Never Desire a Duke (One Scandalous Season) (19 page)

Beginning downstairs, they carried a lamp from room to room and confirmed all doors and windows were secure and that no one else lurked in the shadows. While they did so, they searched for any sign that someone had been living in the house beneath their notice. Three floors, countless rooms, and nearly an hour later, they returned to the corridor between their rooms. On the uppermost floor in a small stove, they’d found warm embers, certain evidence someone had indeed been in the house without them knowing.

“The house is secure,” said Claxton. “There is nothing to do now but go to bed.”

Sophia peered into the darkness at the end of the hall. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep a wink, for fear I will awaken to that man standing over my bed.”

His blue eyes flashed with heat. “I’d be more than happy to sleep with you.”

Never before had she been more tempted. The discovery of a stranger in the house left her anxious and not wanting to be alone. In London, with a house fully staffed with servants, she would not be so unnerved, but Camellia House was located on a property set apart by itself and had so many rooms, all shrouded in darkness. It was just the two of them.

Claxton’s physical competence and skill with a weapon added much to his attractiveness. Still, she ought not to invite her husband into her bed out of fear, but rather because she was emotionally ready to share such intimacies again. They’d checked all the rooms and found no one. She shouldn’t be such a ninny.

“You have your own bed,” she said, doing her best to sound firm.

He moved toward her with a sudden and purposeful intensity.

“There was a stranger in this house tonight,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how he got inside. I don’t know if he’ll return.” Unshaven, with his shirttails hanging free beneath his greatcoat and no cravat, he looked more like a pirate than a duke. A swarthy, handsome pirate. “Don’t be ridiculous, Sophia. We’re sleeping together tonight.”

The determination in his manner sent a trickle of alarm down Sophia’s spine and an undeniable thrill. She retreated into her room, but in the moment she could have closed her door against him, she did not. He followed, as she knew he would, pushing the door closed behind him.

He exhaled through his nose, his eyes gleaming.

“Very well,” she said, endeavoring to keep the quaver from her voice. “Let’s sleep together. I admit, I will rest more easily, knowing you are here.” Clasped at the front of her dressing gown, her hands held the embroidered collar together primly over her breasts. “I—I think I might read for a while. What about you?”

He removed his coat and draped it neatly over the back of a chair. “I’m not here to read.”

In one smooth movement, he removed his shirt over his head. Powerful muscles bunched in his shoulders. Firelight bathed his skin, revealing a deep striation of muscles along his torso, chest, and arms. Certainly he knew he was beautiful. That naked, he became temptation personified.

“I’ve been very patient,” he said softly, advancing toward her. She backed away until she could go no farther, having come to the wall. His gaze traveled over her with an almost dispassionate ease. “I’ve tried, however ineptly, to be thoughtful. Sensitive. Understanding. Have I not?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I would agree that you have been.”

“Good. I’m so relieved we finally agree on something.” He lifted his hand to the back of her head, and eyes burning, slowly lowered his face toward hers. Every nerve, every muscle, every fragment of her body capitulated. She closed her eyes, her lips burning, tingling with anticipation.

He halted suddenly, exhaling against her cheek. “I almost forgot. No kissing allowed. That would constitute romance, which you specifically told me you don’t want or need. We are here for the business of making a child, correct, Sophia? And only that.” He drew back. “Your rules.”

“I did say that,” she breathed.

She had indeed said something like that, and it would look badly on her if she now told him to never mind. Inwardly, she shook of her regret. They were here for the purpose of conceiving a child. Not for any sort of…
frivolous
recreational activity.

“Yes, you did.” He touched her hair. Her cheek. A look of puzzlement came over his face. “Working under such rigid strictures,” he said, brow furrowed, “I’m not quite certain how to proceed.”

He was being ludicrous, of course. Her husband was an expert and knew exactly how to proceed. Light as a feather, his fingertips traced a path over her collarbone. She forced herself to remain calm and silent, not wanting him to see how his touch affected her. But inside, oh, inside, every nerve burst out in flames.

“Clearly,” he drawled, “I shall have to improvise.”

