What a Duke Wants (24 page)

There was great truth to that. She had seen many women in her time in service who had accepted a ring because they saw no other option. From the time she had been little, however, Isabella had always dreamed of marriage and family. It was her sister who had tried to avoid the state. Although Violet seemed quite happy with Lord Peter now. “Will it be off-putting if I say that I had always hoped to marry and have children? I can think of nothing I would like more.”

“I will wish that for you, then. You do seem the type who deserves to have her dreams come true.”

“But not with you.”

Oh dear, that had shocked him. She was forgetting where they were, forgetting he did not know her—or at least claimed not to. It was odd. She could say things to him that she never could have if they were face-to-face, but she never could have said them at all if she had not known him so well. It left her feeling there was no clear path.

He chuckled, clearly trying to make her words a joke. “No, not with me, unless you’re the daughter of an earl. I’ve been informed I must not marry lower than that.”

“How about the granddaughter of an earl?”

“Hmm, perhaps with impeccable character. Someone well loved and respected by all of society.”

It was her turn to try for humor. “I did just agree to kiss you behind a potted palm. I am afraid that does rather cry against impeccable character.”

“I am glad we are back to the kissing. I would not want you to think I had forgotten.”

“You’ve danced with me twice, walked with me on the terrace, and fetched me champagne—and you are a man who is not thinking of marriage. No, I was not worried you had forgotten the kissing.”

“I am afraid that we can no longer hide behind the tree. The spot has been taken.”

Surely not. “Oh dear, you are correct. Do you think they realize how clearly they can be seen? Surely he would not put his hand there if he did.”

“I am afraid, my dear, that anytime a man gets a chance to put his hand there he will. I am not sure the presence of the angel Gabriel would stop him.”

“So I should expect you to put your hand there?”

“If presented with the opportunity.”

The clock from the hallway struck. Oh dear, Annie would return at any moment and it would not do for there to be four Graces. She glanced at Mark from the corner of her eye. This was the moment. What was she going to do? She should make an excuse and depart, never to be seen again. She would not go without her kiss. She deserved that, at least. “I am feeling a little faint. Perhaps you would escort me to get some air?”

“Out there?” He looked toward the terrace.

“There are too many people. I fear it may be hotter than in here. Perhaps there will be a quiet room off the main hall, a parlor or sitting room?”

M
ark offered his arm again and his companion strolled beside him as they made their way around the edge of the ballroom and out into the hall. It was amazing being at a masquerade, the anonymity that allowed those things that otherwise would have been questioned.

“I do not know your name,” he said as they left everyone else behind and walked toward the dark back of the house.

She stopped near a closed door, slipping away and pressing her back against it. He heard a click as she pushed down on the handle. The door eased open a crack. Only blackness lay beyond. “Do you need to?”

The door opened and she slipped through.

He followed. “It would seem the natural thing. Should I light a lamp?”

“I think not. Darkness allows even more freedom than masks. I can only hope we are alone.”

He laughed. “Yes, I do hope so. This is not a moment to be shared.”

The door clicked behind them as he pulled it closed. “Perhaps I should open the curtains—let in just a touch of moonlight.”

“No.”

“Why? It is a bit off-putting to not even know what room we are in.”

He heard her breath catch. “I believe I heard somebody say there was a conservatory that overlooked the back garden. This must be it.”

“Well, don’t you think we should see so that we’re sure not to land upon the harpsichord? I can only imagine the noise that would make.”

“We’ll just have to feel carefully.”

He felt a whisper in the air and then her hand upon his face, her fingertips tapping lightly across his cheek below the mask. And then his lips.

Her touch ran across his lower lip and then across his other one. On the third pass she ran right across the seam and he opened his mouth, pulling her fingers in. “I begin to see why you are so fond of the dark.”

“Actually I’ve always been slightly scared of it, but here now it feels like an old friend.”

Mark reached out to stroke her cheek. That was definitely not her cheek, but interesting, very, very interesting. He stroked again.

She slapped at his hand. “I believe there is an order to these things.”

“I’ve never heard that. I’ve always thought one should let things progress as they happen.”

“I definitely believe in an order. That”—she slapped his hand again—“is definitely skipping ahead.”

“And you don’t like it?”

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly, but I do think I want other things first.”

