” Gillian said stoutly. “You were grief-stricken. Besides, Grandmamma was anything but weak, and even she couldn't stop me. It was something that had to be done, and I did it.”

Her mother studied her for several long moments, as if seeing her in a new light. It made Gillian shift in her chair. “I have been a terrible mother,” Mamma finally said. “I hope someday you can find it in yourself to forgive me.”

“That is ridiculous,” Gillian exclaimed. “You've loved me more than anyone ever could.”

Her mother held up a hand. “No, child. I will no longer excuse the impact my behavior has had on your actions.”

“Ah, I'm not sure what that means.”

“It means that you are not to continue on this foolish endeavor to recover our jewels. It's not worth it.”

Gillian stared at her in disbelief. “How can you say that? Step-papa gave those jewels to you. To us. It's all we have left of him.”

Her mother's mouth trembled for a moment, but then she firmed her chin. “I have the memories of our life together, my child. As do you. That must be enough for both of us.”

It wasn't enough for Gillian. For her stepfather's last precious gift to be now in the hands of dastardly criminals was too much to bear. And sooner or later, the loss would bedevil her mother, too. Gillian knew that as well as she knew her own name. Right now, Mamma was simply frightened by Leverton's no-doubt exaggerated account of last night.

Gillian would be having a very frank discussion with him about that. He had no business interfering and frightening her mother.

“Darling, you must promise that you will cease this reckless behavior,” her mother said. “I could not bear it if anything happened to you.”

Since Gillian had no intention of letting anything bad happen to her, she was able to frame an adequate response. “You needn't worry at all,” she said, reaching across the table to squeeze her mother's hand. “I promise to be more careful in the future.”

Her mother hesitated briefly, then smiled. “Thank you.”

“Splendid,” Lady Filby piped up cheerfully. “Now we can move on to a much more pleasant topic.”

Gillian had almost forgotten that the countess was in the room. But the amused gleam in her ladyship's eyes put her back on guard. “And what topic might that be?” she warily asked.

Lady Filby's eyes went wide. “Why, your impending betrothal to my brother, of course. What else?”