Ducal Encounters 01 - At the Duke's Discretion (25 page)

“Amos!” She stared wide-eyed into his face when he broke the kiss. She was panting, totally abandoned, in desperate need of something that hovered annoyingly just out of her reach.

“It’s getting late,” he said brusquely. “I ought to take you home.”

“Don’t you dare!” Still on his lap, she planted her fists on her bare hips, her breasts bouncing as a result of her abrupt movement. “You can’t leave me like this.”

“Like what, angel?” he asked, a glamorous smile flirting with his lips.

“You would know more about that than I do, which is precisely my difficulty.”

“But I already told you, I will not take your virginity.”

“Well, there must be something else. I am not completely ignorant. I read books, you know.”

“Ah books, that would explain it.”

When his lips quirked she thumped the solid wall of his chest in frustration. “Don’t you dare laugh at me!”

“Books are a very poor substitute.”

“Precisely my point,” she replied with a triumphant smile. “And I need to know what you intend to do about it.”

“Hmm, what indeed?” He flicked his fingers across one of her nipples, almost reluctantly, and she felt the most extreme reaction swirl through her, settling very agreeably in the pit of her belly. “There is something very erotic about having a half-dressed wanton draped over my lap in the open air.”

“Don’t try and pretend the situation doesn’t excite you, my lord, or that it is not one you have experienced before, because I know differently.”

He flexed his brows. “You think I make a habit out of this sort of thing?”

She tossed her head. “I am perfectly sure you do. According to my mother, gentlemen in your position are not inclined to stint on their pleasures.”

“I dare say she’s in a position to know what she talks about,” Amos said, so quietly she barely heard him.

“You are not nearly so in control as you make yourself out to be,” she said, wishing she had not mentioned her mother and risked spoiling the mood. “You are a passionate man, and right now your passions are inflamed.”

Amos’s expression underwent a fractional alteration and, thank the lord, he returned one of his hands to her breasts. “You clearly studied your books well.”

“I do everything well.”

She felt his deep, throaty chuckle vibrate through his chest. “Perhaps a little too well.”

“Thank you,” she replied primly.

Amos groaned. “All right, minx. Let’s see what we can do about your plight. Sit across my lap. Put one knee on either side of my thighs.”

“Are you not going to…er−” She blushed furiously as she pointed to his breeches.

“Absolutely not!”

“Oh.”

She lifted her skirts clear and did what he asked, before he changed his mind, wondering what he could possibly do to her while still fully clothed. The moment she was in position, her bare breasts squashed against his shirt, he slid his arms around her again. He pulled her into another of his bruising kisses. His skilled lips reignited her desire, sending dizzying waves of sensation spiralling through her. It was almost too much for Crista to withstand. Her senses fragmented when one of his hands reached between them and played with a nipple. At the same time, he lifted his hips, thrusting them against her, hard, and held her in position with one strong arm so she was compelled to meet his thrust in her most sensitive spot.

She gasped past their fused lips as rushing, soaring excitement gripped her and the odd sensation in her mid-section intensified, fragmenting her senses.

“Amos!”

She tore her lips from his, unable to get sufficient air into her lungs when he repeated the process. Her skin was slick with dewy perspiration, her heart raced, and her spirits soared. This was what she had waited so long to discover. The feelings that sometimes came to her in the dead of night, keeping her awake with longing, were about to be explored to their ultimate limit. She knew it without needing to have it explained. He watched her intently with a tortured expression as feelings of sharp, tangible need stunned her senses. She rolled her head from side to side, gasping.

“You like that, my fiery little vixen?”

“Yes! Don’t stop. Do it again.”

Amos groaned. She was asking too much of him. His control was not
that
strong. He ought to release himself from the confinement of his breeches and do this properly. There was no reason why he should not. Gentlemen often made free with females from the lower classes, especially when, like her, they were more than willing. But she knew he would not go that far, and her disappointment was intense. She wanted to lay with him, just once. It would be enough for her, and she would make no further demands on him. Perdition, he had chosen a most inconvenient time to be unselfish. She wanted to argue about it but was too lost in an erotic daze to think about anything other than the extraordinary way he made her feel.

