The Devilish Duke (2 page)

“You might even like this,” he said.

When she turned her head to face him, she met the fierce blue of his gaze. The bird of prey had spotted his conquest and would soon swoop into claim his prize.

He closed those remarkable eyes, instead, and brought his face to hers for a kiss. Spellbound, she watched him approach. Slowly, seductively, he took her lips with his and began an exploration.

No claiming, this. No conquest. He coaxed her to respond with pressure just firm enough to make her want more.

Lord forgive her, she did. Heat blossomed inside her as she tasted him, matching her movements to his. She’d been kissed a few times by young men who fumbled in their haste. With Fallon, she shared slow seduction that melted away her fears.

Her stranger had never kissed her, but if he had, the caress would be like this one—sweet and forbidden. If Fallon continued this way, he’d take control of her senses, and she would enjoy it. Test or no, she’d let him touch her as no man had ever done.

He pulled back, his breathing coming fast and shallow. “Remarkable.”

She could hardly catch her own breath, so she lay only inches from his face, looking at her reflection in his eyes.

“I please you?” she asked.

“More than please,” he answered. “You’d only need to feel my cock to see your effect on me.”

“You wouldn’t use that. You promised.”

He laid a finger over her lips. “You’ll be a virgin when I’m done. Shall I go on?”

She swallowed and nodded. If he kissed like that, whatever happened now would be unlike anything else she’d ever experienced, even in her hottest fantasies.

His fingers scarcely touched her skin as he parted the halves of her night rail, exposing her body to his view. For a moment, fear caught in her throat, and she instinctively reached to the cotton to cover herself.

“Hush,” he whispered and he pushed her hand away. His finger brushed her nipple, and another shock rushed through her. Purer and more intense than before. She couldn’t hold back a whimper.

“Hush,” he repeated as his hand closed around her breast. He kneaded the flesh while his lips traveled the length of her throat to her collarbone. Exactly how her stranger did, but this was real. A real man’s mouth against her skin. A real man’s fingers circling her nipple, making it stiff and sensitive. Letting her arms fall to her side, she surrendered to him.

Still continuing to caress her skin as he went, he inched lower, across her chest to the other breast. Here, he swirled his tongue around the peak and then sucked it into his mouth.

Oh, what a feeling. It stole every rational thought, and she sunk into a new reality—the pool from her fantasy with each spray of the fountain a prick against her skin. When he switched to the other breast, she arched to meet him, groaning in pleasure.

Chuckling, he placed his face against the spot between her breasts. “Not so prim now, are you?”

“Fallon, please.”

“Not ‘Your Grace’? Could you have forgotten yourself enough to be so familiar?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s just that I feel so…”

“I feel it, too.” His weight moved off her.

When she opened her eyes, she found him propped up on his elbow, watching. A smile curled his lips, and a gleam of triumph shone in his smile. Her breath still came hard, and her skin felt hot with fever. She couldn’t move as his hand went lower, past her ribs and to her belly. His destination became clear, and the walls of her sex constricted, waiting for his touch.

Finally, he reached the hairs that covered her mound and stroked them. “Sweet puss. Does she want a rubbing behind the ears?”

She held her breath, paralyzed to do anything but lie there at his mercy.

“Let’s see, shall we?” He slipped his hand between her thighs and made one firm pass over the lips there.

A cascade of sensation coursed through her, gaining strength as it went. Tension building inside her pelvis.

“You liked that.” He repeated the caress, now firmly pressing against her flesh. The lips seemed to swell, opening her sex as if begging for even more.

“Already wet,” he murmured. “Preparing yourself to take my cock.”

“No,” she cried. Or yes. In truth, she wouldn’t deny him now. Her sheath ached for something to fill it. Yes, if he decided to take her now, she’d let him. She’d welcome him.

“Another time,” he said. “This will do for now.”

He touched her pearl, and she nearly shot toward the ceiling. Such intensity. Her own fumblings couldn’t compare to this reality.

He stroked her, first flicking with the tip of his finger and then rolling the sensitive scrap of flesh.

“Even wetter,” he said. “By God, you’re delicious. I almost hate to end this.”

