An American Duchess (10 page)

Miss Gifford lifted her gloved hand and touched his face. He was wrapped in her subtle, rich flowered scent.

She touched his scars. Her fingers skimmed over the ridges, the long deep gouge and the puckered skin.

He flinched, drew back and put up his hand to stop her. “Don’t touch me there.”

Hell, even he didn’t like to touch his scars.

“Why not?” She pursed her full lips, and his heart beat faster. He remembered the warmth of her body against his in the front seat of her car. The way she kissed him had made him forget he was a scarred man just for a little while.

“You won’t believe me, but I think they’re beautiful,” she said. “They are like medals—a testament to your bravery, your goodness. I’m an American. I never believed in the idea of nobility. Now I understand what being noble truly means. It has nothing to do with a title. It’s not even about sacrifice or duty. It’s about a passion for your world, one that runs through your blood. It’s about loving something so deeply you would never put yourself first.”

He was speechless.

“That is who you are, Langford. The way you help Mrs. Billings and care about the farmers and the way you stood up for Isobel and were there for your friend at the end.” Miss Gifford reached up and put her hands on his shoulders.

Desire forked through him like a streak of lightning. Admittedly, that happened every time she touched him. It shouldn’t damn well happen today.

“I’ve realized,” she went on, “that you are the most passionate man I’ve ever known.”

“Miss Gifford, any one of my acquaintances would say I’m the least passionate man—”

“Shows you how little they know,” she interrupted. “I bet you want to kiss me again right now.”

“Yes.” God, he wanted to grasp some of her warmth and hold it against his heart.

“I want to kiss you, Nigel.”

He jerked back. He was always called Langford and before that by his courtesy title. But when she said his Christian name, it made him ache.

“I can’t kiss you right now, Miss Gifford. My friend has just died.”

“You’re in pain. I can’t think of a better reason to give you a kiss.”

Her hand skimmed up the side of his face, and he felt it everywhere. It tugged at his heart, punched him in the gut, sent a pulse to his groin that left his knees weak and his head reeling.

“Do it. Kiss me. I want this. Please. Make me forget.”

He lowered his mouth toward hers, his lips soft, on fire, ready to melt in a kiss. He gripped the struts of the aeroplane’s wing, leaned in the last inch and took her mouth with his.

 8 

SOARING IN AN AEROPLANE

Nigel deepened the kiss, tilting his head, parting his lips, teasing her with his tongue.

Miss Gifford kissed him back, did it hungrily, making him feel as though he was melting slowly from his mouth down. He was burning hot, wanting to lift her up against the plane and make love to her until she screamed in pleasure.

He leaned her back against the side of her aeroplane, and she lay along the curve of the metal body. Bracing his arms on either side of her, he pressed his body to hers. His hips wedged between her legs; his chest crushed her breasts.

He’d fought this for too long.

What would she do? Slap him? Say this was far enough?

No, she lifted one leg and wrapped it around his hip.

She was so beautiful, so filled with life. And more than that—he’d never felt so close to anyone else in his life, not even Mary.

He nuzzled her neck, tasting her delectable skin, breathing in her sensual perfume. She wriggled as he gently nipped her earlobe.

She ran her hands all over his chest and whispered in a throaty voice, “More.”

He kissed to her collarbone, bared because her leather jacket was open and her man’s shirt had the first two buttons undone.

She made him forget he was a duke. She made him forget he was supposed to be as hard as steel, as unyielding as rock, as emotionless as a block of lead.

She made him feel alive.

He admired her bravery, her kindness, and he was dazzled by her sensuality. But he should not do this. He tried to pull back, but her arm was looped around his neck.

He gazed into her violet eyes, unusual and precious, fringed by painted lashes. As a boy, before he’d taken on the responsibility of being a duke, before he’d gone to war, he’d dreamed of traveling the world. Zoe Gifford was like climbing the Himalayas, exploring deepest Africa, charting India. She was a treasure—beautiful, exotic, intriguing, sensual. Making love to her would be an adventure.

But foremost he was a gentleman. He couldn’t forget that. “Miss Gifford, I can’t—”

“Shh...” She put her leather-clad finger to his lips. “Let’s make each other forget.”

She guided his hand to her breast, and he flicked open the next button of her shirt. And encountered straps, cups of a stiff white fabric and the band that ran around her chest below her breasts...along with nothing else but a stretch of smooth, ivory skin to the waistband of her trousers.