The hand playing with her breast squeezed hard, his groin thrust against her with additional force, tugging at her on a level she could not control, and her world imploded. She cried out his name as fire lanced through her veins and exquisite shards of intense sensation flooded her bloodstream. On and on it went, wild and un-coordinated. Crista’s head spun in delirium until the surging tide of pleasure gradually ebbed and she forced her eyes open again.

“Amos,” she said softly, blinking until his features ceased to be blurred by her passion.

He smiled, kissed the end of her nose, and stood up, sweeping her into his arms. Seeming to realise her legs would not support her quite yet, he sat her down again and gently replaced her clothing, almost as though she was a child.

“Thank you.” Aware she ought to be embarrassed, she felt only a deep sense of fulfilment.

“It was entirely my pleasure.”

She laughed. “That is patently not the case. It hardly seems fair. There must be…er, something I can do for you in return.”

“You have done more than you could possibly know,” he said, taking her hand and leading her from the boathouse. “Come, I must take you home before your uncle wonders what has become of you.”

The silence between them as he drove the short distance was very different to the tension that had prevailed when they left Farrington House. Perhaps that was because Crista was a very different person, more mature, more aware. She ran her tongue across her swollen, bruised lips and lifted her face to the breeze in an effort to cool it down.

“Romsey could return as early as tomorrow,” Amos told her when they neared the village. “Are you prepared?”

“Yes, I am ready.”

He was warning her they couldn’t be alone again, Crista supposed. Warning her not to have expectations. As if she would! Her name was not Amelia.

“When he returns we will send someone to the shop. He will ask if Mrs. Willow’s necklace is ready for collection and give you what you need.”

“I know that.”

Amos stopped the curricle just short of the rear entrance to her uncle’s premises and jumped down to help her alight. He could do nothing more than briefly take her hand and caress her with his eyes before he let her go.

For Crista, it would have to be enough to sustain her through the coming days.

Crista managed to slip back into the house without encountering her uncle, for which she was grateful. She was perfectly sure her emotions could not be under close enough guard following her quite remarkable experience beneath Amos’s probing hands and teasing lips. Since she couldn’t seem to stop smiling, even the most disinterested of third parties would notice her capricious mood and remark upon it. Her uncle was far from disinterested in Crista’s welfare, and she had no wish to shock or disappoint the only relation who cared about her wellbeing.

Safely ensconced in her chamber, Crista was at leisure to revel in the liberating feelings of empowerment, femininity, and fulfilment that gripped her. She felt in control, enlightened, ready to face the world. She could even contemplate Reece with comparative composure. She undressed, enjoying the slight soreness in her nipples when she pulled a nightgown over her head and the soft cotton brushed against them. Crista washed her face and hands, brushed the tangles from her hair, quickly braided it, and slid between the sheets.

She fell asleep with images of Amos’s flashing eyes and glamorous smile flooding her brain, and woke feeling rested, restored—ready to face whatever the day threw at her.

“How was your mother?” Uncle Charles asked over the breakfast table.

Crista rolled her eyes. “Nothing is her fault and Amelia is bound to marry one of the Sheridan brothers.”

Uncle Charles’s lips quirked. “Whatever happened to Mr. Devonshire?”

“What indeed?”

“Are you all right, my dear?” Uncle Charles fixed her with a probing gaze. “There is something different about you. Are you worried? Today could well be the day, you know.”

Crista bit her lip, conscious of her face heating, wondering what Uncle Charles had seen in her expression. “Let us hope so,” she replied briskly. “I have had quite enough of Reece dogging my footsteps.”

“Well, come what may, we shall soon see the last of him.”

“Yes,” Crista agreed, putting aside her napkin and standing up. “That is most definitely a cause for rejoicing. Excuse me, Uncle, I ought to start work. I don’t wish to fall behind with our legitimate work.”

“Quite so, my dear. You go on through. I shall be there directly.”

Reece did not look quite so suave as usual when he appeared in the workshop shortly after Crista. His clothing was rumpled, he was unshaven, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. Perhaps the waiting, or having responsibility for the diamonds, was wearing on his nerves.