“Like what?” He leaned forward, pressing against her hand, which still lay cradled against his face.

“Kissing. I believe you promised kissing.”

“I am not sure it was a promise—but yes, I do see your point.” He could feel her breath against the side of his face and he turned, following it. Nuzzling first her cheek, beneath the edge of the mask, and then her lips, he found his way across her face. Her lips were full and soft, magical. He knew them so well. He pressed forward, running his tongue across them as he knew she liked.

As he knew she liked.

And then he knew. Darkness and his senses had combined to tell him what his eyes had not. “Bella? I should have known. I did know. But, damn it, I convinced myself otherwise. How can you possibly be here, Bella?”

Her mouth moved from his, but not far. Only the sound of her heart was audible, or perhaps it was the beat of his own.

Seconds ticked by.

“How, Bella? How did you get into Lady Richard’s masquerade? Why did you come?”

Chapter 24

S
he had thought blackness was her friend. Instead it had been her undoing. All those years of fearing the dark had not been without reason. The moment their lips had touched she had known her mistake. She would have known the feel of his lips anywhere, the taste of his breath, the brush of his stubble.

“Yes.” It did not answer any of his questions but it was enough.

“You must have known I was coming. Was this a plan to teach me a lesson? You pretend to leave me and then tease me? What more do you want that I have not given you?”

Marriage. But she did not say it. Even within her own mind the word was almost forbidden. If he had not called her his wife earlier she would not be thinking it now. “If I had set out to teach you a lesson you would have failed. I left you this morning and tonight you were already looking for my replacement.”

“I was hardly looking for a replacement for you at the Tenants’ masquerade.”

He should not have said that. Isabella’s hand rose, ready to slap him. How many times did he need to show how little respect he had for her? Before she had become his mistress he had never treated her so poorly.

“I am sorry.” His finger skimmed her cheek as if feeling for a tear.

“For what?”

“Too often my words move faster than my brain. I only meant that if I had been looking for replacement I would not have chosen a masquerade. I am rather fond of faces.”

It sounded good, but she did not believe him entirely. He might prefer faces, but he had also meant he would not seek a new mistress among society. “If you remember, you first met me in the dark.”

“And then I asked if I could light a lamp.”

“So it is only my appearance that draws you.”

He pulled her close, the speed pushing the air from her lungs. Holding her tight, their bodies so close as to be almost one, he whispered, “I cannot see you now and I am sure that you can feel just how much I desire you. And don’t ask if it is your body or your voice that I want. I desire them both—but the truth is I desire all of you. We are standing here, in pitch blackness, in the house of a man I barely know, arguing in a fashion that makes me want to scream, and I am harder than I have been in my whole life.”

He certainly was. Well, she couldn’t speak to his whole life, but as she rubbed herself along his length it was clear he was rather fond of arguing with her. She leaned against him, feeling the hard plane of the breastplate against her chest. She ran a hand over the smooth leather, feeling the artificially well-defined muscles. “You don’t need this, you know. Your chest is quite fine as it is.” She couldn’t wait to feel him, skin to skin.

“It was not my choice of costume. I would have much preferred to be without the nonsense of costume altogether.”

“Should I help you off with it, then?” She ran her hands up his chest and felt for the straps and buckles she’d seen at his shoulders.

“That was not quite what I meant.”

“So you don’t want me to?” Her hands moved across the top edge of the armor, feeling for the warm skin beneath.

“I did not say that. You must do as you will.”

“Ah, the choice you do give me.”

“Do you really wish to argue now?” He shifted a leg between hers, letting her ride upon his thigh.

Isabella moved hard against him, trying to ease the pressure growing within. He smelled so good, tobacco, brandy—and man. Combined with the champagne she had consumed it was enough to leave her quite intoxicated. “No, arguing is not what I am thinking of at all.”

The thin silk panels of her dress slid open as his hands tightened about her waist and slid down to her hips. “What are you wearing beneath this thing? I could swear that is your skin I feel. I’ve never known any fabric to tempt my senses in such a manner.”

“Nothing.”

His gulp was audible. “Nothing?”

“I tried to wear a chemise, but it showed through.”

His fingers explored further, sliding completely between the panels to caress her bare thigh. “You are almost naked.”

