The moment was over too soon. “Come,” he called, and taking one of her hands and gathering one of Charlie’s, they sprinted over the slick grass and muddy puddles.
To hell with Mother Nature and God’s or anyone else’s opinion—Josephine had shaped her own course, and she’d not relinquish her control now.
Chapter 13
After a quiet carriage ride from London’s fashionable end to the modest streets where he and Charlie resided, Duncan hurried down from the hackney with a slumbering Charlie in his arms. He reached up to help a wrinkled and slightly damp Josephine Webb.
Now, she followed alongside them.
“Hello, sir.” Mrs. Joy greeted them at the back door as though it was the most common occurrence in the world for Duncan to arrive with a damp stranger in tow.
“The dear had a good day, I’d say,” Mrs. Joy exclaimed as he carried the little girl through the kitchens and up the narrow set of stairs to Charlie’s rooms. “I’ll have her dry and warm and resting in no time,” she promised, shooing him from the room.
Duncan fetched several clean towels and then made his way down once more to the kitchens.
At some point, Josephine had removed her cloak. The article was now upon the hook beside his, and he lingered a moment there. How right it somehow seemed in that spot, alongside his.
He entered, and from where she stood at the brick hearth, warming her palms, Josephine turned, a smile on her face.
Never had he been more aware of the change in his circumstances and the humble state of his household. “Here,” he murmured. Joining her, Duncan folded one of the towels about her shoulders.
Josephine accepted the other towel with a murmured, “Thanks,” and proceeded to pat the damp ends of her damp auburn tresses. His fingers twitched with envy over that task.
“Josephine,” he began.
Grabbing him by his wet shirtfront, Josephine leaned up and kissed him.
Passion exploded and laid claim to honor and reason and all common sense. Catching her in his arms, Duncan drew her close, and she went where he led. As he swept his tongue inside her mouth, she met every lash of his tongue.
Her hips undulated and arched in time to the thrusting of that flesh. Her luxuriant movements drove him back, and Duncan tumbled into a kitchen chair, taking her with him. All the while, they never broke contact with their lips.
Drenched from the rain, their garments plastered to them, there was something raw and primal in their state, and it sent lust pumping through him. He squeezed his eyes shut as honor reared its unwanted but familiar head. “Josephine, we should—”
“Don’t you dare speak to me about what we should or should not do,” she rasped between kisses. “I’m a woman, Duncan, capable of knowing my own mind and what I want.” Josephine lifted passion-heavy eyes to his. “And I want you.”
He closed his eyes. “I am lost,” he said gutturally.
Josephine caught his face between her hands. “You are not lost, Duncan.” She touched her brow to his. “We are found.”
Yes, he’d been found. He’d been found the day she’d thrown a purse through his window, shattering the glass and his world.
Duncan filled his hands with her buttocks.
She keened and moved against him. “Your servants?” she rasped against his mouth.
“There is only Mrs. Joy today.” Shoving her heavy skirts up, Duncan drew her close so that she straddled his legs. So that their bodies were flush.
Duncan broke their kiss and resisted her quiet pleas for him to continue. He continued only his exploration of her. He teased the corner of her mouth, the curve of her jaw, and then trailed lower… to the place where her pulse pounded in her neck.
“Duncan.” That broken whisper, his name a plea, fueled his hunger. Duncan ran his hands over her, learning the feel of her. He brought his hands between them and, lightly cupping her breasts, massaged the soft mounds through the fabric of her gown.
Josephine cried out, but he caught that soft sound with his mouth.
Working the bodice of her dress down, he freed her breasts to his gaze and touch. Palming them, he pressed the perfect cream-white swells together.
With a long, endless groan, Josephine dropped her head back. That sound ended on a hiss as he licked and teased first one swollen pink tip and then the other.
She moaned over and over, and he thrilled in the sound and feel of her as she came undone in his arms.
Slipping a hand between them, Duncan worked it in a path over her soft thigh… and then he found her. He pressed his hand against the tangle of damp, silken curls.
Josephine’s eyes shot wide, and then he slid a finger inside her wet heat. He stroked her. Slowly. Teasing her nub. “You are so wet,” he panted.
Josephine buried her face in his shoulder and bit at him. Her hips came alive as she moved frantically against him.
Standing, he swept her into his arms and carried her from the small kitchen, onward to his offices. When he reached them, he shoved the door closed with the heel of his boot and forced himself to set Josephine down. Allowing her another opportunity to end this. “You deserve a bed,” he said quietly. “You deserve more than I can give you.” As a struggling barrister… and in any way. To offer her more would only see her with a ruined reputation for reasons that had nothing to do with her.
Some of the passion lifted from Josephine’s expressive blue eyes. “It isn’t about what you can give me, Duncan,” she said softly, simply. She brushed her knuckles lightly over his jaw. “It is about what I want.” Her chest rose and fell swiftly. “And I want you.”
I want you.
His own wife had loathed his touch. She’d despised everything about him. She’d hated everything about their daughter and their life together, and with this woman, with Josephine, he laughed as he never had before… and felt and lived…
Josephine reached for him, but he stepped out of her arms. “I’d at least have the truth between us. I’m not a respected member of Society. I never will be. There’s a…” Josephine touched two fingers to his lips.
