Falling Into Bed with a Duke (Hellions of Havisham) (12 page)

He could stand here all night just looking at her lying there. He wished he could capture all her true shades. The paleness of her skin, the rich auburn of her hair. The way the shadows caressed her as he longed to. The way the light revealed her as she deserved to be seen.

But only by him. He wanted no one else to see her as he had been given the chance to view her. He would never share with another soul the fine lines of her legs, the curve of her backside, the slope of her hip, the birthmark. No one else would ever know her as he did at this moment.

He stepped away from the camera. “You can relax. It’s done.”

She came up on an elbow, and he couldn’t help thinking that there was the opportunity for another remarkable photograph—if only she’d remove the mask. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“It’s the latest model. Quiet as a whisper,” he lied. She wouldn’t understand his motives for not taking the photo. He wasn’t quite certain he understood them himself.

She began shoving herself up farther.

“Hold,” he commanded.

She froze, and even the loathsome mask of silk and feathers couldn’t hide the surprise in her eyes.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he said.

M
INERVA fought for calm as one of his knees landed between her calves. Then the other. His hands came to rest on either side of her body, supporting him, his length barely touching her as he prowled toward her until his face was directly over hers. That was all she could see. His shadowed jaw, the intensity of his gaze, the hard line of his lips, parted ever so slightly. She couldn’t see her reflection in the mirror above, couldn’t see the looking glass at all. Her vision had narrowed down to only him.

To this man who made her feel things she’d thought herself incapable of feeling. To this man who could make her feel appreciated while at the same time bringing home what she might have possessed if she were the sort of woman a man could fall in love with. To know what it might have felt like . . . to have known only the hollow shell of it . . . well, it was better than having never known, better than nothing at all.

He lowered his mouth, claiming hers, keeping himself suspended so that all she felt was a light brush of his chest against her breasts. Her nipples puckered painfully, strained against the cloth. She wanted to press him to her. Instead, she buried her fingers in his thick dark hair as he plundered. Surrender was such sweet victory.

To be desired like this was heady beyond all imagining. All her reservations regarding coming here drifted away. He was no longer a stranger. She knew he smelled of sandalwood. Knew the rasp of his bristly jaw against her chin in the hours just past midnight when he’d gone so long without shaving. She knew the deep rumble of his laugh, the way he could make her skin tingle with awareness with only his gaze focused on her as he stood a few feet away from her. She knew he marveled at beauty and wanted to capture it. When she was with him, she knew what it was to have a man’s undivided attention.

He lifted his mouth from hers. “Remove the mask.”

The request was a whisper, dark and full of promises. But she couldn’t risk the spell being broken. “No.”

He pressed his lips to the underside of her chin. How could the skin there be so sensitive?

“In that case, I won’t take your maidenhead, but I will gift you with pleasure as a means to express my appreciation to you for posing for me.”

He trailed his hot mouth down her throat, over her collarbone, then along the fall of silk that led to the swells of her breasts. Giving her a heavy-lidded, sensual gaze that caused her toes to curl, he smiled as though he fully understood how easily he could unravel her. Over the silk, he closed his mouth around her turgid nipple, lathing his tongue over it, dampening the cloth, causing sensations of pure delight to cascade through her. Then he caught the tiny peak between his teeth, and with the gentlest of bites, he had her hips coming up off the bed, reaching for him, searching for the hard ridge straining against his trousers.

“Not yet,” he insisted. “Not yet.”

Slowly, provocatively he glided down her body, providing only enough pressure to drive her mad, to alert her that she needed more, that release was dependent upon more. Finally, standing at the foot of the bed, he wrapped his arms around her hips and dragged her to the edge of the mattress. He lowered himself. “Now, you’ll learn what happens when I’m on my knees.”

His gaze holding hers, he placed her legs over his shoulders, eased the silk up until he bared what she had always kept most private. She gave no thought at all to objecting. When a man looked at woman as though she were his moon and stars, how could she protest? When a man’s eyes promised pleasure beyond her wildest dreams—

Turning his head, he pressed a featherlike kiss to the inside of one thigh, just above her knee. It felt so marvelous, so debauched. He gave attention to the other thigh, only a little higher up. This time, his tongue created a little circle of dew on her skin. An incredible sensation of wonder traveled from her tightening breasts to her curling toes. Back and forth he went, like someone climbing a ladder, taking her to heaven. When he reached the top, the juncture between leg and body, he locked his smoldering gaze onto hers. He held it for a heartbeat, two.