“Yes.” She bent her head forward, licking at the salty sweat on his neck. His tendons strained with his excitement.

“I don’t know that I like that.”

Daringly she slid a hand down his chest and over the firm bulge so evident beneath the leather and linen of his short toga. “I think you like it very much. Yes, very much indeed.”

This time she drew a groan from him as she pressed firmly, wrapping her fingers about his thick length. “God, that’s good. I will embarrass myself if you are not careful.”

“Shhh, you don’t want anyone to hear and investigate.” She gripped him more tightly, moving her fingers along his shaft. “And you, what do you have under your skirts?” She paused and allowed a small giggle to escape. “That is one question I never thought I would ask.”

“I can’t say I ever thought to hear it pass your lips either.” His words ground out as her hand continued to move. “And I do have on my smallclothes. Divers was ready to send me out bare assed, but I refused. I could only think of what might happen if a breeze arose. There are some secrets a duke must keep.”

She knew he strove for humor, but that word,
duke
, stood between them. She did not need the reminder. Refusing to let it intrude, she licked at his neck again, bringing her mouth close enough to nip him slightly. Moving her second hand to join the first she slipped them both under his skirts, seeking the fastenings that held him concealed from her direct touch. The darkness pushed back inhibition, but it also made some things rather difficult.

He pulled back from her touch. “You too.” His hand quickly rose to her left shoulder, his fingers pulling loose the single pin that fastened her costume. The pin dropped to the floor with a small clatter as her dress fell to her waist, held only by a thin gold belt of chain.

Then his lips were on her, sucking, laving, devouring.

She met him fully, no longer the meek miss he had first met.

This would be their last time and she meant to make it a time to remember.

The darkness of the room made her aware of each sensation, the rug beneath her toes, the gentle tickle of her gown at each shift in position, the roughness of the hair on his legs as they rubbed against her own—as they slipped between her own—the tightness of the chain at her waist as he pulled to free it, the night air cold against the moisture he’d left on her breasts. And those lips, his lips—hot, wet, plundering—leaving her no recourse. Her head fell back, her whole being focused on those inches where mouth met flesh. All faded from her world as he continued his attack. He caught a nipple between his teeth, pulling, nipping just hard enough to make her cry out.

She brought her own hand to her mouth, biting down hard to silence the gasps that grew loud and heavy. Her other hand tangled in his hair, the waves silky beneath her touch, unsure whether to push him away and grant herself the chance to breathe or to pull him tighter and drown in the sensations that he caused.

“You taste of honey. You’ve never tasted of honey before.” His voice was raspy. She could hear his arousal in it, gauge just how far he’d come and just how far he had to go. It was not nearly far enough. He was sending her on ahead of him.

That would never do.

She pulled back on his head, bending to bring her lips near to his own, tasting herself upon his breath. “I used a different lotion. Do you like it? It leaves behind a sheen, as if I’d dipped my breasts in gold. My nipples shone bright before I dressed.”

“Let me open the curtain. I need to see you. I’ll do anything, just let me see you.”

“No, you will have to imagine how I looked fresh from my bath, covered with gold, my hair damp about me, curling in every direction.”

“You are killing me.”

“I know—and you love it. Are your eyes closed, are you dreaming of me, of what I looked like? I promise you it was even better.” She kissed him gently on the mouth, but as he tried to capture her lips, she moved upward, raining kisses upon his bristly cheeks until she came upon his closed eyelids. She kissed each one soundly, tasting him as she went. “You did close your eyes. You are thinking of me.”

“I am always thinking of you, even when I should not be.”

“Well, right now you definitely should be.” She slid her hand down from his hair, caressing the hard sinews of his neck, the muscles of his shoulders, the curve of his back, his high firm buttocks—they deserved an extra squeeze. He moaned as she slipped her hand beneath his skirts again, into the tight linen of his undergarments. Her hand came forward, around him, encasing him. “I like it when you think of me. Would you like a reward?” She moved her lips back to his mouth, finding his tongue, sucking it deep into her own mouth, biting at its tip, squeezing, pulling back, releasing—imitating that other action he liked so well.

His penis jerked hard beneath her hand. He understood her exactly.

