The Duke of Daring (The Untouchables Book 2) (21 page)

Lucy.

How had he ever thought of her as Smitty? Hell, he’d forgotten to dispatch the wig. He reached up and pulled it from her head.

She broke the kiss. “Ow!”
 

He winced. “What? I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“The wig was pinned to my hair.” She sat back and massaged the back of her head.

He released her. “My apologies.” He offered her the wig, but she shook her head.

She pulled a pin from her hair and dropped it on the table beside the bed. A second one joined it. Then another. With careful, exacting precision, she removed each pin and deposited them on the table. Lock after lock, the dark mass fell until it reached past her shoulders in a rich, sable curtain.

Andrew dropped the wig, heedless of where it landed. “You’re so beautiful. And don’t tell me that you’re not. You
are
.”

Her eyes were wide, luminous, in the dim, seductive light of the chamber. “I never thought so…until I met you.”

He brought his hands to her face, stroking her cheeks, reveling in their silky smoothness. He drew his thumbs over her cheekbones and pushing his hands back into her hair. It was thick and soft, and he tangled his fingers among the waves.

He wanted more.

Moving down her body, he clasped her sides and lifted her over him, laying her in the middle of his bed. He came up on his side and loomed over her. Her cravat was undone, and he could see just a trace of her neck. He tugged the silk away and threw it aside. The neck of her shirt fell open, exposing more of her creamy flesh.

She stared up at him, her eyes full of wonder and desire. “My boots are probably dirty.”

He pulled his gaze from hers and looked down at her feet. “Then let’s dispose of them.” He made quick work of it, peeling her boots away and throwing them to the floor. He did the same with her stockings, eager to see her feet. They were pale and lovely. He ran his fingertip along the outside edge, from toe to heel.

She flinched, giggling. “That tickles.”

He looked back up at her face, his mouth forming a lazy smile as his headache began to fade from the tonic. “Does it?”
 

She was still wearing far too much, reminding him of Smitty. And damn it, he didn’t want Smitty in his bed.

He wanted Lucy.

He leaned on his elbow beside her and put his fingers on the uppermost button of her waistcoat. “May I?”

She nodded. Her chest rose and fell with deep, ever-quickening breaths.

He realized there was no padding here. “Where is the bulk of your costume?”

“We grew smarter with the day costume. My maid sewed it into the coat. Once I take it off, there’s just me.”

He moved to the next button, enjoying this leisurely removal of her costume but also eager to see her, as she said, as just her. “Ingenious,” he breathed. “But then I’d expect nothing less from you.” He moved more quickly, making his way through the waistcoat and then pushing the sides open to expose the shirt beneath.

She gasped, then brought her hand up to the back of his head. She pulled him down. “Kiss me, Dartford.”

“Andrew. You should really call me Andrew.” No one had called him that since he’d been small, and even then it had only been his brother and his sisters. His parents had called him by his courtesy title. Why Bertie and the girls had called him Andrew remained a mystery he’d never know the answer to.

Darkness threatened to engulf him, just as it had after the balloon incident. Until he’d found her face. He’d been horrified to see that she was among the gentlemen on the lawn, but after awakening, he’d been relieved and…happy. He did the same thing now that he’d done then to keep his sanity intact—he focused on her. He fed on her touch and lost himself in her kiss.

He pressed down on top of her, relishing her body beneath his. He speared into her mouth, his tongue dancing with hers and his body throbbing with need. She arched up into him, pressing her chest against his. He realized there was something missing. He brought his hand up her side and cupped her breast. Only there was no breast.
 

Well, he knew she had them. He’d seen them at Lady Colne’s ball. Rather, he’d seen their shape. He wanted to
actually
see them. Or at least feel them.

He moved his hand back to her waist and tugged the shirt from her breeches. He found the hem and slipped beneath it, skimming his hand up along her bare flesh. She gasped into his mouth. She was warm and soft, and he was going silently but fervently mad with desire.

The shirt lifted with his movements, bunching between them. At last, he reached her chest and encountered linen. She’d bound her breasts. He ran his hand over the fabric, searching for how to remove the offending piece. There was a knot in the middle, but his attempts to loosen it failed utterly.

He ended the kiss, tugging at her bottom lip with his teeth. Her eyes opened. The black of her dilated pupils nearly engulfed the iris, and her mouth was kiss red.

“What torture is this?” he asked as he tried futilely to undo the knot.

“It seemed necessary.” She brought her hands up and took over from him, quickly loosening the fabric. “I can’t…” She looked away from him.

She wanted him to stop. He didn’t blame her. Hell, he was a beast anyway. Disappointment curled through him. “It’s all right. I’m afraid I quite lost my head.”

She tried to rise. He sat back, giving her the space she needed. She came up off the bed and whisked the shirt over her head, shocking him. “I didn’t want you to stop. I just can’t take this off without help. Well, I suppose I can, but it’s easier with assistance. My maid wraps it rather tightly.”

He stared at her, his mouth moistening with need. She was a gift. He had no idea what he’d done to deserve her, but he wouldn’t question the grace with which she’d been given to him.

He grasped one of the edges of the strip of fabric and began to unwind it around her. He went slowly, once again enjoying the slow, meticulous removal of her clothing. It was almost unbearably erotic. As much as he hated her masculine costume, he thrilled to the revelation of her form. It made her even more feminine, more beautiful, more irresistible.

When he got to the final wrap, her breasts taunted him. At last their shape was exposed to him. He snatched the fabric away then, desperate to have her free and open to his hungry gaze.

“You can see why it’s no stretch for me to dress as a man. I’m afraid my curves are almost nonexistent.”

