Not Quite A Duke (Dukes' Club Book 6) (18 page)

The candles threw a beautiful golden glow across
her
bedroom. Which was no small room.

To her astonishment, Charles’ own townhouse was no bachelor’s lodging. It was a towering, freestanding townhouse just off of Regent’s Park that was the envy of half of London.

Her room was twice the size of the room she’d occupied in Barring House.

It was also absolutely lovely.

Simple, ivory and gold, she felt a princess in the high ceilinged, entrancing space.

The four-poster bed seemed to soar, draped with sheer, pearl-colored hangings. In the soft early summer air coming in through the window, the fabric floated softly about the bed.

It looked like a dream.

The room felt like a dream.

Her whole life, at present, felt like a dream.

She’d always been content with her old life, but she’d had to hide so much. Now, there was nothing to hide and it was like standing on the edge of a precipice and deciding one could fly.

Licking her lips, she strode to the full length mirror beside her gold gilded dressing table and eyed herself.

Her long hair curled softly about her face and the beaded ivory dressing gown caressed her body, leaving her a map of curves and shadows. It was an ensemble of a woman not a girl.

And thank goodness. She hadn’t been a girl in years. She was grateful to Cordelia who had taken her dress making in hand. Seductive, feminine, bold. That’s what Cordelia had claimed Patience’s style was.

The soft candlelight cast a magical hue over her clothing and skin. The soft scent of lilac drifted in from the garden and she drank in the scent, trying not to allow her nerves take over.

Nothing usually gave her pause, but at long last she was in truly untraversed territory.

A soft knock thudded against her door.

“Come in,” she said, her voice a little more terse than she’d planned.

The panel swung open and Charles entered.

His dark hair was disheveled as if he’d driven his hand through it and his white linen shirt was open at the neck.

He must have left his coat and waistcoat in his own room.

Good God, his neck was beautiful. She longed to trace his throat and kiss the hollow just above his clavicles.

Champagne glasses hanged casually from his fingertips in one hand and a large green bottle was in the other grip.

“I don’t usually drink champagne,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “But tonight, I wish to celebrate.”

“Our marriage?”

He nodded. “Our union.”

Marriage and union. They were the same thing but from the rumble in his voice, she was certain that union to him was something entirely different than a piece of paper.

She swallowed. Usually, she felt bold. It was rare that she didn’t feel the master of her own fate but right now, the gamut of emotions running through her were tantamount to riding a horse that had decided to make a run for it over exceedingly wild terrain. 

In other words, she had no idea what to expect.

Charles strode to the small table before the fire which was blazing and placed the glasses down. Even in early summer, a fire was necessary in the evening.

He popped the cork from the champagne bottle and poured.

Holding a glass out to her, he smiled softly.

It was a smile that shook her to her core. There was nothing particularly friendly about the smile. It was a smile which promised entrance to a land that many found elusive.

She crossed to him and took the glass.

Once again, their fingers touched and just the mere brush sent her heart pounding.

He lifted his own glass. “To adventure.”

It was an odd wedding toast, but perhaps it was the best one could hope for in their circumstances. She lifted her own glass. “To adventure,” she agreed.

She took a perfunctory sip then a gulp.

Charles drank slowly, catching her gaze and holding it as he drained his glass.

There was something about the way he looked at her over the edge of the crystal flute that caught her breath in her throat. He was making an unspoken promise and it seemed that his mere gaze could speak volumes. For her whole body suddenly felt alive. The nerves along her skin danced and her breath came in shallow takes.

“I want you, Patience. I want you now.”

It was so tempting to ask,
And tomorrow? And the day after that?
But that was the sort of question only fools asked because, in all truth, now was all anyone actually had.

“The feeling is mutual,” she said.

His lips curved into a smile. “Have I told you I adore your turn of phrase?”

“You haven’t.”

He placed his glass down then closed the distance between them.

She gasped as he pulled her against his hard body.

“It’s so precise. So accurate. So meant to keep another at their distance. As if your words were armor.”

“Indeed?”

“Mmmm.” He nuzzled her hair and placed a soft kiss to her temple. “I very much look forward to trying to remove that armor.”

“What fool removes their armor?” she asked.

“A satisfied one.”

A soft laugh escaped her lips. “If that was the case, Charles, surely you’d be the least armored man in my acquaintance.”

“Perhaps I’m never satisfied.”

“I don’t understand.”

He traced his fingertips along her jaw. “Darling Patience, one can achieve the pleasure of coitus and still manage not to be satisfied.”

“In truth?”

He nodded. “As a matter of fact, I think that most of us are never quite satisfied.”

“But you wish to make me so? You think you can?”

“I’m going to try. It will certainly take far more time than one night.”

“Why should you care if I am thusly satisfied?” she asked, truly curious.

“You know, I don’t really know,” he confessed softly. “But I do. I want you to be happy.” 

“And I want you to be happy. To be satisfied.”

“Do not wish for what cannot be,” he said which should have been a warning, but it sounded terribly light the way he said it.

“Why can’t it?” she demanded, not easy dissuaded.

“Let’s not talk of sad things this night. Tonight is for us, not the past.”

Or the future, it would seem, if happiness was something she couldn’t give him. She wondered if he understood how that sounded. That she couldn’t make him happy or satisfied. Most likely not.

In her experience, people who lived largely in sadness couldn’t envision a life out of it. . . But she felt strongly that Charles could have happiness. He was so often a bright and witty person, if sardonic.

Still, now was not the time to debate it.

“Then let us enjoy what we can,” she said.

A relieved look softened his face as if he had dreaded that she might push to know his inner workings.

Patience tilted her head back, eager for them to kiss.

Instead, he arched a dark brow. “Turn around.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Not particularly.”

