“Congratulations,” he said, when the silence seemed to stretch indefinitely. “We won.”
At this, the duke’s face went purple.
“You were supposed to win,” he snarled. “I paid you to race my carriage. Not to put… someone else… in harm’s way.”
Giles held up his wounded arm. “In the course of winning you the race, you might have noticed Silas Wiltchurch—”
“—is an insect whom I will deal with without remorse,” the duke interrupted. “But he was not the man I hired, and trusted to protect—”
Giles pulled up straight.
“My partner,” he enunciated, “should not be hidden and does not wish for anyone’s uninvited protection. If he wishes to display his talents to the world, I am not fool enough to get in his way.”
The duke opened his mouth.
Giles didn’t back down. “I don’t ‘let’ him do anything except be himself, and live the life he wishes. Blacksmith or emperor of England, it’s not up to me.”
“It is not up to you,” the duke said coldly. “The race is over. You’re done.”
Chapter 13
Felicity hurtled through the crowd, heading not toward the celebrations but to the road.
Despite the joy thundering through her chest, she still could not quite credit that she’d won. No, they’d won! It didn't matter who held the reins. She could not have won without Giles, and he could not have won without her.
They were a team. The best team. As elemental and unstoppable as the rain soaking through her clothes.
She could hear the roar of the crowd behind her as she hurried away. She wished she could be in the thick of it. Wished she could do it again and again.
Wished she were standing next to Giles right this moment, not just to celebrate, but to check his arm, to kiss his lips.
Instead, her brother had been the first person she’d seen at the finish line. He’d plucked her from the carriage and spirited her from the track before the crowd had a chance to reach her.
And then threatened to deal with her fully the moment he returned home. Starting with burning her trousers and locking her in her chambers if that was what it took to keep her safe.
Felicity didn’t want to be safe. She wanted to be… free. At least long enough to say goodbye to Giles in person. His absence from her life was already ripping a hole in her chest.
She burst from the trees and trudged down the street toward Grosvenor Square.
A hack pulled to the corner. “Need a ride, lad?”
Did she?
Grosvenor Square was two blocks away. Walking distance. Right back to a life of opulence and luxury, fine dresses and intractable rules. That was her future.
But it didn’t have to start right now.
“Thank you.” Felicity hauled herself into the hackney. “Langford smithy, please. On—”
“Oxford Street,” finished the driver, and pulled out into traffic.
Felicity grinned to herself. Of course any hack driver worth his salt would know the Langford smithy. Giles had more loyal subjects than the Prince Regent.
When they arrived, Felicity tossed the driver an extra coin and leaped to the ground.
The smithy doors were closed tight. Giles must give his workers a free hour during a big race, in case they wished to take part in the festivities. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t here to work on carriages.
She walked around to the other side where the front-facing door to his residence stood and gave the knocker a smart rap.
After a moment, the door swung open to reveal a familiar face: the maid who had brought tea to Giles’s parlor just a few days prior.
It felt like a lifetime ago.
“Come in,” the maid gasped. “You’re soaked! I’ll have a hot bath and a fresh change of clothes sent up at once.”
That sounded positively divine.
With gratitude, Felicity followed her to a previously unseen portion of Giles’s home, where she was handed off to a second maid, who coddled and cooed over her even more than the first. She felt like a princess.
Or a victorious charioteer, home from battle.
Felicity groaned in pleasure as the hot bath soaked the tension from her tight muscles. The only thing missing was Giles.
Given the size of the crowd, he might not return for hours. That would give Felicity plenty of time to make herself more presentable and come up with the right words for her farewell speech.
Just because they had both always known goodbye was imminent, did not make saying the words any easier.
She wouldn’t burden him with the knowledge that she loved him, but she wanted him to know how much their time together had meant to her. He had accepted her as who and what she was, without any attempt to make her fit some preconceived notion of what females were capable of.
That alone was swoonworthy, but she adored the rest of the package just as much. From the first time he—
The bedchamber door flew open.
It was not a maid with an armful of dry clothes, but the wet and bedraggled love of her life… who had never seen her naked. She gasped and covered her breasts with her arms, bracing herself for a wave of shame and awkwardness. It didn’t come.
This was Giles. She could be herself with him in a bonnet or trousers or nothing at all. If this was the last time they’d see each other, only a fool would fail to take advantage of every opportunity fate bestowed upon them. Tomorrow, she could be a respectable lady.
Today belonged to her and Giles.
