Duke of Darkness (26 page)

“Oh, no, my wicked duke. Tonight I touch you.”

She hardly recognized her voice, the words low and rasping, erotic and sensual. Did he feel the sudden charge of power, the innate promise of ecstasy that laced each syllable and bound them tight?

His body was magnificent. The vision of him chopping wood flittered through her memory, the line of his back and the motion of his muscles as he wielded the axe. She circled him, anxious to explore every contour. She ran her fingers across his shoulder blades, down his sides, over his ribs in pleasurable exploration. His sharp intake of breath emboldened her effort and her fingers traced a line around his waist, so very close to the edge of his trousers. He exhaled, and eyed her over his shoulder. An ebony lock of hair fell against his brow with the sudden shift of position. How she enjoyed herself now, the power at her fingertips, the ability to make Devlin tense and taut with desire, straining to remain still. She did not miss it when he fisted his hands at his sides.

She had come full circle. Her eyes gazed into his, blue to black, woman to man, and she placed her palms against his chest, the rapid beat of his heart quickening her own. She leaned in to offer a tender kiss that turned deep and inviting, and an involuntary shiver passed through her as his hands came up to hold her head. She pushed them away, so enjoying the game, and kissed him more fully, her tongue licking into his mouth as she pressed herself against him, the thin silk of her chemise hardly a barrier to the peaks of her breasts rubbing against his chest. She’d backed him to the wall and his breath came as hard as hers. He fisted a hand in her chemise to draw her closer and she feared he might tear it away, but she was too far gone to register anything besides the heat of his skin against her.

She turned her cheek to his chest, and pressed kisses, hot and soft, and then in a lesson taken from his torture, she nipped him. He groaned and the vibration against her breasts emboldened her still.

She glided her fingers to the fasteners at the top of his pants, and released each button, slowly, while she kissed him, touched him. He murmured some word of frustration and she smiled against his skin.

She reached his small clothes and ran her palm down the front in a bold move. He caught her at the wrist, his firm grasp meant to still her, and when she raised her eyes to his, his eyes searched her face, his expression unreadable.

A flicker of doubt bloomed in her heart and she lowered her gaze to his chest, suddenly unsure. “Am I hurting you?” She whispered it against his skin, afraid of his answer.

“Hurting me?” he rasped. “Your delicious little hands will be the death of me.” He drew several measured breaths before he continued. “Are you sure this is what you want?’

“With all my heart.” She went up on tiptoe and pressed a resolute kiss to his mouth before going down on her knees before him. Perhaps he did not expect it because he jerked forward, his body rigid, his fingers threaded through her hair. She ran her hands down the sides of his legs and around to his backside to relax him as she slid his small clothes away.

She’d seen the male form before, but nothing prepared her for the complete fascination of Devlin aroused. Her tentative fingers wrapped around his hard, smooth flesh. He jerked forward. Her eyes flew upward.

Then he sank his fingers into her hair and let out an intimate growl that encouraged her to explore, to slide her hand against him and feel the complete strength held in her palm. He was velvety smooth and incredibly hot; and when her finger caught on the tip of him, and coasted over the drop of moisture there, she glanced up to him with all the love in her heart.

His head was thrown back against the wall, his muscles tensed and his arms braced. She waited not another breath and lowered her mouth upon him.

“Oh God, Lexi …” The sound came from somewhere deep and it didn’t sound like his voice, fraught with emotion. His fingers tightened in her hair, the sensation causing her body to tremor.

She drew on his flesh and he shuddered, but she was equally affected. Her wet mouth on his smooth hot skin caused the slow burn of desire to ignite and surge within. She revelled in the intimacy of the act, and rubbed her tongue along his length to suck more steadily and stoke the fire consuming her core with heat. His body met her motion and she held fast, one hand at the base of him, the other laid against his hip. Her lips encased his sex with each stroke and she thrilled in the way he seized as she rose to the tip, his forceful exhale as she slid her mouth slowly down his length. It was incredibly intimate, and she believed her heart might break from the pure joy of it.

“Lexi …” One word, a plea more than anything else, as his hands found her shoulders. She released him and his fingers cupped her chin.

“Am I not doing it right?” It was as if everything depended on his answer.