He laughed. “Wise woman. Still, turn around.”

“I suppose you know what you’re doing.”

“Correct.”

“Well then. . .” She let out a dramatic sigh and did as she was asked, even as her mind raced, wondering what the devil he was going to do.

Surely, he wasn’t about to bend her over and bed her like a stallion takes a mare. She knew enough of love making that while man and woman could mate like animals, they certainly weren’t required to.

The soft touch of his lips brushed the nape of her neck then slowly, his hands traced along her waist, pulling her back against him.

Her back and bottom curved perfectly against his granite frame.

Those magic kisses of his trailed along her neck. He paused then bit ever so lightly.

She shivered as he then pressed an open-mouthed kiss over the slightly roughened skin.

Dropping her head back against his shoulder, she was astonished by how simple a thing could send her legs quaking.

His hands at her waist, he worked the belt of her dressing gown open.

He slid a hand under the robe and met naked flesh.

A low groan came from his lips. “Patience, you’re going to be my undoing.”

“I hope so,” she managed to reply. “In the best possible way, of course.”

He laughed, a rough rumble, as he raked his other hand under her robe then up her ribcage to her breasts.

Her mouth opened as he palmed her and massaged her flesh.

It was shocking and wonderful, the feel of him oh so slowly caressing her.

His hands moved upwards and he guided her gown over her shoulders.

She tensed, as in one gentle movement he shed her of her garments.

To her amazement, she didn’t feel embarrassed. She’d expected to. After all, wasn’t one supposed to feel their most vulnerable in their naked skin?

But she didn’t.

Strangely, somehow, standing with Charles behind her, her gown on the floor, she felt powerful.

He wanted
her
.

And so there was no reason to be tentative or doubtful. There was no need to convince him she was desirable.

He already desired her.

So, she reached back, slipped her hand behind his neck and pulled his head downward.

Understanding, he bent and met her lips.

It was not easy, kissing him this way, her neck turned, her face angled up and, yet, it was so exciting.

As their mouths met, his hands roved the front of her body, stroking, taking, worshipping.

Yes. That was it. She felt worshipped.

And as his fingers slipped to the “v” of her thighs, instead of feeling maidenly nervousness, she parted her legs slightly, giving him better access.

She wanted to know. She wanted to know what her body could feel under Charles’ touch.

When his fingers stroked through her soft curls, then into her wet heat, she gasped, not with shock but sheer pleasure.

It felt. . . It felt. . .

As he kept kissing her, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, she grabbed on to him.

She couldn't describe how it felt, how absolutely, impossibly marvelous which was quite ironic since words were her profession.

With each touch, he was hurtling her towards something. Some mysterious destination and with each confident stroke of his fingers over that particular spot between her thighs, she struggled.

Struggled with need and, yet, fear of the unknown.

Charles whispered against her mouth, “Just let go, Patience. Don’t think.” 

To not think was the opposite of everything she’d ever known. But if it would help her reach that just out of reach destination, she would try.

She tilted her head back further and focused on Charles’ beautiful face.

His eyes darkened as their gazes met. Passion transformed his face as he circled his fingers over her.

Just when she thought she could take no more, she pulled him back down, kissing him wildly.

As he took her mouth, a torrent so intense, so unbelievable, washed over her that she cried out his name against his kiss. It hit her again and again until her legs turned to jelly and she could barely stand.

Sensing her weakness, he swept her up in his arms and took her to the bed.

“You’re mine, Patience. All mine.”

She had no idea if he truly meant it, but the words swept over her and filled her with the deepest pleasure.

She wanted to be his. . . Just as she wanted Charles to be hers.

Chapter 18

Charles couldn’t recall ever feeling so entirely untethered. Usually the master of every situation, he had no idea what to expect from Lady Patience and as unsettling as that was, he absolutely loved it.

She was everything he admired in a woman and more. It had never occurred to him that such a woman would ever agree to be his wife.

Women like Lady Patience didn’t need men like him. Not usually. But by the strangest chance of fate, she had needed him.

Rescue was not the word he’d use, but he’d been able to offer her freedom. Which was desperately humorous because to most, marriage didn’t represent freedom. It represented prison.

He’d avoided it all his adult life.

But not because he feared a prison.

He’d feared making a woman unhappy. He was the kind of man who could never be in a marriage that was what society dictated. And frankly, that was exactly what most women wanted.

But not Lady Patience. She was the one woman he knew who was so entirely different.

He’d seen what could go terribly wrong in a marriage when two people wished for different things.

Even his own parents had struggled. His father had finally felt a failure and given up.

With Patience, he felt certain he could make her content.

She didn’t long for fairytales and a high place in society. She longed to know the very essence of people. To explore. To have adventures so that she could put them into her books. That was something he could help her with.

Lady Patience was a wife to be proud of. . . Now, the question was, could he be a husband to be proud of?

Probably not, but he could at least devote himself to her satisfaction.

He’d already begun well.

It had taken him many hours to choose the decorations for her room. Simple, elegant, and adorned with only the slightest traces of gold, it matched her perfectly.

Now, he was showing her with his body how he adored her. How he already knew her.

Patience was a woman who kept herself in control and it was very difficult for a lady to relax when she was very controlled. And pleasure was impossible to achieve if one couldn’t relax. And so he had turned her to face away from him, so that she could focus on her own body and on his touch.

The request for her to turn around had been perfect. For now, she was soft in his arms, ready for their bodies to meet.

She gazed up at him from the bed, her lids half-closed. “Take off your clothes,” she ordered.

He bit back a grin. God, how he loved that about her. Her ability to be so blunt. He liked wit as well as anyone but sometimes, the ability to say exactly what was on one’s mind was the best thing in the whole world.

Without further ado, he complied. Slowly.