Trapping a Duchess (24 page)

No
, Sophie realized,
not merely outside, but quite alone on a darkened balcony
. Again.

* * * *

“Who do you think you are, ordering him about like that?” Sophie's seething voice cut through the tense silence. “He is not some. . .some servant in your employ.”

Andrew grinned as he faced her. “I thought a bit of protection was needed.”

“I hardly need protection from the marquis,” she said, yanking her gloves off with frustrated jerks of her hand.

“I meant to protect him from you. I know firsthand how difficult you are when your dander is up.” Scowling, she marched down the steps into the small garden below. He was caught up in the mesmerizing sway of her hips for a long moment before he realized she was still walking. “Where are you going?” he called out from behind her, finding great enjoyment in the beauty of her anger. Now that he had come to terms with his desires, not only to have her, but to do so permanently, her reaction was all the more amusing. “Sophie, wait.” She continued across the lawn, ignoring him. He lengthened his stride until he was on her heels. “Sophie, wait,” he repeated.

She whipped around and cracked her hand across his cheek—hard. Ignoring the sharp sting, he grabbed her, forcing her to walk backwards until her back hit the trunk of a tree. “I warned you not to raise your hand to me.”

“Go to hell, Your Grace,” she spat, and a gleam as dark as a murderer's sparked in her eyes.

“Only if I can take you with me,” he said as he lifted her up and tossed her over his shoulder. Though she kicked, punched and wiggled to free herself, he noticed she did not scream. They both knew that if anyone saw them they would be married in a heartbeat.

“Put me down,” she ground out as he strode through the mews, doing his best to stick to the shadows. Ignoring her, he continued on, keeping his eyes and ears open. Parked the next street over was his carriage. He just had to make it there without being seen.

“Damn you, put me down!”

“Is everything okay, Your Grace?” his driver, Jonathan, asked, noting their approach with a curious look.

“Everything is fine,” he said, yanking open the door and tossing Sophie inside. “Just drive.” A moment later, he climbed in and took the seat across from her.

“Let me out. This instant,” she said through clenched teeth. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides.

“No,” he said, settling back into his seat as he watched her fingers clench and unclench. “And before you make another attempt to do me physical harm, know this; you won’t get the first strike in before I knock you on that sweet little ass of yours. Do you understand me?”

Her eyes grew wide and her lips trembled. “I hate you,” she whispered venomously.

“There are times when I almost believe you.” He allowed her a few minutes of fuming silence as the conveyance made a slow exit from the mews. Now that he had her where he wanted her, he had no idea where to begin. Her posture made it all the more difficult. She was glaring daggers at him, her arms wrapped tightly around her body as if she might flail violently otherwise.

Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees. “I apologize—”

“Don’t you dare,” she said with a look frosty enough to freeze lava.

“Look, I don’t know what happened between you and Courtland, but I know it has to do with me. I realize this is difficult for you.”

Tears filled her cerulean eyes. “You know nothing.”

“I know your actions are at odds with your words,” he said in a level voice. “I know that every time I’m in the same room as you I don't know if I want to kiss you or strangle you. I know you are the most damnably stubborn woman I have ever met. And,” he added when she opened her mouth to contradict him, “the most desirable.” Her eyes closed and tears spilled in lines down her cheeks. She wiped them quickly away as he reached forward and took her hands in his. She started, but did not jerk out of his grip. “I also know you have some misbegotten notion about what you want for your future.”

“What I want is for you to leave me alone.”

“Because you’re convinced I am someone I'm not.”

She scoffed. “So you say, Your Grace, yet your actions from the very start have done naught to repudiate my suspicions.”

He gave her an arch look. “I have done nothing you haven’t allowed, nay demanded, in your own stubborn way.”

She colored. “I suppose I'm to blame for the way you treated Lord Courtland.”

“He is ill-suited to be your husband, a fact you would see quite plainly if you were looking through anyone’s eyes but your own.”

“Mine are the only eyes that matter.”

“Marrying him would be a mistake.”

“And who are you to decide for me?”

“Someone who cares about you.”

Leaning close, she studied him through reddened eyes. “If you meant those words, you would turn this carriage around, return me to the ball and never speak to me again.”

“I cannot do that.”

“Why not?” she cried as she yanked her hands from his and tossed them up in the air.

“For reasons I have explained, yet you refuse to comprehend.”

Her mouth gaped. “Comprehend? You shun me from the start, ambush me right after, glare at me, yell at me one minute then seem consumed by. . .whatever. . .the next. I never know what to expect when you're about! Will I be snatched into a private room or tossed over your shoulder for a proper scolding! Tell me, Your Grace, what am I supposed to understand from all of that?”

He dipped his head to hide his smile. “It was rather poorly done of me at times, was it not?”

“There’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Sophie,” he said, taking her hands again, his grip gentle but firm when she tried to pull away. His pressed a tender kiss against her knuckles.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he asked innocently, even as the wolf in him clamored to devour her.

“Stop.”

“Don’t stop?” He tilted his head to one side as he ran his finger along the inside of her hand.

“No,” she said, but she sounded less than convincing. “I mean—”

“Hush,” he said, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist. He heard her breath catch. Leaning forward, he took her lips in a gentle kiss. She responded with a hesitant sweep of her tongue over his. He felt the tentative caress in his groin, his cock bolting to attention like a man jolted from slumber. He rained kisses along her jaw, down her throat until he reached the swell of her breasts. His hands molded them, his fingers searching for her nipples through the layers of her gown.