His finger stilled, leaving her on fire.

“Oh,” she cried. “Oh, don’t stop.”

“You want more?”

She bit her lip again, this time to stifle a cry of frustration. He had to finish this. He couldn’t leave her in such need.

“All right. I’ve played with you enough.” He pushed her higher. Rubbing, rubbing. The storm caught her, squeezing the breath from her, as the coil inside went tighter and tighter and then snapped.

Suddenly, she was crying out as his hips jerked with the force of the climax. Spasms traveled the length of her sex as he continued stroking her. Drawing out the ecstasy until she could manage no more and fell against the coverlet, limp.

In the end, he tucked her into his embrace. “Did you like that?”

“Like?” The word had no meaning.

“Did you ever do that for yourself?”

She nodded into his chest. “It didn’t compare to this.”

“Then, you’ll forgive me?”

She nodded again.

“Good. We’ll be married. I’ll make the arrangements.”

With that, he got up. He didn’t kiss her, didn’t even bother with the clothing he’d taken off. He simply picked up the candelabra and left the room.

Chapter Two

The wedding took place in the March family’s chapel—a small stone structure not far from the main house. To call the ceremony sparse would give it more credit than it deserved as such affairs went. It was bleak. No one attended except for the bride and groom, the vicar and one lone witness—Fallon’s butler. If the maid the duke had assigned to Rosalind hadn’t cut a few roses from the garden for her bouquet, the whole procedure would have resembled a business transaction.

Of course, that was what it was—her body with its childbearing hips in exchange for his protection from her father’s plans. The trade had seemed straightforward when she’d planned it. But, when she bent to sign the necessary documents that would bind her to this man for life, the gravity of what she’d done finally hit her. She was married—a duchess—and would soon bear children. If she couldn’t, then what?

Fallon showed no evidence of hesitation or concern when he added his name, but neither did he suggest any particular joy. He simply put on his gloves and extended his arm toward her.

They left the chapel as a couple and immediately encountered their young marriage’s first sign of trouble. Her father strode down the pathway in their direction, Lord Tewksbury fast behind him.

Her father ignored Fallon and went straight to her. “You haven’t done it yet, have you?”

“We’ve just been married, if that’s what you mean,” she answered.

“Bloody hell.” Her father ran his fingers through his golden hair. He’d dressed grandly, as he always did, in the latest fashions, skillfully made. If she’d inherited his looks, she might have attracted a husband the usual way, despite his reputation as a gambler.

“I didn’t give you permission to marry him,” her father said.

“My wife doesn’t need your permission.” Fallon eased her behind him, putting himself between her father and her. “She’s a grown woman who came to me freely.”

“Bloody hell,” her father repeated.

“I’ll ask you not to use that sort of language in front of my duchess,” Fallon said.

“I say, can’t we settle this in a civil matter?” Lord Tewksbury said.

“What’s your business in this, Tewksbury?” Fallon asked.

Lord Tewksbury reddened and stammered for a second or two. “Friend of the family.”

“All right then, we’ll do as you suggest.” Fallon gestured up the path toward the manor. “We’ll discuss it over brandy.”

Her father hesitated, his eyes narrowing as they always did when plotting something. After a bit, he led Lord Tewksbury off, and she and her new husband followed. Wonderful. Now, three men could haggle over her.

Once in the house, her father managed to get between her and Fallon and pulled her off into a corner.

“All right, you’ve made a mistake.” He bent close enough to her to surround her in a cloud of his cologne. “We can still fix this if…”

“If…” she repeated.

“If he hasn’t…God’s blood, you know what I mean.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “If he hasn’t taken his right as a husband yet.”

“Well, has he?”

“We just got married,” she said. “He hasn’t had time.”

“Good. We can get it annulled.”

“I don’t want it annulled,” she answered.

“Now, listen to me, young lady. You’ve defied me once too often.”

“Excuse me.” Fallon appeared at the doorway to the sitting room. “We’re in here, if you please.”

Her father assumed a pleasant smile and allowed her to go ahead of him.

