The Last Duke (The 1797 Club Book 10)

by Jess Michaels

  “I’m going to lift your skirts,” he whispered.

  Her eyes flew open and she looked at him. “You’re going to…look at me? Bare me?”

  He shifted, and she could see that her questions moved him. His eyes had almost no brown left, they were so dilated with desire now. She had done this to him, made him so needy. She, a woman he had hated until just a few days ago.

  She was almost proud of that fact.

  “I promise you, Sarah, there is no shame is what I’m going to do,” he said, his gaze never leaving hers. “All there will be is pleasure.”

  “More than what you’re doing with your hand now?”

  That hand stilled and he leaned in. He kissed her once more, deep and slow. Then he pulled away. “So much more.”

  She nodded, silent acquiescence, though she couldn’t help but blush as he lifted her skirts, exposing her calves, her knees, her thighs. She knew he had to see the hole in her stocking. The one she hadn’t the chance to darn yet. He didn’t seem to care. His hands slid up her legs, firm pressure as he pushed the skirts higher and higher, piling them against her stomach until she was exposed from the waist down.

  She blushed. Her drawers were worn out. Certainly not as fine as any lady who might allow him this pleasure. Of course, what lady would? Very few in her acquaintance would stoop so low. She was surrendering to her most base needs now. He might say he would not judge her, but he would.

  “You are frowning,” he said, glancing up from what he had revealed. “Why?”

  “Just torn between wanting this and knowing the cost,” she admitted, because honesty seemed to truly be the best policy at present.

  His expression softened. “What cost?”

  “That you will see me as a wanton,” she admitted. “That I’ll know I was.”

  “That is an ugly word,” he said softly, “thrown at ladies so that they are ashamed of what they want. It seems unfair. I asked you for this—why would I judge you?”

  She turned her face slightly and his hands stilled.

  “Because I did just that for so long,” he whispered.

  She nodded without looking at him.

  He reached up and slid a finger beneath her chin. Slowly he tilted her face toward him until she had to look into his eyes. “I was wrong, Sarah,” he whispered.

  She gasped. “What?”

  “I was wrong for treating you so callously that night with Meg. I was wrong for judging you after. Certainly I would not want to be judged by my worst moment, my silliest mistake. I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”

  Her eyes flooded with unexpected tears and she lifted a hand to her mouth. He let her sit that way for a moment, then his fingers stroked her thighs, gliding beneath the hem of her drawers to find bare skin.

  She jolted at the contact and found her hips lifting.

  “I won’t ever do that again,” he continued. “Judge you. I would very much like to touch you like that again.”

  She found her lips tilting in a smile, and she nodded. “I would very much like the same. Please.”

  “You say please so prettily,” he said, his voice becoming dark with promise as he caught the edge of her drawers and began to tug them. She lifted her hips and he pulled them away, drawing them down her legs and setting them aside.

  Now her cheeks burned like fire, for she was bared to him. Fully revealed. And his wide eyes told her he liked what he saw. Wanted it.

  “I wonder how many ways you will say please if I do this.” He pulled her farther forward again, making her slouch on the chair. He pushed her legs wider, making a space between them, and then he placed the flat on his hand on her once more.

  Only this time there was no barrier of cloth between them. Just the heat of his rough palm on the heat of her slick sex. He pushed and electric sensation jolted through her from head to toe.

  She gripped the edge of the chair, digging her nails into the fabric as she cried out, “Please!”

  He smiled up at her. “And this?”

  Now his fingers stroked her intimately, gliding along the entrance to her body, parting the sleek curls there. He smoothed and smoothed, and then he breached her just a fraction, parting the outer lips of her sex and pressing a fingertip inside.

  “Please, please,” she mumbled, incoherent, she knew, but unable to find anything else to say when his touch awoke such wicked needs in her. Sensations she hadn’t ever felt before.

  Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples were hard and rubbed deliciously against her chemise beneath her dress. Her legs shook a little as ripples of pleasure seemed to pulse out from the place where he touched her.

  He parted her fully, opening her with his thumbs, and she squeezed her eyes shut. He was stroking her still, gently at first, but building the pressure, and then she felt something she would never have expected.

  The warm of his breath blowing along her slit.

  Her eyes flew open and she stared down at him. His dark head was bent between her open legs, his stare focused on her, his lips puckered as he blew air over her. She gasped at the coolness against her heat, dry on wet.

  “I’m going to kiss you,” he said, glancing up. “Here. And it’s going to feel wonderful.”

  She had no chance to respond to that shocking claim. Before she could, his head lowered farther and then he did exactly as he’d promised. His hot mouth closed over her in a wet kiss, his tongue tracing the same route his fingers had earlier taken.

  He hadn’t lied. His mouth felt wonderful against her as he tasted and teased and explored her in a way she never would have guessed was possible. Her body was on fire, the flames licked higher and higher by his tongue. There were waves of pleasure that he stoked, the tingles intensifying.