The same fingers delved inside her collar to lift and push her robe from her shoulders. He tugged it farther, somewhere near the waist, so that the quilted silk fell to pool at her feet. The frigid air of the room chilled the bare skin of her shoulders and arms.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said quietly. He moved closer, backing her against the wall. His hands smoothed up her arms, feeling warm and strong and oh, so competent. “But I do not recall there being any limitations made on…
sucking
?”

S
he swallowed hard. Sucking.

Such a naughty word, especially when spoken from Claxton’s lips.

Holding her arms just above the elbows so as to prevent her movement, he lowered his head, lightly brushing his nose and lips against her temple, her ear.
Not
kissing her. Instead he caressed her with his breath and skin and texture.

She shivered, taking pleasure from that barest touch.

He exhaled and nuzzled her cheek and neck, leaving a path of heated breath and friction on her skin, one that ended at her breasts. She still wore her short stays over her chemise. The undergarment lifted her breasts, displaying them as if for a feast. She sighed. Exhaled. For feast Claxton did.

Legs bent and openmouthed, he explored her breasts, dampening the fine lawn that covered her skin with his heated breath. Exploring the plump underside and the crevice between. At last he took an erect tip in his mouth. Her eyes rolled back and she sighed, her legs instantly weak.

Oh, but then he
sucked
.

“Claxton,” she cried, her hips bucking off the wall.

He held her there, unrelenting, as with his teeth he tugged the lace edge of her chemise low, until one breast popped free.

“Very nice,” he murmured, his breath tantalizing the nipple.

“I told you before, I don’t…need to be seduced.”

“You’ve made that perfectly clear,” he murmured against her skin. “So I suppose it’s not necessary to say you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen…even though you are.” His heated gaze met hers, and he worshipped her with his hands. “And I won’t tell you that the first time I saw you I knew…I knew…there would never be anyone else.”

Lips parted, she whispered, “Claxton—”

“Instead I’ll do my best within the boundaries you yourself laid out.” His hands skimmed down the length of her torso to her hips, which he planted firmly against him, before seizing her arms again.

“Very well.” She gasped, feeling the distinct outline of his member against her belly. “If you must.”

“As I recall,” he whispered near her ear. “Neither was there an edict against licking.”

Oh yes. Licking.

“Ah…correct.” She sighed.

His head swooped again, this time to her bare breast, his tongue licking up from the underside to encircle and lave her nipple. His unshaven jaw abraded her skin. She watched, transfixed, until she could bear it no longer. She needed completion now or she would go mad.

“Claxton, I’m ready.”

“No, you’re not.” He chuckled. “Not just yet.”

Oh, but she was. She knew what body parts went where, and she was ready for
all of that
to take place
now
, but he refused to relent, fixing her helpless against the wall, like a quivering butterfly, pinned. He caught her nipple between his tongue and teeth. Everything inside her went wet and slick and hot.

“And biting,” he murmured. “Not forbidden.”

She whimpered when he sank to his knees, releasing her arms at last. He shoved the hem of her chemise above her waist, exposing her. With his teeth, he nipped the sensitive skin at her waist, her hip, and her thigh, sending off little shocks of sensation along her spine. She moaned, half-senseless. Such an indelicate response, but she could not help herself. Refusing still to touch him, she pressed the flats of her hands against the wall. Reached to grip the drapery. Thrust her fingers into her hair.

With a curse, he unfastened his breeches. No drawers encumbered him, and his member sprang free, magnificently aroused.

His hands swept up her legs, again lifting her chemise, rubbing her thighs, urging them apart until at last, his hand was
there
, stroking, massaging, one finger slipping inside to glide against her slickened center. Without preamble his mouth joined his hand.

“Claxton, please,” she cried. “I can’t bear it.” Sophia’s breath caught in her throat. Her legs almost failed her. “Oh, my, that’s sucking again.”

“You smell good,” he murmured. “Taste so divine. Sweet. Better than sugar. I knew you would. Mere observations of fact, of course, naught to do with romance.”

In the next moment, the room spun around her, he carrying her to the bed, where he dragged her chemise up her body and off, leaving her naked.

He’d been playing with her before, but now a different expression ruled his countenance, one of controlled reverence.

“Are you cold?” he asked softly.