How did he get into a brassiere? He had no idea. His heart was slamming in his chest.

Then she broke away from him, and he meant to stop, but she shrugged off her leather aviator jacket and let it fall to the grass by the plane.

She unbuttoned her shirt and let the soft, green cambric fall open. Her lashes fell over her violet eyes in a look that was clearly a dare.

* * *

Zoe caught her breath as Nigel’s clear blue eyes held hers. Would he stay? When he kissed her, she couldn’t think.

She didn’t want to think.

So she surged up and locked her mouth to his.

He bent his head, and she smelled the fresh, clean scent of his hair as it brushed her cheeks. He kissed her neck and she slumped back against the airplane and moaned in real desire. “Beautiful.” His voice was a rough growl. It made her feel tingly and dizzy as if she’d tossed a cocktail back too fast.

His mouth went lower and she held his shoulders—broad, strong shoulders.

His lips lifted in a smile.

His lashes dropped over his eyes, a thick fringe of black. Cupping her bottom, his hand between her and the side of her plane, he drew her to him. She looked up into his eyes. Caught her breath.

Fire burned in his eyes. There was no iciness in him now. She hadn’t melted him. She’d turned him right into steam.

Now she knew. The Duke of Langford, the archly correct gentleman who had been so annoying and disapproving...

Was completely naughty at heart.

She ached so much between her legs. But once she did
this,
there was no going back. She was supposed to be wild. But she had never been this kind of wild.

Then she felt a tug of guilt and disloyalty. Daisy, Billy’s beloved, was tragically dead. She couldn’t bear to think about it. Not about one more person precious to her being gone.

And Langford... Nigel had hung his head and she saw him fighting tears. The man who showed nothing, who held in all emotion, was struggling against pain too great to hold in. They both hurt so badly. They both needed this.

She was never going to love anyone the way she’d loved Richmond. But she didn’t want to live her whole life as a virgin. She wanted to fly.

“Get in the cockpit,” she whispered.

“I cannot fly the—”

“That’s not what I have in mind. And undo your trousers when you get in there.”

Her heart thrummed like the drum in a jazz band. She watched the duke put his foot on the wing and swing into the seat of the cockpit. Before he sat down, he undid his trousers and pushed them down to his knees. Revealing his long, muscled legs and drawers that clung to lean hips. Holding her gaze, he pushed those down, too.

Grasp life,
a voice in her brain urged.
Now.

He was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. She’d never wanted anyone like this. As if she were going to fly into pieces if she didn’t press herself tight to him and feel his arms around her.

When she took a risk, she did it fast. She got up on the wing and into the tight space of the seat with Nigel, facing him. He drew her on top of him.

Her hands splayed on his hard, broad chest and he pulled her forward to kiss her deeply. His mouth was hot, commanding. She fell into his kiss as if she were in a spin and couldn’t pull out.

She undid the fastenings of
her
trousers and tried to tug them down. “Rest your knee on mine,” he directed. When she did, he helped her draw her trousers down.

She managed to get them to her ankles. Then Nigel eased them off, along with her boots, first one leg and then the other. All the while he looked at her with fierce, intense desire.

She was used to feeling fear along with a sharp tug of excitement. Any pilot was. She’d just never really felt it with a man before. But she felt it all the time with Nigel. Not just when they had swum naked in Brideswell’s lake or when they’d kissed in her car. She felt it whenever they were in the same room.

She’d also planned to be confident the very first time she made love. But now she was trembling.

Her breath left her when he lifted her gently. She balanced above him, knowing what he wanted.

She closed her eyes and sank down on him.

Sophisticated girls had warned her there was pain—she hadn’t believed it. Not really. They’d said it was worth it.

God, was it?

But then all the pleasure of his hands caressing her made the pain go away. Now she knew—this felt perfect. The heat of the sun engulfed her, and Langford was boiling hot beneath her. This was decadent.

It was everything she wanted.

Then something happened inside her. She felt hotter, tenser. All coiled up. Her hands fisted and hit his shoulders. Desperate, throaty moans came from her. Then all her nerves burst like fireworks, and she gave a wild sob, hit his back and surrendered to something thrilling and sweet and wonderful.

* * *

His chest felt like a vise. Nigel was dazzled. On fire.