She busied herself, ignoring Reece, dragging out work on the settings for the vulgar stones that could have been done in half the time she had pretended to take. It was all but complete, simply waiting for word from Lord Romsey so they could put their plan into action, but Reece couldn’t possibly know that. All his attempts at conversation were met with silence, and he eventually gave up trying to engage her attention. Instead, he seated himself at the back of the workshop and disappeared behind a newspaper.

Crista tried not to tense each time she heard the bell ring over the shop’s door. She tried just as hard not to think of her liaison with Amos. Those precious memories must be put aside until she was alone, and at leisure to give them the complete attention they deserved.

Uncle Charles was kept unusually busy with customers. Even so, when the bell sounded again in the early afternoon, she instinctively knew it was the call she had been anticipating. She was not surprised when Uncle Charles came into the workshop and asked if Mrs. Willow’s necklace was ready.

At last!

“Yes, here it is, Uncle,” she replied, reaching beneath the workbench and handing him a box. “I hope it will give satisfaction.”

“I have no doubt it will.”

Crista’s palms were damp as she met her uncle’s gaze and deftly took the fake diamond he passed to her in return for the necklace box. She very much hoped the stone was precisely the right size, in accordance with the dimensions she had passed to Lord Romsey. He had not had much time to make the arrangements, but she supposed when one had the might of the government behind one, most things were possible. She would soon find out. If it did not fit snugly into the appropriate space in the velvet-lined box which Reece carried with him then the plan would not work, and her part in the deception would be exposed.

Keeping the stone tightly snuggled in one fist, Crista wiped her other hand down the outside of her breeches. Reece had picked up his newspaper again once Uncle Charles left the workshop and was showing her no particular attention.

“I must finish the ring for Mr. Stormer,” Uncle Charles said, returning to the workshop and setting himself up on the bench beside Crista. “I promised it for this afternoon.”

“So you did, Uncle.”

Crista spent the next half-hour putting the final touches to the settings, sent her uncle a probing look, and then turned to Reece.

“I am ready for the stones now,” she said coldly.

“Ah, at last.” He stood up, extracted the box from his coat pocket and handed it to her with great ceremony. “Take care with those stones. They are worth a fortune.”

“I know how to handle diamonds.” Crista felt perspiration bathe her body as she opened the box, willing her hands not to shake. Uncle Charles stopped his work and leaned over to admire them. Crista picked up the largest stone, applied her loupe to her eye, and examined it closely. “This, however is not a diamond.”

“I beg your pardon.” Reece sent her a disbelieving glare. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“What do you think, Uncle?”

This was the difficult part. One slip and all would be revealed. Confident Reece was watching her uncle in anticipation of him handling the stone, she passed the fake diamond to him and slipped the real stone inside her shirt. She had a pouch attached inside her chemise for that purpose, the only place she could think of where Reece would not dare to look, even if he did become suspicious. The possibility of his examining her sleeves could not be discounted, hence the need for a more intimate, less obvious, hiding place.

“Good heavens, Crista.” Uncle Charles elevated his bushy eyebrows. “You are absolutely right.”

“What game do you two think you are playing?” Reece demanded to know. “That’s the same stone as I showed you before. You didn’t say anything then.”

“I didn’t handle it then,” Crista replied with commendable calm, given her heart was pounding, and the real diamond was cutting painfully into the side of her breast.

“Diamonds have a sharp bend that light passes directly through, giving them their brilliance,” Uncle Charles explained, holding the fake stone up to the light. “This one does not sparkle because it has less of a bend, even though it has been cut well.”

Reece sneered. “That means nothing.”

“Lend me your newspaper, Mr. Reece,” Crista said. When he handed it to her, she turned the stone upside down and placed it on a sheet of the paper. “If we can read the print through the stone, or even see distorted black smudges, then it probably isn’t a diamond.” Three heads peered down at the stone. “There, you see, I can read the words quite clearly through it.” Crista met Reece’s gaze, trying not to give away quite how much she was enjoying herself. “Someone has swindled you, Mr. Reece. There is no question about it.”