Once inside the sitting room, Fallon guided her to a settee. He didn’t touch her except for putting her hand on his arm. It wasn’t a tender gesture, but it did mark her as his. She sat, leaving room for him beside her. After pouring brandy for the others, he served himself and brought her a glass of sherry. When he took his place next to her, their legs nearly touched. Odd. She hadn’t been so close to him before except for the encounter in her bedroom the first night.

Fallon lifted his glass in a toast. “To my wife, Rosalind, Duchess of Fallon.”

Lord Tewksbury started to raise his glass and then noticed that her father hadn’t joined in. Tewksbury took a deep swallow of the brandy, as if he’d intended that all along and then coughed. The fool. Always around, flattering her father and grabbing for her every time he got a chance. She’d never feel those sweaty fingers on her again.

Her father tasted his own brandy. “This would, indeed, be a joyous occasion, except for one thing. I’m still in the process of settling on a husband for my Rosalind.”

“She settled the issue herself.” Fallon stretched out his legs in a gesture meant to seem relaxed. In fact, he was coiled like a cat ready to spring. Even the line of his jaw showed his tension. Such a strange sensation to sit next to him this way. She could almost feel sheltered by his body.

“Rosalind’s too young to make such important decisions,” her father said.

“I’m over twenty,” she said.

“A mere child.” Lord Tewksbury’s voice had that oily quality he used with her. As if she might read his attentions as concern. “You can’t mean to stay here with Lord Fallon. You know his reputation.”

Her husband straightened, preparing to stand, but she put her hand on his arm. “I know the man. I don’t care about his reputation.”

Tewksbury hooted. “They call him the devil duke.”

“His Grace has been kind to me,” she answered. “He’s been a perfect gentleman the entire time I’ve been here.”

Fallon’s brow went up, as a gleam of mischief showed in his eye. He’d touched her quietly indecently, and they both knew it. Her lie seemed to amuse him, though, and he gave her the tiniest private smile.

“There you have it, gentlemen,” he said. “The lady’s quite content here.”

“I’m not convinced.” Her father drank the last of his brandy in one gulp, set the glass on the table and rose. “I’ve sheltered her all her life. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

Fallon poised again to strike, but she pressed her fingers into the fabric of his sleeve. Everything her father did was calculated to get the effect he wanted. If her husband should menace her father, he’d prove his reputation as the devil duke. Fallon seemed to get the message because he rested back against the settee, seemingly relaxed.

“It’s a father’s duty to take care of his daughter,” her father continued. “I can’t leave her here with the likes of you.”

“You welcomed my advances when I first approached you about Rosalind,” Fallon said with deadly calm.

That shouldn’t continue to amaze her. She’d known from the start that he’d made an offer for her. Otherwise, her father would never have thought to rise as high as a duke in searching for a wealthy husband for her. Still, the image of him dismounting from his chestnut gelding, knocking on their door and asking to take him as her husband was even more foreign than the fact that she sat beside him as a duchess. What had he wanted? What had he seen in her besides the width of her hips?

“I’ve changed my mind,” her father said.

“Well, I haven’t.” Fallon rose, guiding her upward next to him. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, my wife and I have business to attend to.”

“Now, see here,” his father shouted.

Lord Tewksbury shot out of his chair. “You can’t mean to…not right now…”

“Surely, you’re not that big a fool,” her husband answered quietly. “Of course, we mean to....”

“Rosalind?” her father shouted.

“We are just married.” Her skin grew hot. She’d be blushing, but she held her chin high. “Isn’t this the custom?”

“You can’t do this, Fallon,” her father said. “We had an agreement. We’re not finished.”

Her husband reached into a pocket in his jacket and produced an envelope full of what looked like bank notes. He tossed it in the direction of her father, and it landed at his feet. “Here’s the money I promised you. We’re done.”

* * *

“Do you always carry that much money around in your pocket?” Rosalind studied her husband’s image in the mirror on her dressing table. He sat behind her on the bed, removing his shoes and socks.

“I expected your father would show up looking for his money,” he said. “But, it’s more complicated than that, isn’t it?”

“I promised you an explanation. Do you want it now?”