“Duncan, do you think I care what Society says about you? Society hasn’t been kind to me or my family either. I’m not one to judge you for opinions that others carry. Others who do not matter.”
This time, he was lost… and found in every way.
Duncan pulled her close and took her mouth under his.
Magnificent even in passion, Josephine met every violent slant of his lips on hers. With fingers that shook, he undid the laces at the back of her gown. When the ties were free, together they worked her dress down her frame.
Soaked as her modest white undergarments were, they offered a tantalizing view of the pink nipples pebbled against the front of her chemise. The dark thatch of curls between her thighs stood out in stark temptation.
Duncan closed his eyes.
He wouldn’t survive this.
And he was quite content with the end he’d face.
She was in his arms once more, boldly wrestling the damp jacket from his shoulders. Duncan reached past her to tug his shirt free. He tossed it, forgotten, upon the floor.
When he was bared from the chest up, Josephine ran her eyes over him. Stretching out a hesitant hand, she slid her fingers through the hair on his chest. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispered.
Duncan swallowed convulsively. His entire body ached with a hungering to make love to her, to join their bodies as one. And yet, the moment they did, everything would change. “Josephine,” he began in strained tones, even as his body screamed for him to take the gift she held out before him.
A question dimmed some of the passion in her eyes.
“You deserve marriage and respectability and”—a man who could provide her a comfortable existence—“even as I wish I could offer you all that, I don’t know that I—”
Josephine kissed him into silence. “I didn’t ask for marriage or more. It is my decision, Duncan. I am not here because I expect anything.” She
pressed her body close to his. “I’m here because I choose to be.” Her lips curved up in a smile that was a contradictory blend of innocent and sultry. With almost shy movements, she shimmied out of her undergarments, and at last, she was naked before him.
Oh, God. He struggled to drag air into his lungs. She was all cream-white perfection, her breasts small but their swells perfect, as if made to fit his hands. Ample buttocks. Long, lean limbs.
Josephine held Duncan’s gaze. “I choose you, Duncan. I want you to be the man who makes love to me.”
With a groan, Duncan wrestled his boots off. He let them drop. His trousers followed. Once naked, he caught Josephine in his arms and carried her to the leather sofa creased and wrinkled with age. The moment he set her down, Josephine lifted her arms up for him, and all honor had left, because this time, he didn’t hesitate.
Coming over her, Duncan braced himself on his elbows so that she was framed under his larger body and made love to her mouth. All the while, he searched and explored, teasing her until she undulated against him; keening his name.
“Please,” she begged, arching her hips.
Duncan answered by sliding a finger slowly inside her. He teased her nub until the only plea to fall from her lips was his name. She uttered it over and over.
Sweat beaded on his brow and wound a path down, stinging his eyes. He blinked back the discomfort, not wanting to miss a moment as Josephine experienced passion. A delicate flush stained her chest and cheeks, a beautiful vibrant glow that glistened from the perspiration slicking her skin.
Duncan lowered his head and took the tip of one breast between his lips.
“Duncan,” she hissed, her fingers curling in his hair as she anchored him close. “I’ve never…” As he suckled her, her words dissolved into a moan. “Felt… ahhh,” she finished on a ragged whisper.
He paused and lifted his head briefly from her bounteous breasts to meet her eyes. “I’ve never felt like this either. Not with anyone, Josephine Webb.”
A bolt of lightning outside lit up the room. A shadow played over her face. Whatever it was, a trick of the light or his own imagining was gone as quickly as it had come. Not wanting reality or anything else to intrude on this moment, he lowered his attention once more to the sensitized peaks of her breasts. He laved and sucked until she was crying out and twisting under him.
Moving into position, Duncan settled himself between her legs and slid inside, inch by inch. The tight walls of her closed around him, and he squeezed his eyes shut at the exquisite feel of her. He’d not survive this. He continued his glide until he reached a slight barrier.
Reality and honor all came rushing back, unwanted guests in this moment.
“Josephine,” he whispered, brushing a kiss against her temple.
Her lashes fluttered open. Desire burned from within those crystal pools.
“Are you certain this is what you want?” That he was what she wanted… Duncan stroked his knuckles along her cheek. “It is not too late to stop.” Even though it would kill him to not complete joining his body with hers.
Josephine smiled and then lifted her hips.
She cried out as that scrap of her innocence gave way.
Duncan took the remaining echo of her cry under his mouth. He didn’t move. He kissed her deeply, stroking his tongue against hers until a soft, little sigh caressed his lips.
“There,” she whispered. “I’ve taken care of that.”
An agonized chuckle started low in his chest. “You are magnificent, Josephine.” And then, ever so slowly, he began to move. He drew out and then pushed inside her. Her arms were about him, and Josephine clung tight. She lifted into his every stroke, meeting each lunge of his hips.
Her breath came on fast little pants as her movements grew more frenetic.
“Duncan?” His name was a question. Slightly pitched, it echoed from the rafters.