“Yes.” She shivered, crossing her arms over her breasts, miserable without his touch, conscious of his gaze always on her body. He did not deny her long. Divesting himself of boots and breeches, he joined her, stretching across her, pulling a blanket over them both.

Surrounded by shadows and firelight flickering on the bed hangings, they seemed in a place removed from the rest of the world. A haven of warmth, linen, and naked skin. She lay beneath him, half-drunk in anticipation. She remembered how he would feel inside her and knew she would cry out from the pleasure.

He lifted her hair, fanning it out over the pillow.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. “Like chocolate silk.”

He disappeared beneath the blanket, suckling her breasts and spreading her thighs to again taste her there, squeezing the swollen part of her with his hands and mouth. He’d never kissed her there before. Made love to her in this way. She hadn’t known such sensations were possible.

Stretching, she gripped the headboard. She felt languid and beautiful. Like a wicked goddess, taking pleasure at the hands of her immortal lover.

When his tongue went suddenly deep and flat, massaging the most intimate part of her with quick, rhythmic thrusts, she felt herself slipping into a sort of delirium. Forgetting her own promise not to touch, she grasped his head, fingers staving through his hair.

“Claxton, I want—”

She couldn’t say it. She’d never been one to speak her desires aloud.

“Please,” she begged, awash with a sudden fever. She lifted her hips, seeking. “I need—”

Suddenly, he was there, massive and strong, his breath on her cheek. His sex lay between them, pressed into her stomach, as large and pleasing as she remembered.

“Tell me, Sophia. Tell me what you need.”

He lifted his weight from her and readjusted so that he nestled against her more intimately. She gripped his arms.

“I need this,” she said.

“Show me,” he murmured.

She had to. She couldn’t wait. She’d never touched him so brazenly, but she did so now. She gripped him, savoring the hot, velvet-over-steel texture of his member against her palm. She guided him until she felt him against her entrance, a sudden, probing pressure.

He shifted, cupped her buttocks, and entered her several inches.

She gasped.

“Oh, God.” His arms came round her, his face stark and tortured, and his eyes glazed. “Just let me—” He moved, pressing further inside her. She forced herself to hold still, not to scream. Her body for so long unused to such invasion cried out in pleasure and discomfort. He let out an agonized groan. “I can’t
not
kiss you.”

His hands crushed in her hair. His lips pressed against the corner of her mouth, tentative, a passionate request for her permission.

“Please,” he said.

That he would take her body so unapologetically, but beg for the kiss she’d so pettishly withheld broke one of the bars she’d installed around her heart and she relented.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

His mouth captured hers, his lips and tongue claiming her with such fervor, she could hardly breathe. With a growl, he eased even deeper inside her. She arched against him, all discomfort slipping away.

“Kiss me back,” he said against her mouth.

She did so, meeting each turn and slide of his lips with equal passion. His hips pumped, slowly, then faster. Amid the discomfort came the return of pleasure. She thrust her feet into the mattress, lifting her hips, seeking it, wanting it.

Her movement pleased him. He grunted, and his movements became more urgent.

“I can’t be gentle,” he whispered against her throat. “Please forgive me. I’ve waited so long.”

With a groan, he rose up on his knees. The blankets slid from his body. He lifted her buttocks and speared her deep.

A sudden pulse of pleasure erupted at the center of her womb to crash outward through her body, all the way into her toes and fingertips. His head fell back, and he rocked into her, hissing between his teeth. She cried out, never having expected such power. Her heart stopped beating—certainly it did—and she glimpsed a paradise created of violet and velvet and stars.

He throbbed deep inside her. With a groan, he collapsed over her, his arms braced on either side, his blue eyes staring down into hers.

In that moment, the look he gave her, she could almost believe he loved her.

Claxton’s first awareness the next morning was of an uncomfortable chill. Without opening his eyes, he pulled Sophia close and tugged the blanket over the both of them. To his irritation, she’d donned her night rail, which come to think of it, was fashioned of a rather crisp and unwieldy fabric. Her perfume clouded his nose.

All wrong.

He opened his eyes to find himself in the midst of a living nightmare.

Annabelle stretched and yawned, giving the appearance that she’d only just awakened. “Good morning, Claxton.”

The sudden realization came over him as to why he’d been so cold and devoid of a blanket. Annabelle hadn’t been asleep at all.