“It is so right, I could die from it.” He pulled her up and she allowed it, his mouth eager to plunder hers, hot and fervent, and intertwine her tongue in a dance that gave as much as it took.

They found their way to the bed, although she could never tell how, their kissing, touching, stroking caresses urgent, almost frantic, as if neither of them could get close enough or feel enough.

He fell back upon the mattress and took her with him, her body against his. She rose up to straddle him, the heat of her thighs encasing the sides of his body. She removed her chemise in one smooth movement so no clothing remained.

His eyes matched hers in a reverent caress. Then slowly, his gaze travelled her body, down her neck, across her breasts, lower still. He reached forward and flicked a finger against one of her earrings. “This is my favourite outfit.” And then he chuckled, and the rumble of his laughter vibrated inside her core.

Another breath, and all humour evaporated. She leaned forward and the tips of her breasts grazed over his chest in a sensual pattern of love play. His hands found her waist and lifted her forward with no effort, each peak in turn to his mouth. He tasted her, licked and feasted, until he turned her, his body encasing hers, his arousal rubbing intimately against the flat of her belly before he slid to her side.

He captured her lips in another deep kiss and his tongue thrust into her mouth with the same insistence of his fingers as they glided between the folds of her sex, her wet slick skin welcoming him. She yearned for release, the tight coil of desire that had built since they’d danced now demanded relief. He rubbed her expertly, little circles of ecstasy, the way he knew she liked it and she told him so, as he stroked her, his fingertip pressed against her peak in exquisite pleasure. Her body quivered in answer and she whimpered, restless on the bed sheets, and anxious for what he offered. He dipped a finger inside her, the movement slow and careful as if she’d break with the action and she raised her hips in rebellion, unsure of what she wanted but desperate just the same. He pressed his finger deeper, two fingers, sliding into her tightness and the sweet rhythm increased each time he pushed her further. Her muscles contracted, pulling with each caress, sheathing his fingers, sliding, rubbing, and she watched him watch her with eyes barely open, just enough to see him above her, touching her. Her eyes held his, this man before her that could open her and touch her and make her feel that nothing mattered except the two of them together in each other’s arms.

And then all thought was gone. With the flick of his fingertip her world unravelled, leaving only sensations of sheer bliss. She arched with pleasure, his name a breathless sigh in a voice she barely recognized as her own, as if she drifted above the clouds and gradually returned to earth on waves of sensual delight.

She rolled towards him, seeking warmth in his embrace, her trembling body caressed against his arousal, solid and heavy against her skin. She folded her hand around his length and gently brought his sex against her own, but Devlin pulled back. Her eyes shot to his in question.

“There is no returning from that act. There is no undoing.”

He murmured the words, barely, but she heard them nonetheless and his reluctance cut to her heart. He considered her temporary. Still she pushed the thought away, too conflicted to consider it, determined to give him all the emotion in her heart.

She closed her fingers and demanded his attention in a dominant grasp. He was gloriously hard and hot and ready; and she stroked him as if he was hers to conquer, and there was no world or words beyond the bed. She watched as his body grew tight with increasing need in response to each rhythmic stroke of her palm. She ravished his mouth with a kiss meant to push him further, her tongue thrusting inside, insisting he return the parry. Meanwhile her fingers urged him to find release. She worked him to the point of intensity and revelled in it, as his body pulsed one last time. He shook with ferocity, a primal groan on his lips. Then he pulled her atop of him, his arm wrapped tight around her waist, and he spilled himself against her skin and took her with him over the edge.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

They walked in the garden in need of fresh air after a competitive game of chess held them hostage for much of the afternoon. Sunlight danced in shadow and light as Alexandra moved along the trellis-lined path, the subtle hum of a dragonfly or the insistent bumble an occasional visitor. Most of the blooms had begun to fade, but with spontaneous determination, a primrose or clematis flower dotted the walkway in vivid brilliance.

When they began down the slates, she hid a confident smile at Devlin’s mutterings in review of the moves he should have played differently, but now the disconsolate silence led her thoughts in a new direction. King ambled beside them and Just Henry ran ahead as they rounded the garden fountain. She moved to a marble bench, impatient and uneasy with the stilted silence.