As before, he wanted more. He inhaled and the scent of her fueled his desire until it would no longer be denied. He wanted her writhing and panting beneath him, needed her begging for release. With a groan, he knelt in front of her, pushing her gown up to her waist. She tunneled her fingers into his hair as she leaned back against the leather squabs. Tugging off her knickers, his fingers found her, warm and wet as he slipped one inside. When she arched back against the seat, he draped her legs over his shoulders and dropped nibbling bites along the inside of her thigh.

“Andrew.” The sweet sound of his name jerked his gaze to hers. He found her staring down at him, a siren whose fire burned hot as his. “How?” she asked, the word dying on her lips as he massaged her slick flesh. He was suddenly frenzied with the need to taste her. Leaning forward, he flicked his tongue over her clitoris, spreading her thighs wide when she moved to close them.

“Oh,” she gasped when he tugged her arse to the edge of the seat.

“Quit fidgeting and lie back,” he said in a gravelly voice. Then he suckled, her bittersweet taste sending his wits spiraling. He ran his tongue through her slit, wholly focused on her moans of pleasure and the feel of her sex against his mouth. He thrust his tongue deep inside, dragging a throaty cry from her that sent blood rushing to his cock. His hands moved up her waist, across her stomach, back down to the sweet spot at the junction of her thighs. Pressing his thumb against her softened flesh, he used his fingers to open her up. With his free hand, he slipped a finger inside her, then followed the movement with his tongue. He flicked it over her and she screamed his name.

The last of his control snapped like a twig.

Straightening, he unbuttoned his trousers. His aching cock sprang free, thick and erect. He pressed the tip of it against her while her body wracked with the last vestiges of orgasm. At her whimper, he paused. He moved to draw back, but tentative fingers wrapped around his rigid shaft. The tender touch brought a tear of pleasure to his tip.

“Please don't stop,” she said, wrapping her hand around him and stroking him guilelessly as she gazed up into his face.

“There is no turning back once we begin,” he said, half praying she would stop him. The other half was urging him on. He marshaled his control. As much as he wanted to bury himself to the hilt inside her, he knew he must be gentle.

“Come inside me,” she said in a voice that brooked no argument. “Now.”

“I just want to be certain. I don’t want to hurt you—”

“Do it,” she demanded, grinding against him. With no further argument, he pushed in. Her greedy, silken flesh pulsed around his, coaxing him until the need to move became overwhelming. He pressed in further, as slow as he could, until he reached the barrier of her maidenhead.

“This will hurt.”

“I don't care,” she said, shifting beneath him. “Please.” The word was a saber slicing through his control. With a single thrust, he broke through her maidenhead.

“Oh!” she cried, fingernails digging painfully into his arms.

He stilled, muscles rigid and shaking as her body clamped around him like a vise. “Sophie?” he asked as he listened to her broken breaths. Beneath him, she squirmed and tried to pull away. He grasped her hips and held them still. “Dammit, stop moving and give it a moment. I promise the pain will ease.” For once, she obeyed. He waited for a sign that she was ready. After a long moment, he felt her body soften and open for him.

“More,” she said, her hands roaming down his back, over his backside.

Torn between being gentle and the overwhelming need to lose himself deep within her, he stuck to long, unhurried strokes. He pulled out until he was almost completely unsheathed, then pushed back in again slowly. With every stroke, he moved deeper. Her tight flesh engulfed him, drew on him deeply as it wrapped around his cock and squeezed. She braced her hands against the back of the seat and ground her hips against his, her movements all the more sensual for their simplicity. With a groan that felt ripped from his throat, he slid his hands underneath her arse, unsheathing himself as he pulled them into the opposite seat, her legs straddling his. It wasn't the most graceful of moves, but he didn't care.

“Take your time,” he said, guiding himself to her entrance.

She took him in slowly, allowing the motion of the carriage to set the pace. Once seated fully within her, she arched back, a broken sigh of pleasure-pain escaping from her lips. He buried himself to the hilt, knowing he must be hurting her, but unable to consider retreat. He needed to fill her completely, to own her in every physical way. He lifted her up. She caught on quickly, years of riding astride obvious in the way she moved. She came down as he thrust up, matching his moderate rhythm with a frantic one of her own. His shuddering release came soon thereafter, and he worked her clitoris to bring her to orgasm.

“Andrew,” she said, writhing against him as she bit down hard on his bottom lip. The taste of blood mingled with the taste of her, a combination erotic and sensual. But it was the sound of her climax that caught his breath. She laid her head on his shoulder, breath hot against his neck as her body shook. Neither spoke for a long moment.

“Christ, Sophie.” He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. She took a long, fractured breath and then giggled. The sound brought a grin of pure, boyish delight to his lips. “How's that for courtship?” he asked without thinking, then instantly regretted the quip.

“This is not a courtship.” The cutting words were whispered against his skin and followed with a soothing kiss.

“Not by society’s standards, but we shall be married nonetheless.”

She stiffened, sending his heart plunging directly into his stomach. “I am not marrying you.”

Furious, he took her by the arms, his grip meant to punish. “The matter is not up for discussion, my lady,” he growled. Pushing off of him quickly, she moved to the other seat before he could think to grab her.

“I agree, it isn’t.” Her voice was calm as she smoothed her gown back into place. “I am not some simpering girl who equates sex with love, Andrew. I wanted this,” she waved her hand between them, “with you, but the act itself changes nothing.”

“You are ruined, god damn it!” he roared, slamming his hand against the side of the carriage. The conveyance slowed.

She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “So I am.”

“Honor demands that I offer for you.”

A look of disgust crossed her face. “Whatever man decided that a woman’s virginity was worth the price of marriage was both arrogant and daft.”

He glared at her.

“You can be angry all you want, but it changes nothing. And if I may, I'd like to offer a bit of advice. When you make your grand proposal to the next lady, leave the word ‘honor’ out of it.”