Then he lowered his mouth to the heart of her womanhood. Oh, dear Lord. Looking up at the mirror’s reflection, she saw herself spread before him like some feast, his dark head nestled between her thighs, his fingers pressing into her hips as he took and gave and caused the most exquisite intense sensations to course through her. It was all so decadent, all so magnificent.

His tongue swirled, his teeth nipped at her bud as they had her nipple. The heat of him scored her even as it delighted. He suckled, bit, laved, and applied pressure when she needed it, where she needed it. As though he were one with her, as though he could feel what she felt. But he could not possibly be feeling this. She didn’t know how anyone survived feeling this.

Pleasure coiled inside her, coiled so tightly that she thought she would break. And then she did. She shattered into shards of pleasure so rich, so remarkable that she thought surely this was death. Her cries echoed around her, her back arched, her body trembled. Breathing harshly, she was barely aware of him sliding up the bed, taking her in his arms, turning her into his chest, holding her tightly while her world slowly came back together.

“If we’re going to continue with this,” he said after a time, “the feathers need to go. They tickle my nose.”

With a soft laugh, she pushed herself up, took in the sight of him sprawled over the bed like some giant lazy cat. Reaching up, he wrapped strands of her silken hair around his finger, studied them. Could the shade give her away? It wasn’t uncommon. It was just hair.

“I want you to pose for me again.”

“Now?”

Releasing his hold on her hair, he shoved himself off the bed. “No, another night.”

Rebuttoning his shirt as he went, he walked to the sofa. There he slipped on his waistcoat, secured its buttons. He draped the strip of linen around his neck and began the process of creating an intricate knot.

Sliding from the bed, she padded over and brushed his hands aside. “I’ll do it.”

“An untouched woman skilled in tying a gentleman’s neckcloth?”

“I’m not certain I still qualify as untouched,” she said, finding it difficult to concentrate on her task with his nearness, his scent overwhelming her. “But I have a brother who is constantly in need of tidying.”

“How many brothers do you have?”

Without considering consequences, she’d spoken to a man with whom she felt incredibly comfortable. Danger rested with that thought. She had to be so careful not to give him too many clues regarding her identity. Her reputation, her family’s could be ruined. “Only one worth mentioning at the moment.”

Cradling her cheek, he tilted her face up. “You’ll trust me with your body but not your identity.”

“I dared to come here because I believed it could remain a secret.”

“Nothing ever remains a secret forever.”

Her chest tightened with the thought of how disappointed her parents would be if they ever learned she’d come here. How mortified she would be by the public acknowledgment of her desperation. She was half sister to a duke. She wouldn’t embarrass him for the world. “This must,” she stated with finality, touching her fingers to the secured knot at his throat to press home her point.

“I want you . . . desperately. But I want all of you revealed.” Turning away, he snatched up his jacket, drew it on. “You’ll find me here tomorrow night if you’ve any interest in taking things between us further. But the mask comes off.”

“I don’t—”

He pressed his finger to her lips. “Don’t answer now. Sleep on it. Then tomorrow night, at the witching hour, with either your presence or your absence I’ll have your answer.”

The remainder of tonight to think on it, to dream of it. “Well, then, we shall see.”

“So we shall. I’ll have my driver return you to your residence.”

He knew she wasn’t being taken to her residence, but she couldn’t let on that she was cross with him because it was Minerva he’d claimed to see at the Dragons that night, not Lady V. Dear God, but keeping the two of them separate was going to prove challenging. But after tonight, she thought it might well be worth it.

A
SHE stood in the street and watched as his carriage carted her away to the Twin Dragons. He considered grabbing a hansom and arriving there shortly after her. She once again wore green. He would find the gown and the woman inside it. If she were Miss Minerva Dodger, he’d have his answer. If she weren’t, he’d know who she was. In either case, he could prolong their time together. She intrigued him. He wanted her to return here, for them to finish what they had begun.