They hadn’t spoken about the night before, neither one of them anxious to bring the subject to bear and she refused to ponder the result of their intimacy in a negative light. They’d stayed in bed until morning, kissing and caressing, but when the sun rose, Devlin returned to his rooms, his emotions again locked away, as detached from himself as the reality of their evening.

Tillie’s ramblings proved a welcome respite while Alexandra completed her morning absolutions and then the busyness of the day prevented her from speaking to Devlin in private. During their chess game they teased and talked, but afterward they pushed ahead, and pretended there wasn’t a chasm of unanswered emotion lying at their feet.

Now he stood beside the bench and she could no longer bite her tongue. “I received a letter from my father. Addington convinced him our match would not suit. He sent me his blessing and a wish to visit with Lady Bisket.” She smiled at the tomfoolery of posing Cook as her chaperone. Only Devlin could invent such a ridiculous solution and succeed.

“I see. So we’ve heard the last from Sir Henry? I can’t say I will miss him.” He offered her a sideways glance and she returned the favour, although her lips quivered with uncontrolled emotion.

“I may travel to Brentwood. I hope Cook is able to take the trip.” She baited him in an attempt to forge her way into the conversation she wished to have.

“I am sure she will do you the favour. She cares very much for your happiness, as do all my staff.”

Alexandra glanced in his direction and her heart fell into her stomach. He stared into the fountain, his eyes cold and emotionless.

“You’ve surrounded yourself with very fine people. They not only care about you, but look after you as much as any good family would. And Phineas and Julia, they wish to see you happy. Settled. Perhaps even in love.” Her awkward statements, riddled with carefully chosen words and unsaid emotions, worked to lead her to the topic that plagued her. She made a show of rearranging her skirts and pretended she did not notice how he turned, his interest piqued, his concentration focused.

“I suppose so. Yet one never knows what will cause a man to fall in love. Or a woman, for that matter.”

He raked his fingers through his hair and exhaled in a way that revealed his confusion, perhaps conflicted over the choices of the past and the challenges of the present. She pressed, treading with caution, in hope the right words would force him to understand.

“I agree. When I dreamed of falling in love, I never imagined it would include a shaggy disobedient sheepdog and his reckless, argumentative master.”

He whirled to face her, one dark brow arched high. “Argumentative, you say? I am not.”

“Yes, you are. You are arguing with me right now. That proves my point. Anyone who argues about being labelled argumentative is indeed an argumentative person.” A little giggle escaped and she relaxed the smallest bit. Henry yipped as if to confirm her conclusion. The little dog just returned from his jaunt, jumped hopelessly at the fountain’s edge, not tall enough to reach the water. King lumbered to the edge and stuck his face in for a few laps before he returned to his nap in the grass.

Alexandra picked up Henry and lowered him over the fountain wall for a drink. “Silly dog, we can’t always have what we want, can we?” She hadn’t expected an answer and Devlin’s definitive voice startled her. Her hand stalled as she rubbed behind Henry’s ears.

“No, we can’t, Alexandra. We truly can’t.”

In the course of a heartbeat, everything changed, or perhaps, she’d finally scratched the scab off the topic that meant to be discussed. She just never expected it to hurt so much. She placed Henry on the ground and walked to Devlin. Tears welled in her eyes as she reached his side.

“I don’t understand you. I can’t understand you, no matter how I try. You said you were going to court me?” She drew a fortifying breath and searched his steely gaze, desperate for the true meaning behind his stubbornness.

Tension squared his shoulders and the muscles in his jaw jerked as if her question provoked an invisible battle within him, one of decisions and regrets. When he spoke, his voice was calm and emotionless.

“We have been through this before. I have no choice in the matter. If I court you, I want you. I can’t keep my hands from you. Your future should not include my broken life. Hasselby’s ball proved my point.” He warmed to the argument and paced the length of the slate patio, his words punctuated by the motions of his hands. “We put on a great show, didn’t we? Dancing every dance, ignoring their scorn, but that was one night. And we did not stay to hear the backlash. I can only imagine what is repeated and exaggerated concerning our display on the dance floor. How foolish and short-sighted on my part. Not at all in keeping with finding you a husband. I’m sure they talk still … the disturbed guardian and his naïve ward.”