But then his own hands were on her back, on her waist, lower—slipping between her thighs. He sighed against her mouth as he felt her dampness, the stickiness that already marked her wants, her needs. She squirmed, unable to hold herself still as his fingers found the spot.

Oh, and he knew it. He targeted it again and again, clearly enjoying her helplessness.

But she was not that helpless. She moved her own hand, stroking with all the expertise that he had taught her. She knew just what he liked, the slight cupping over the top, the long pull, the extra pressure along the bottom. She knew and she used it, pushing him farther and farther along the road they both longed to travel.

There was nothing but sensation, taste, touch, sound. With her eyes blinded by dark her whole world was he. The feel of him. The feel of him touching her.

She’d never heard the sound of a day’s growth of beard moving against skin. She heard it now.

Never felt the breeze as clothing brushed along her flesh. She did now.

Never tasted the man beneath the smoke and leather and brandy. Now she thought she’d know him anywhere simply by the taste of him in her mouth.

And she knew his forehead, his shoulder, the back of his knee—all by touch. Blindness took her to places that she’d never been.

She moved her hand again, reveling in the velvet of his skin. His whole body jerked. He was getting close. She loosened her grasp, but just a bit, laid kisses upon his neck, wished she could touch his chest, feel his bare skin against her fully.

“I need to be in you—now.” It was both a gasp and a prayer.

H
e was going to die. Here and now, surrounded by black, he was going to die. Die of pleasure. His mind was still filled with the vision of her polished in gold, her nipples gleaming. The tighter he closed his eyes the stronger the image grew. She was his queen and he wanted only to adore her.

And the taste. The taste of honey. He’d been fond of the sweet before, but now, now he wanted it with every meal until the end of his days. There could be nothing better than this. Sweetness. Woman. He wanted more. He was tempted to pull her to the floor, to bury his face between her legs, to bring her all the pleasure she was bringing him, to taste her honey, to— He couldn’t wait another moment.

It had to be now.

He slid his hands up, pulling her gown with them. Settling them firmly, he lifted her, pulling her against him until he felt her core. He shifted his hips forward, until he was poised just where he wanted to be.

“Now.” He wasn’t sure which one of them had spoken, but in the black it didn’t matter.

He thrust up, pulling her down and entering her in a single move.

He stopped then, caught in the pleasure of that second, that moment.

He felt her weight, the strain on his legs, and cared not at all. Only one thing mattered, the warmth, the homecoming, the ultimate perfection.

“I need to move.” This time he knew it was she who spoke.

He lifted her again, settled her back down.

“No, I want to move. That’s you moving,” she said.

“Demanding, aren’t you?”

“Of course. I learned from you.”

He chuckled. Even now he could laugh at the joy she brought him.

How to set her down? He refused to be separated for even a moment.

Was there really a harpsichord in the room? If the cover was down it would be perfect. If it wasn’t—well, that could be disaster. He could only imagine the noise—and the aftermath.

He stood still, shifting his hips only enough to keep her gasping.

He debated. “How about against the wall? I should be able to find a wall.”

“It will still be you moving. I want my turn.”

“How about you have your turn next time?”

She stiffened slightly, her muscles tensing about him. “No. It must be now.”

He managed to bend one knee, lowering her feet to the floor. Her arms wrapped tight about him, she buried her face against his chest.

He would never be quite sure how, but they made it to the floor still connected. He held himself above her, glad he could feel soft carpet below. He would have hated to lay her on hard wood, or icy marble.

Her feet pushed hard against the rug, lifting her hips, grinding against him. She’d wanted to move and it was evident that she was not going to wait. Setting the pace, she lifted and settled, working for her own pleasure, but also for his.

If there had been any light to see it would not have mattered. He was beyond sight, caught only in feeling, the feeling of her. He heard her gasps, felt her tightening, her flexing. Her breasts were damp beneath his chest, the nipples teasing him to taste again.

He found her lips again instead, drawing her into a deep, soulful kiss, a kiss that spoke to all that could not be said.

She squeezed tight, her mouth opening beneath him, allowing him freedom to plunder as her body arched up, squeezing him tighter than ever.

She was so close, but so was he.

And then there was only swirly color, prisms of light that shone even in the darkness, filling his senses.

He cried out once, and then again. Her name. Bella. His Bella.

He felt her come apart beneath him.

And then it was done.