  His tongue crested over some hidden part of her, a bundle of nerves, and when he focused his attention there, she gasped. He smiled against her flesh, but did not cease the heavenly torment, instead swirling his tongue around and around that place. The intensity of sensation grew, reaching a point where she felt balanced on the edge of pleasure and pain.

  And when he sucked that little part of her, she fell into the sensation fully. Her body began to buck as waves of intense pleasure rocked her. She bent her head back, her body shaking as the sensations went on and on, driven by his relentless attack on her body.

  Only when her quaking had begun to subside did he lift his head and smile up at her. He looked satisfied, smug even, with his mouth glittering with her juices and his eyes lit with desire and triumph. He leaned up and kissed her. She tasted herself on his lips, sweet and salty and intoxicating. Her arms came around him and she sank into him, into this. She wanted more.

  She wanted everything. She knew it in that moment, and also knew what folly it was. And yet there it was, an itch in the back of her mind that kept calling for her to scratch it. But she couldn’t tell him how she felt, because he’d never want that. He’d turned to her in pain, in gratitude for what she’d done in the lake.

  She knew that. This tryst, this affair, this whatever it was…it couldn’t last. Kit would marry some daughter of an exalted title and he would carry on his father’s legacy with her.

  Sarah was a passing folly, just as he’d described his own father’s affair with Phoebe’s mother.

  She jolted. God, would he now think her the same as that woman he claimed wanted only money? Who would sell her child without thought?

  She pulled away from his kiss and he let her get up, pushing past him as she swept her skirts back down and picked up her discarded drawers from the floor. She felt him watching her as she struggled to right herself. But she had no idea what he would say. No idea what he must think now. Only knowing that despite any promises he made not to judge her, she might have just made the biggest mistake of her life.

  Kit watched Sarah fuss with her clothing, touch her unmussed hair over and over again in a nervous flutter of movements. He knew she’d enjoyed what he’d done. He’d felt the flutteri
ng force of her powerful orgasm. He’d wanted nothing more than to bury himself in her twitching body and pound into her until he found his own release.

  He’d only barely resisted that urge.

  He pushed to his full height from his position on the floor and smiled at her in the hopes it would soothe whatever nervousness she now felt.

  “What are you doing to me?” he asked.

  She froze at the question and pivoted to face him. The high color that had filled her cheeks at the height of her orgasm had faded now, leaving her pale and worried. Not the result he had wanted from this stolen moment of bliss.

  “I-I don’t know,” she stammered at last. “I’m not trying to do anything to you.”

  There was a lilt of defensiveness to her tone. Like she was under attack. He wrinkled his brow. “Having regrets?”

  She paused and her shoulders rolled forward. “No,” she whispered, and that one syllable was so comforting he nearly sagged beneath it. “I have been alone a long time, Kit. And what just happened…I liked it, whether I should admit that or not.” Her gaze darted away. “I just hope you know that I understand it cannot last. I have no expectations, Your Grace. I have no desire to trap you or use this against you.”

  He froze at her words. Here he’d been worried about taking advantage of her, but she was talking about taking advantage of him. It was possible, of course—he’d watched it happen with his father and Phoebe’s nightmare of a mother. Obviously Sarah was thinking of the same, trying to push herself out of the category of villain.

  One he hadn’t thought to put her in, still didn’t. And yet her words stung. As did the fact that she was trying to push them so far apart after an act that could have brought them closer.

  “I should…” she began. “I should go check on Phoebe now.”

  She moved toward the door, and Kit felt a swell of need rise up in him. Not need for her body—something else. A desire to have her stay at his side. And that was dangerous, indeed.

  “Sarah!” he burst out.

  She turned at the door, just as she had earlier, and he could see her anxiousness, her uncertainty. “Yes?”

  “The others will begin to leave tomorrow,” he said.

  She nodded. “Yes, I know the Northfield, Crestwood and Roseford parties are all departing before luncheon. The rest after, save for Willowby. Barrymore told the staff about the schedule.”

  “And you know there is a small party tonight, with all my houseguests and a few friends from the surrounding area?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Do you want Phoebe to make an appearance?”

  He frowned. “No, she’s too young. No reason to stress her with that sort of thing. I wanted…will you come?”

  Her lips parted, and for a moment he saw how much the request meant. How much she’d lost when she lost her place in Society. Then she bent her head and the connection he’d seen there departed.

  “I-I do not think that would be best, Kit,” she said softly.

  Her rejection stung more than it should have, and he turned away from it and from her and retook his place at his father’s desk in order to create a barrier between them.

  “I see,” he said, picking up a quill and dipping it into ink, though he had no idea what he would write. “As you wish, Miss Carlton. Good day.”

  She took a moment at the door, watching him as he pretended to do something official. Then she inclined her head. “Good day, Your Grace.”

  And she was gone, leaving him alone in his office, alone with his thoughts. Exactly where he didn’t want to be.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sarah was distracted as she hurried down the hall away from Kit’s study. Her body still tingled from his touch. And she also still stung from his attitude. When she’d refused his request about her coming to the gathering, it was like a wall had slammed down between them, closing off whatever progress they’d made.