“Bloody hell.”

He shot across the bed, as far from her as possible, snatching a pillow over his nakedness. She, thank God, was fully clothed, wearing even a heavy pelisse and matching hat tied under her chin. An enormous fur muff lay discarded on the chair.

“Where is the Duchess of Claxton?” he demanded.

He’d only just managed to seduce his wife into his bed. He did not need
this
to frighten her away again.

Annabelle looked about, wide-eyed, as if she’d only just realized Sophia was not present. “I don’t know. She was here when I fell asleep.”

“More importantly,” he growled, eyes narrowing. “What in the devil are you doing here?” He slid backward off the mattress, pulling the bed curtain across his hips.

She lolled languidly, smiling like a naughty cat. “Things have become unbearable at the inn. Meltenbourne is being very bad tempered. It’s so very disconcerting. Your brother and I made our way here early this morning while everyone was still asleep.”

Of course, the house had been made secure last night, safe against all intruders except the one other person in Lacenfleet who had a key.

“I mean why are you
here
?” he snapped. “In my bed?”

She blinked innocently. “I was so cold and exhausted once we arrived. I just wanted to get warm and go back to sleep. Why are there no servants to lay fires or make up rooms?”

“
This
bed was already occupied, if you did not notice. There’s another perfectly good bed across the hall, or did you simply not look?”

She shrugged. “The common people do it all the time, sleep three or four or more to a bed, especially in cold weather when it’s too cold to sleep alone. I don’t see why we can’t as well when circumstances warrant. It is the country, after all.”

Claxton thrust his shirttails into his breeches. Boots. Coat. Walked toward the door.

He glared down at her. “You overstep, my lady. Quite deliberately, I believe. Don’t do it again.”

Her smile faded into a pout.

He found Haden, not Sophia, in the great room, sprawled and snoring on the settee. One firm kick collapsed the leg, sending the oblivious sleeper atilt. His brother’s eyes popped open.

Vane glowered down from above. “What in the hell are you doing here, and why did you bring that doxy with you?”

Haden rolled onto his side and with gloved hands pulled his coat over his face. “I didn’t really have a choice about bringing her. I can’t seem to get rid of her.”

“Lord Meltenbourne is coming up the hill with a young boy.”

Vane jerked at hearing Sophia’s voice.

She stood at the window, a cup of tea in her hand. Fully dressed in dark blue wool, she’d pinned up her hair and looked nothing like the temptress of the night before.

“Indeed, I believe half the village is following him.” She sipped. “Oh, Claxton. I do believe I’ve at last prepared a respectable cup of tea.”

Her tone was suspiciously unaffected and underscored by a distinct coolness.

Vane strode toward her. He spoke softly so that his brother would not overhear. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” Her smile, her eyes, shined too bright.

“For Lady Meltenbourne in our bed this morning.”

Sophia’s eyes widened. With an angry flare of her nostrils, she said, “No matter. What happens in your bed is your affair.”

“What? No,” he sputtered, hating the tone of her voice, the implication of her words. He grasped her arm and pulled her against him. “You can’t honestly believe—”

To his surprise, she softened and leaned in to him. “No, I don’t believe, but tonight, Claxton—”

“Tonight what?”

“We’ll be sure to lock the door.”

Relief spread through his chest. “Yes, we will.”

He pressed a kiss to her lips.

“What is that infernal caterwauling?”

The question came from the settee. Vane turned. He’d been so focused on trying to mend things with Sophia, he had not heard the other sound, the one coming from outside.

“I told you. It is Lord Meltenbourne,” said Sophia, having redirected her attention out the window again. “I do believe he is shouting something about a duel.”

“Oh,
that
,” arose the muffled response.

Vane stormed to the settee. He gripped the upper frame and gave a fierce shove. Haden tumbled onto the floor, a tangle of arms and legs.

“
Oh, that
?” Vane growled. “What do you mean by that?”

Clothes and hair in disarray, Haden scowled up from his new position on the carpet. With obvious reluctance, he said, “That’s why I came here this morning. I didn’t take him seriously, though. I thought he’d settle down once I removed myself from the premises. Only the countess insisted on coming along.”