He heard her words but couldn’t have disagreed more. Her breasts were small but lush and round, with perfect pink nipples just begging for his kiss. He pushed her back against the pillows and spread her hair out over the white linen. He traced his hands down her neck, along her collarbones, and circled her breasts before cupping them gently. “You are curved in precisely the way you are meant to be, and you are stunning. I don’t know why you have these inaccurate views of yourself, but allow me to disabuse you of them right now.”

He moved down her rib cage, noting her slender but supple build. She was athletic, graceful, utterly perfect in his eyes. But there was more to see. He found the fall of her breeches and unbuttoned them with quick flicks of his fingertips. The sound of her breathing ceased, and he realized she was holding her breath while he worked.
 

He grasped the waistband of the breeches and tugged them down, glad to see there were no smallclothes barring his view. The thick, dark thatch of her curls greeted him as he stripped the garment away. Her breath came back in fast pants.

“
Lucy
.” He dragged his fingertips along the arc of her hip and the curve of her thigh. “If you have any flaws, I don’t see them. All I see is a beautiful woman I want with every part of my being.” He untangled himself from the bedclothes and came over her, bracing his hands on either side of her head. He still wore his shirt, but that was all that lay between them now. “If you don’t believe me, let me show you.”

She thrust her hands into his hair. “Yes. Please.” And she kissed him again, her tongue tracing over his lips before plunging into his mouth and claiming what she wanted.

He kissed her deeply, pressing his body against hers. She twisted and arched beneath him, stirring his arousal. The hem of his shirt just covered his cock, and he had no plan to reveal it to her. This moment wasn’t for him but for her. He meant to give her an experience she’d never forget. This woman who’d been deprived of so much deserved nothing less.

He stroked the side of her neck, feeling her pulse strong and sure against his fingertips. He dragged his mouth along her jaw, kissing and licking, tasting her. She pulled at his hair, moaning. He smiled against her, reveling in her uninhibited response.

Caressing her collarbone, he moved lower until he found her breast. He cupped her again before coming to the nipple. With thumb and forefinger, he pulled and lightly squeezed. Her moans grew louder and her chest came up, seeking more of his touch. He brought his mouth down her neck, ravaging her flesh along the descent. Clasping her breast, he held her captive while he took the nipple into his mouth and suckled her—soft, then harder, then soft again.

“
Andrew
.” Her deep, but oh so feminine voice cloaked him in desire.

He made love to her breasts in equal measure, using his hands and mouth to taunt and pleasure her. She moved with abandon, and her breathing grew more irregular. He trailed his fingers down her rib cage and glided them over her hip to her thigh. He went slowly to her core, gently stroking her curls and then finding her clitoris, that sweet nub of need that would send her over the edge.

Her legs parted, allowing him easier access, and he was again thrilled and pleased with her fervor, but not surprised. He continued to focus on her breast with his mouth while touching her, softly at first and then with more purpose. She was wet, and he wanted nothing more than to sink into her heat. But he couldn’t do that. This was already far more than they ought to be doing.

He pressed his finger into her, and she gasped. He worked at her clitoris, increasing his pressure and speed until her desperate cries filled the room. Her response only intensified his desire.
 

He left her breast and moved down her body. He pushed her thighs apart and focused on her sex, parting her pink folds and licking her delicious flesh. She bucked up, her fingers threading into his hair.

“What are you
doing
?”

He didn’t think she really required an answer, and he didn’t need any further encouragement. He thrust his tongue into her and stroked her folds, her clitoris. Her hips moved relentlessly as her hands pulled at his head and shoulders. She began to quiver, her muscles jerking. He moved his mouth up to that most sensitive spot and slid his finger into her, filling her again and again until he felt her sheath contract around him.

His cock twitched, desperate to replace his finger. He’d have to find release, and he didn’t think it would take long.

He stroked into her while her orgasm crested, moving more slowly once it subsided. She panted as she lay back, spent, her legs sprawled around him.

“Good Lord, that was a revelation.”

He chuckled at her summarization—so matter-of-fact and yet so full of wonder. That was his Lucy.

His?

He sat back on his calves, and her gaze went directly to the tent his cock had created with the bottom of his shirt.

She licked her lower lip, and his cock twitched again. She was going to kill him.

“What about you?” she asked. “Aren’t you going to…” She used her eyes to indicate what she meant—wasn’t he going to put his cock inside her?

“I want to, but there are…concerns.”

She frowned, her brow furrowing. “Yes. But aren’t there precautions? I want to feel that.
You.
Can we do it just a little?”

She wanted to do it just a little? Hell and damnation, that was going to sorely tempt him, but he’d take a little of Lucy if that was all he could have.

“Are you certain?”

She sat up and put her palms flat on his thighs. Her eyes slitted. “Take off your shirt.”

Lust snaked through him. He tore off the garment and tossed it viciously aside.
 

She stared at his cock. “That’s, ah, impressive.”

“
Lucy
.”

She massaged his heated flesh, her fingertips digging into his hips. “Can I touch it?”

“You can do anything you want to it.”

She gave him a saucy look. “Anything?”

God, she was amazing. “
Almost
anything.”

She slid her hands up his thighs and clasped his hips. “Mmm.”

He worked to keep still lest he thrust toward her. He wanted her so very badly.

“I think I should start up here. You’re so muscular.” She ran her hands up his sides, her fingers splayed. She came up on her knees in front of him, her gaze connected with his. The more she touched him, the harder it was for him to keep his eyes open and not fall completely under her spell.

She kissed his jaw, his neck, his chest, exploring him as she likely did every other facet of her life.
 

“You have no fear, do you?” His question came out raspy and dark, almost broken.