Would she hate him for uncovering the truth of her? That was a possibility. And so he remained where he was.

Chapter 10

L
ATE the following morning, Ashe was sitting at his breakfast table reading the
Times
when Edward wandered in looking like death warmed over in spite of the fact that he was properly dressed. His eyes were sunken, his pallor a bit gray.

“I need some black coffee,” he muttered as he dropped into a chair.

A footman neared with a silver pot in hand and filled the cup at Edward’s place.

“Bring me some toast,” Edward ordered before looking at Ashe. “That’s about all I can handle this morning.”

“Too much drinking last night?” Ashe asked.

Edward brought the cup to his mouth, inhaled the dark aroma, sipped. “Among other things. So who was the white swan?”

Ashe came alert. “Pardon?”

“I arrived at the Nightingale just as you were fairly dragging a lady up the stairs. White silk, white mask. You seemed quite possessive of her. Or were you merely obsessed?”

Damnation. In his haste to be with her, he’d nearly forgotten that other men would be watching, other men might want a chance at her. They wouldn’t force her, but they might attempt to entice her. “Believe it or not, I don’t know who she is.” He suspected, but he couldn’t say with complete certainty. And in either case, she wanted no one to know, and he was going to honor that request.

“That’s not like you. You can usually charm the mask right off them.”

When they were younger, they had often boasted of their conquests, but Ashe had no need of doing that now. He had his own secrets when it came to the Nightingale. “The lady isn’t the first unwilling to share her identity.”

“It’s rather unsporting of them, though, when they take that stand. I like to know whose wife I’m bedding.”

“As you are well aware, and we’ve previously discussed, not all the women there are wives.”

Edward perked up, his interest obvious. “Is your swan not?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Widow or spinster?”

“Again, I wouldn’t know.”

“Wild beneath the covers, or does she just lie there?”

Wild. Unfettered. He’d ached to be inside her when she became lost in the throes of rapture, imagined her muscles undulating around him, sucking him dry. “None of your concern.”

“Aren’t you protective? Seems odd to care if you don’t know who she is.”

“Women go there expecting the gents to hold their tongues. I merely adhere to the unwritten rule.”

“Is she adventuresome?”

“I’m not discussing her or our time together.”

“Maybe you failed at it. Maybe you couldn’t get it up.”

Took him a good half hour after she left to get it down. “Why the interest?”

“I was wondering if maybe I should keep an eye out for her, maybe seek to have a turn with her.”

Ashe was aware of the newspaper crumpling in his hands. “If you so much as get within three feet of her, I shall lay you flat.”

Edward arched a brow. “Sounds as though she’s special indeed. I don’t recall your ever being so possessive.”

He never had been before. He didn’t know why he was now. Perhaps because he had yet to experience her completely, hadn’t yet ridden her, been enveloped by the heat of her womanly warmth. Shaking out his paper, Ashe wanted to get them off the discussion of Lady V. “I’m letting the lease on this residence go.”

“What? Wait. Whatever for?”

“It’s ridiculous to spend money on this place when my parents’ residence sits unused.” It was the last place he’d seen his parents. He’d visited there only once since reaching his majority. The walls still echoed his screams. But he could no longer afford indulging in excess expenditures. “I’ll be moving out within the next few days. If you want to see about taking over the lease, you’re welcome to purchase whatever furniture I have on hand here.” His furnishing a second residence, in hindsight, had not been a wise use of funds, but he’d had such high hopes that his investments would at least triple his initial outlay.

“My brother provides me with a generous allowance but not that generous. And his devil of a wife is advocating that he become stingy. Still, I could probably spring for the lease.” He glanced around. “It is a rather nice place. Could I arrange to buy the furniture over time?”

Ashe turned his attention to the article he was reading. “Why don’t you determine which pieces you’d really like to have, and I’ll sell the rest elsewhere?”

“Is everything all right?”

“Couldn’t be better.”

“Ashe.”

He lowered his paper to see Edward’s earnest gaze focused on him. For all the adventures, good-natured bickering, and jolly times they’d shared, they’d also been family from the moment they’d been deposited at the Marquess of Marsden’s estate. While it was extremely difficult and mortifying to admit, he forced out the words. “I may have mucked up my coffers.”