He responded by slipping a hand between them and finding her again with his fingers between each glide of his shaft.
Josephine lifted her hips. “Please,” she entreated, scratching her nails along his back in a primitive gesture that threatened the last shred of control he had.
“Come for me,” he urged harshly, wanting her to know that exquisite bliss, needing her to come. He could not wait. He could not—
Then Josephine stiffened.
She shattered, coming in his arms. She cried out his name over and over as the walls of her channel squeezed at him. And then she sagged into the folds of the leather sofa and remained there, only her chest moving.
Duncan increased his strokes. Hair fell over his eyes, and Josephine tenderly brushed aside those strands.
And it was that tenderness, that warmth that sent him spiraling. With a strength he didn’t believe he possessed, Duncan forced himself to pull out. “Josephine,” he cried as he came in shuddery arcs upon her belly. Pleasure rippled through him, sapping him of his strength, and he collapsed, catching himself on his elbows.
As they lay there, bodies twined, only one thought managed to pierce the moment.
One night would never be enough with her.
He wanted forever.
Chapter 14
Nothing was ever going to be the same.
Everything had changed.
She had changed.
With a contented little sigh slipping out, Josephine lay her head upon the back of the hackney bench Duncan had deposited her into nearly forty minutes ago, and she stared at the ceiling overhead. A smile played about her lips.
After Lord Grimslee had broken it off with her, and she’d found herself relegated to the role of forgotten wallflower, Josephine had vowed there would be no marriage. She’d also accepted there would be no grand moment of passion. Or… any passion at all. And she’d been quite content with that future.
Her betrothed hadn’t been overtaken with enough desire to so much as kiss her. Their lone embrace had been initiated by Josephine and met with something akin to shock and mayhap even horror from the man she’d believed herself in love with. Following the end of their betrothal, she’d been reduced to the ranks of social pariah.
Not scandalous enough to earn the attention of the rogues, rakes, and scoundrels, not that she’d wanted their attentions either way.
Not from a good enough family to garner the notice of honorable gentlemen.
Cowards are what they’d been.
Men without convictions and who’d cared more about the gossip surrounding Josephine than her worth as a person.
Only, she knew now that she, too, had been at fault in how she’d lived her life. For she’d held Society’s opinions at the forefront of her mind. She’d cared about restoring the Pratt name where her brothers had failed. She’d buried her true interests away as a dirty secret to be hidden from all.
At last, she’d learned to live for her, celebrating passion and her body’s desires without apology, finding joy where she would. And that happiness had come with Duncan and his daughter.
And this new way of being was more invigorating, more rewarding than all of the moments in her life that had come before.
The hackney hit an uneven cobblestone and knocked her into the wall. Grunting, she caught the edge of the bench and clung to keep from falling.
With the sun having long surrendered its spot in the night sky, Josephine pulled back the curtain and studied the windows of Mayfair townhouses alternately awash in the glow of candles, while others had curtains drawn tight. Josephine scoured the streets for a hint of neighbors about. The rainstorm had lessened, and yet, a steady trickle slicked the streets and kept them quiet, and Josephine gave silent thanks for the cover it provided.
The old driver pulled the door open, and a faint glow from the lamppost spilled into the conveyance. Frowning, her driver peered inside. “Well, out with you now! I’ve got fares to earn. Can’t be sitting here with you all day.”
That sharp rebuke, combined with the lack of offered assistance, proved stark reminders. For, as fr
ee as she’d lived this past week with Duncan, she’d played a game of pretend. And ultimately, all games came to an end.
Unease danced in her belly, and Josephine drew her still damp hood back into place and jumped down from the hackney Duncan had sent her back in. Josephine winced at the tenderness between her thighs. Alas, the discomfort was a paltry annoyance compared to what she and Duncan had shared.
For all the magic of that afternoon, for everything that had been right about being with him and in his arms, she’d been wrong in one thing.
She’d told him she didn’t need anything more, but there’d been a grand lie there. Because she did need more. She yearned for more. Josephine went still, afraid to move, afraid to breathe as the weight of that realization slammed into her. She’d been so adamant about disavowing love and marriage after Lucas, and here she was, wanting both with Duncan. She wanted a future with him and Charlie.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the irony of it all. Loving when she’d sworn never to love again and also loving a man steadfast in his own pledge to not trust his heart to another.
A pang struck sharp in her chest, followed by a rush of hope.
After all, she herself hadn’t been unlike Duncan in his disavowal of the marriage state. What was to say he, too, couldn’t change? That they couldn’t have marriage and love and a lifetime together?
Because he was clear in every way that he could not promise her anything.
In the moment, she’d been so very certain that making love to him would be gift enough to carry with her forever. Only to find out here, as she snuck about like a thief in the night, that she’d lied so effortlessly to both Duncan and herself.
Shoving back the unwanted niggling, she huddled deep inside her muslin cloak and hurried along the barren streets until she reached the narrow alley leading to the back of her family’s townhouse.
Picking her way over puddles and grime, Josephine made her way to the servants’ entrance. She lightly pressed the handle and slipped inside the kitchens—
The Minx Who Met Her Match Page 16