“Will it take long?”

She clutched her brush. “Not very.”

“Let’s have it, then. I can make my body wait for a minute or two.”

That flush covered her skin again. She could try to tell herself it was embarrassment, but to be truthful, she’d have to admit it was excitement. She’d felt the effect of his hand on her most imitate places. Now, she’d had the experience of sitting close enough to him to read the language of his body. She’d enter foreign territory with this marriage. The physical part would hurt at first, but what kind of pleasure would she find when she crossed that boundary?

“The story?” he asked from right behind her. She hadn’t noticed him approach.

“I’m sorry.”

“Do I distract you?” He gathered her hair into his hands and bent to place a kiss on the skin just behind her ear.

She gasped softly. She ought not to have been surprised by the feel of his lips against her flesh. He’d lain with her on the bed only days ago, and the memories hadn’t dimmed.

“I do distract you.” He went to her other side and nibbled on her earlobe. “I think I’m flattered.”

“Do you want to hear why I came here uninvited or not?”

“I do.” He urged her to her feet, took her place on the chair and guided her onto his knee. “Go on.”

“My father always needs money. I’m sure you know why.”

“Gambling.” Now, his mouth went to the base of her throat, just over her pulse. He nipped her gently with his teeth and then soothed the spot with his tongue.

Her head grew heavy, and she let it fall to the side, exposing more of her neck to his caress. “How am I supposed to talk with you doing that?”

“You’ll have to puzzle that out, because I don’t plan to stop.”

She pushed on his shoulders but not firmly enough to deter him. “Fallon…”

“Richard. When we make love, you’ll use my given name.”

“Richard,” she repeated.

“Now, the story if you please.” He did continue kissing her, now across her shoulder and then nipping at her through the cotton of her shift.

“Yes, the story,” she whispered, searching through her brain for words and memories. She only meant to tell him the truth, so it shouldn’t have been so difficult, but a haze had settled around her mind. Fallon’s—Richard’s—doing. He’d scarcely touched her, and yet she couldn’t have found the strength to resist him if she’d wanted. “My father was happy with your offer.”

“I had thought so, but then I didn’t hear from him.” He pressed a kiss against her ear and blew softly into it.

“Oh,” she cried. “Do that again.”

He chuckled. “My wife’s a lustful creature.”

“I’m sorry.” She straightened and looked down at him. He didn’t seem upset. He had a lazy smile on his face, and his eyelids appeared as heavy as her own.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I’ve never done this. I should be more modest.”

“Never,” he snapped. His eyes had opened now, and a hard, blue light shone in them. “Don’t ever pretend modesty with me. Don’t ever deny me to make a point.”

Oh, dear. What had she done now? If only she’d had more experience with men, she might know how to read him. She’d married a stranger with a devil’s reputation. She’d have to learn to live with his moods somehow.

His expression softened. “You don’t understand. How could you?”

“I only want to please you.”

“You do, and you will.” The wicked smile returned to his face. “If I don’t burst out of my skin first.”

“I don’t understand what you mean by that, either.”

“You will. But finish your story before my control abandons me entirely.”

That had to be a good thing based on the way he said it. Softly and seductively in a way that penetrated her heart and set it to thrumming. She’d finish fast, and then what wonders he’d show her.

“As I said, my father was happy with your offer until Lord Tewksbury talked him out of it.”

“Tewksbury?” His brows met in confusion. “What does he have to do with your marriage?”

“He’s always had an…unnatural attachment to me.”

His eyes narrowed in anger. “Go on.”

“He’d touch me whenever her could. Pinch my bottom. One time, he cornered me and managed to shove his tongue into my mouth.”

“I’ll kill him,” he said softly.

“But you can’t”

“You’d be surprised what I can do, little wife,” he said. “Finish the story first.”

“Lady Tewksbury died and he came into an inheritance she had from her grandmother. He offered more money for me, and my father agreed.”

“Bastards.” He stood so quickly, he almost tossed her to the floor. “I will kill him and your father.”

“Fallon.” She clutched at his shirt. “Richard. Please think of what you’re saying.”