“Speak to Grey or even Locke. They’re flush. I’m sure they could see their way clear to help you.”

“I’m not going to take money from them.”

“A loan. You can pay them back at your leisure.”

“Nothing damages a friendship more than borrowing from a friend. Besides, I got myself into this without help. I can get myself out.”

“How are you going to manage that?”

“I’m going to marry.”

M
INERVA arrived at Grace’s shortly after breakfast. After greeting her half brother, she asked Grace to take a turn about the garden with her. Lovingdon merely smiled at her. “You ladies and your secrets.” Then he returned his attention to whatever business was cluttering his desk.

Waiting until they were near the roses, Minerva confessed in a low voice, “I may have done something very foolish.”

“Oh dear God.” Taking her arm, Grace pulled her behind a trellis and studied her as though her actions were imprinted on her forehead. “Tell me.”

Minerva took a deep breath. “I gave Ashebury leave to photograph my bare ankles.”

“You bared your ankles to him?” Grace asked, doubt in her voice as though she’d misheard.

Minerva nodded. “And maybe my calves.”

Grace’s eyes widened considerably. “You’re not sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. So yes, my calves definitely.” She grimaced. “My thighs. The very edge of my bum.”

“Minerva, are you mad?” Grace whispered harshly. “You allowed him to photograph these things? How did this even come about?”

“I returned to the Nightingale last night.”

Grace gave her a pointed look. “So he was the one, that first night.”

Minerva sighed. “He was. And he likes—” She shook her head. “I’m not supposed to talk about what happens there.”

“You know your secrets are safe with me.”

“Yes, but these are his.”

Grace looked up at the sky, the trees, as though searching for patience. “I’ll hold his as well.”

He might never forgive her if he found out that she had told someone. On the other hand, she wasn’t the first he’d taken to a room, so other ladies knew. She trusted Grace with her life, with all her secrets. “He likes to take photographs of ladies who join him in a bedchamber.”

Grace’s mouth opened. She snapped it shut. Her brows furrowed. “That seems lewd and unseemly.”

“I thought so, too, the first night. I didn’t do it then, but when I saw his photographs from Africa . . . I couldn’t stop thinking about them. They weren’t like the photographs we had taken when we were children and just stood there. Last night . . . Oh, Grace, he took such care, was so respectful. I could see in his eyes, the concentration on his face that it was so important to him. And he assured me I was tastefully displayed.”

“Tastefully displayed? I’m not certain that’s very reassuring as I’m not sure how one who is bared can be displayed tastefully.”

“There were shadows, so many shadows that I felt . . . well, almost covered. If anyone were to see the photograph, they wouldn’t know it was me.”

“Are you certain?”

“I was masked. Although I do have a little birthmark. I thought nothing of it at the time, but now—I don’t think he’ll show anyone.”

“Who all knows about the birthmark?”

“My mother certainly. My father probably. There is a slight chance that my brothers might know, but unlikely. I can remember us bathing together as children, but they wouldn’t have noticed. Surely.”

“But still. Where is he planning to display these things?”

“He’s not. They are only for him. That’s not my concern.”

Grace took her hands, squeezed them in reassurance. “Then what is?”

“I think he suspects I might be Lady V.”

Grace blinked, frowned. “Who is Lady V?”

Minerva’s bark of laughter echoed around them. “Um, that would be me. I had to give him some name that first night so I thought Lady Virgin.”

Grace smiled. “Lady Virgin? Truly? Minerva, you are too bold by half.”

“Not so bold. I’m still a virgin.” She laced her fingers together, squeezed them. “He’s offered to deflower me tonight.”

Grace’s smile withered, and concern was reflected in her eyes. “Are you going to do it?”

“He knows what he’s about. I think he would make a remarkable lover. But I’m not quite comfortable with his knowing it’s me. He’s intrigued by the mystery of me. He’d be disappointed in the reality.”

“But if he suspects . . . Honestly, Minerva, you can’t think to keep something like this a complete secret. You’re wearing a little mask.”

“It’s actually rather large, leaves very little visible.”

“But he’s going to see”—Grace looked down at her toes, carried her gaze back up to her eyes—“everything.”