Miss Gifford collapsed on him, gasping softly.

He loved having her touch him, having her pressed against him. He savored the pressure of her hands. The weight of her rounded bottom on his thighs. The heat of her breath on his skin.

He was in the tight padded seat in the cramped cockpit of an aeroplane with a wild, tempting, gorgeous woman who was turning his brains into pudding.

He had been damned nervous, making love to her.

Miss Gifford was modern. Bold. She would have expectations. And when it came down to it, what the hell did he know about sex? His father had sent him to a courtesan to lose his virginity. Since it was bad form to relieve oneself with one’s hand, regular visits to a mistress were encouraged. They were willing and entertaining. But he wanted a hell of a lot more with Miss Gifford.

He had wanted to please her.

They were mad about that in America—the belief that women could enjoy sexual relations, too. Women expected it. But more than that, he’d wanted to make love to her knowing she was having fun, too.

But he couldn’t hold on anymore. It was as if a white light exploded in his head. Pleasure hit him in one huge bolt of wild sensation and he gave in to it. Then he bent to kiss the top of her head.

Belatedly, Nigel took a look around. They were still alone in the field, thank God.

She straightened. Her cheeks were pink, her bobbed hair tangled around her. He couldn’t think what to say, so he kissed her.

Then she drew back. He shifted her so they were apart and he gazed into her glowing violet eyes. This was a precious moment. He’d never felt so connected to a woman.

She confounded him in every way, but fascinated him so much he could not get enough of her.

A dog barked and Nigel heard voices—voices of men who worked on his estate calling to each other.

With lightning speed he lifted Miss Gifford off his lap, drew her knickers back up, then her trousers. In battle, he’d learned quick reflexes. They had to preserve her reputation. “There’s someone coming,” he murmured. “We’ve got to get dressed.”

The crunching of grass and bracken sounded louder.

She hurried with the fastenings of her trousers. “You must hide. There’s no time for you to do up your trousers. Duck down.”

She fastened her jacket with her brassiere still undone, smoothed her trousers, and she pulled her pilot’s helmet and goggles on over her disheveled hair. She put on an innocent expression.

Nothing fazed her. Most girls of his acquaintance would be blithering wrecks right now. Not Miss Gifford. Coolly, she swung out of the cockpit and onto the wing of the plane.

The voices and footsteps grew louder and Nigel ducked down.

Dukes did not hide. But for her sake, he had to. This was one time he could not stand on pride.

Miss Gifford waved and nonchalantly called, “Good afternoon.”

The men returned her greeting, and a few minutes later, the men and the dogs were gone, having noticed nothing amiss.

Relieved, Nigel stood and pulled up his linens and his trousers. He got out of the cockpit, jumping to the ground. As he did, she crouched down on the wing, grabbed one of the struts, leaned over and put her lips against his.

He released her after a breathless moment. “You are beautiful.”

It was not enough. Not enough to explain the tug in his heart as he looked at her.

“Thank you.” Her lashes dipped over her eyes. “I never dreamed it felt like that,” she said huskily. “Now I know why people talk of nothing but sex. When it hurt, I thought—goodness, why do people do this? But then—it was glorious.”

She spoke breathily, and her eyes opened wide, glowing with wicked delight. “You know, at first I was too shy to look at you while we were doing it. But now it’s all I want to do forever.”

It was dangerous, but Nigel was getting aroused again. Perhaps they could do it again, here, propped against the side of the—

Then his wits clicked back in and he realized what she had just said. It had hurt her. She didn’t have experience. Despite having been so bold, despite having acted so cool and collected when they were almost caught, she’d been...

A virgin.

Bloody, bloody hell.

He had assumed... He had thought... She was so open and confident and daring, he had made a hell of a wrong assumption. “Miss Gifford, there is something I must do—”

She put her finger over his lips. “You have to call me Zoe now. And you must get out of here while the getting’s good. Almost getting caught was
exhilarating
—but I want to go flying now.”

“Zoe, no. You must hear me out.”

She jumped into the cockpit in one smooth motion. “I don’t want to talk right now. I’m desperate to fly.”

His words of protest were drowned by the sputter of the engine as she started it. She mouthed something at him, then gave him a signal where she stuck her thumb up in the air.

Nigel had no choice but to back away from the aeroplane and let her fly away.