  But why? He couldn’t truly want her there, in a place she didn’t belong. And yet it was like she’d hurt him.

  She turned a corner toward the stairs and, in her upset, slammed straight into another person. Not just any person. Margaret, Duchess of Crestwood, staggered back from their collision, then righted herself with a laugh.

  One Sarah didn’t share. She covered her mouth in horror. “Oh, Your Grace, I’m so dreadfully sorry. I was not paying attention. Are you injured?”

  “Of course not,” Meg laughed. “And I was distracted, as well—it was just as much my fault as yours.”

  Sarah ducked her head. Meg had been nothing but friendly to her this entire trip, but that didn’t change their history.

  The duchess wrinkled her brow. “Are you well?”

  Sarah lifted her gaze and nodded. “Of course.”

  “Of course,” Meg repeated slowly. Then she shook her head. “I think you and I must finally have a discussion that has been years in the making. Come with me, won’t you?”

  Sarah caught her breath. Oh dear God, here it was. The moment when Meg would confront her with her bad behavior all those years ago. The moment everything would crash around her once more.

  But there was no way to deny the woman who was now striding away from her into the closest parlor. All she could do was obey and follow her into the room.

  Meg closed the door behind them and took a seat on the settee. She patted the cushion beside her, and Sarah held back a sigh as she joined her.

  She was very much not in the right state of mind for this. Not when everything with Kit was already so confused.

  “I-I owe you an apology,” she began. “I know I do. I’m sure you have been waiting for it for years.”

  Meg’s brow wrinkled. “Don’t be silly. Of course you don’t. To be honest, I didn’t even recall that night until you reminded me just after the death of Kit’s father. I certainly have not been waiting around, looking at the clock, for some kind of request for forgiveness.”

  Sarah bent her head. “But Kit is right in one thing. I was abominably rude to you that night. I’d had too much punch, just as you said then, and things were getting so bad when it came to my future. But I had no right to speak to you that way. No right to accuse you of doing something wrong. The Duke of Crestwood was nothing to me. And as you said, you cannot steal a person.”

  “You do recall every detail,” Meg said softly. “And here I only remember just the barest of facts. My dear Sarah, know this…whatever was said or done, it was a lifetime ago. And I understood, even then, that you lashed out over fear for your own position, it had very little to do with me.”

  “Yes.” Sarah flashed back to that horrible time. “My father’s death put us in a dreadful position and I was making no headway in landing a match that could save us.”

  “Simon’s attention gave you hope.” Meg was nodding now. “He would feel terrible if he knew, so perhaps it is he who owes you the apology.”

  “Oh no!” Sarah clasped her hands. “I would never think that or ask for such a thing. You two were clearly made for each other. I can see now that it would have been a bad match.”

  “And then there is Kit,” Meg said. “He isn’t still troubling you about what he witnessed, is he? I gave him a stern talking to on the subject.”

  Sarah blinked. She’d had no idea Meg had spoken to Kit about her. He’d never said anything about it. “No, Your Grace.”

  “Meg.”

  “Meg,” Sarah repeated. “He has even apologized to me for holding that moment against me all these years. And he…”

  Meg leaned in. “It’s obvious there is some connection between you two. Something that goes beyond duty or gratitude or shared love of Phoebe.”

  Sarah covered her mouth. She was certainly mucking everything up if her connection to Kit was obvious. It could destroy her in this position and keep her from ever having another.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered when it felt like a lifetime had passed.

  “Y
ou don’t have to say anything,” Meg said, her tone gentle. “But I know you have been…very alone for a long time. I know you’d probably rather speak to Isabel, but I’m the one who nearly mowed you down in the hallway and saw that you were upset. Since you were coming from the direction of Kit’s study, I must deduce your reaction has something to do with him. And since that connection I mentioned does exist, I think it is a personal matter. Is there any way I can help? I do have experience in fraught relationships to recommend me for the duty.”

  Sarah stared, unblinking, for a moment. If someone had told her three years ago that she would be sitting with Margaret, Duchess of Crestwood, with the lady offering to be her friend, her confidante…she would have fallen over laughing. And yet here it was. And the offer was more tempting than it should have been. Everything felt upside down and she needed help in righting it.

  “I don’t know what to think,” she admitted softly. “We have not…defined…whatever is between us. He’s made no promises and I would never ask for any.”

  “Never?” Meg asked.

  Sarah shifted in her place. “My situation is very different than it was back when I lashed out at you. I realize I no longer belong in the kind of Society you or Isabel or…or Kit inhabit.”

  “That’s nonsense,” Meg said. “Your circumstances may have changed, but you are still a gentleman’s daughter. Kit knows that as well as anyone. If he is conflicted, I would wager it has nothing to do with your standing.”

  “He asked me to attend the party tonight,” Sarah admitted.

  Meg’s grin was instant and wide. “Did he now?”

  Sarah nodded. “Of course, I said no.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve nothing to wear,” she said swiftly, though that wasn’t why. At least not the only reason.

  Meg lifted her brows. “That is the second time you’ve given me that excuse.”