“Can’t one make love in the dark?”

“Well, yes, I suppose so, but don’t you want to see him?” She pressed her hand to her mouth. “What am I saying? I don’t want to encourage you. I wish I’d never given you the address.”

“Where did you get it anyway?”

“My brother. I’m fairly certain Rexton meets his mistress there. You saw him, didn’t you?”

“I can’t say.”

Grace made a moue of displeasure. “All these secrets. I don’t think any good is going to come of all this.”

“Will you still love me if I go through with it?”

“Of course, but if he suspects, why not confirm the truth of your identity and see how things go?”

“I don’t expect you to understand the beating that one’s esteem takes after six years of watching others fall in love or make good matches that aren’t based solely on their dowry. I want a man who looks at me the way my father looks at my mother, the way Lovingdon looks at you. As though no one else was as important, was as treasured. My brother would die for you.”

“He almost did. But in the end, he lived for me, and that’s so much better, Minerva. Do you like Ashebury?”

“Very much.”

“I’ve never known you to be a shrinking violet. If you want him, go after him.” She smiled brightly. “That’s how I got Lovingdon. I’d wager money on you.”

“I wouldn’t wager much. The odds are against me. He could have anyone. But at least I know he fancies my legs.”

A
SHE stood on the top step staring at the dark mahogany door that opened into his parents’ residence. It was silly to refer to it as such. They’d not crossed the threshold in twenty years.

With a sigh, he unlocked the door, released the latch, and gave the wood a hard shove. The hinges creaked and moaned as the widening gap revealed the entryway. Stepping over the threshold, Ashe closed the door behind him, sealing himself in with the memories.

Dust motes danced through the soft light filtering in through the mullioned windows on either side of the door. The air sat heavy, reeking of must and disuse. The silence was thick, a residence abandoned, unloved, unwanted.

It had been his mother’s pride and joy, a symbol of his father’s wealth and station. Even at eight, Ashe had understood the statement made by this exquisite building. Now every piece of furniture was shrouded in white, giving things a ghostly appearance.

His footsteps echoed over the black marble as he approached the stairs. As though he needed the support, when he stopped, he wrapped his hand around the newel post and stared at the sixth step up, the one upon which he’d been standing when he’d seen his parents for the last time, the one from which he’d shouted that he hated them and hoped they never came back.

The pain of remembrance was a sharp jab at the bottom of his breastbone. He imagined he could still hear the hateful words echoing through the entryway, bouncing off the walls and frescoed ceiling. Only they’d followed his parents out, circling about them. Sadness had been in his mother’s blue eyes when she glanced back over her shoulder, before his father ushered her out. What had his mother thought of him at that moment? Probably what he now thought of himself.

Pampered heir, spoiled brat, despicable child.

Those had certainly been his nanny’s words as she’d dragged him back to the day nursery.

He should sell the house, everything in it. Only that course felt like defeat. He was a man now, strong enough to face the past, to deal with it, to move on. This place represented part of his heritage, his history.

He should be grateful that everything he didn’t want to remember had occurred here rather than at the ancestral estate. Although it seemed odd now to think of them as being in London in November. His scoff disturbed the silence. What did it matter after all these years?

It didn’t. With a length to his stride and a quickness to his pace as though he could escape the demons of recollection and regret, he strode into the parlor and was greeted by white sheets covered in a fine layer of dust. It was here in the afternoons that he would be presented to his mother so he could tell her about his day. His time in the park, his riding lessons, his tutoring curriculum. He could still hear the tutor’s proclamation that he was not a bright lad, see the disappointment in his mother’s eyes. But he was bright enough to know that the numbers didn’t behave. When he tried to explain how they played tricks, she would give her attention to the birds fluttering about beyond the window. So he learned to hold his tongue in order not to disillusion her, not to lose her affection.

She would be sorely dissatisfied with him now, in his inability to properly oversee what had been placed in his keeping. So would his father. What he remembered most about the previous duke was his stiffness, the manner in which he could walk while hardly moving any portion of his body, the way he would arch a brow in censure. Ashe had always dreaded when the brow went up. It was usually followed with the words, “Find me a switch.”