Chapter 14
After his conversation with her brother, Giles had not expected to see Felicity again. Let alone discover her in his bedroom. Wet. Naked.
She scooted to the other side of the bath and patted the water. “Come in. The water’s fine.”
He kicked the door shut and stalked over to her without taking off his clothes. If he removed so much as his cravat, all chance of restraint would be lost.
“I was worried sick about you,” he growled.
“About me?” She rose to her feet and met his gaze at eye level. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”
Or would have, if meeting his gaze had not been delayed an irresistible second, as he took in the dripping, naked body standing in front of him.
She was not offering herself to him in marriage. She might not have intended to offer herself to him at all. But here they were, and she was not shying away. She was leaning closer.
“Let me see your arm,” she said softly.
“Arm?” he croaked.
“This one.” She pried it from his chest and winced at the profusion of contusions and scabs. “That’s it. I’m killing Wiltchurch.”
“I’m fine,” Giles assured her.
Naval officers wore silk shirts beneath their uniforms because the fabric was strong enough to pull a bullet from a wound without tearing. Giles didn’t expect to confront enemy soldiers, but a racing track was often a battlefield of its own. This hadn’t been his first accident.
He held up his arm. “The bone’s not broken. It’ll be good as new in a week or two.”
She stared at him doubtfully. “It doesn’t look like it’ll be good as new. It looks like somebody ought to accidentally shove Silas Wiltchurch in the Thames.”
Giles fully intended to have it out with Wiltchurch. Publicly, in front of plenty of witnesses. Today, in fact. High Society might suffer fools, but Giles did not. He’d ensure the blackguard was never welcome in another race again.
He lifted his good hand to Felicity’s cheek. “I’ve suffered worse. Mostly when my heart stopped, as I watched you drive away.”
She leaned her cheek into his palm with a small smile. “I did it.”
“You did it,” he confirmed. “I wish I could swing you in my arms and dance you around this room like you deserve.”
“There’s a second option.” She licked her lips. “A way to celebrate that requires very little dancing and even fewer clothes.”
Giles knew he sh
ould dissuade her from this tack. Not because he didn’t want to ravish her—she was voicing the exact thoughts he’d been having—but because he’d wanted it to mean more. Making love to Felicity should be the beginning, not the ending.
She touched a fingertip to his damp lapel. “You should get out of these wet clothes.”
“I…” He glanced at her finger on his chest, then down to her naked body, and felt his self-control slipping away. “I’m not certain that’s the wisest idea.”
“Let me help.” She plucked at his cravat. “For purely practical reasons. At least let me clean your arm.”
He gave a tight nod. There. He would prove his arm was fine, they’d put their clothes back on, and that would be that.
Maybe.
She began to unfasten each button of his jacket, of his waistcoat, slowly, deliberately. He sucked in his stomach as her fingers stripped him a little barer with each pop of a button.
“I’ll try not to hurt you,” she murmured as she eased his ruined jacket from his wide shoulders and carefully off each arm. “But I can’t promise not to.”
He knew that. He’d known from the beginning. This moment was worth it.
“What I’m feeling isn’t pain.” He leaned into her touch despite himself. He couldn’t help it.
This was what she wanted. This was what he wanted. There was no sense fighting it.
Once the jacket and waistcoat had been tossed aside, she stepped from the tub. “Now your shirt.”
The cloud of white linen was up over his head and down onto the floor within seconds.
“You can’t get in the water with your boots on.” She knelt at his feet.
He yanked the closest footstool next to the tub and sat down hard.
She tugged off each boot, then each stocking, and pushed them toward the wall. “Stand up.”
He locked his hands behind his back to keep from reaching for her.
She unbuttoned his fall with the same care she’d given his jacket and waistcoat, in slow, unhurried movements. One button. Two buttons. Three.
Even before she’d begun, the evidence of his arousal was clearly delineated against his fall. Having it stiff and hot in her hands, however, was a different experience entirely. He groaned and tried not to thrust into her fingers when she gave it a tentative stroke.
“Bath,” he gasped and sank into the tub, hiding his lower half from view.
She knelt beside him, reaching in to inspect his wounded arm. Gently, she cleaned the broken skin with soap and a soft rag.
“See?” he managed. The arm was swollen and discolored, but not broken. He’d been very, very fortunate.
When she finished with his arm, she brought the soap and the warm cloth to the rest of his body. Neck, shoulders, chest, stomach, hips. When she reached her hand further beneath the water, he grabbed her wrist with his good hand before she made contact.
“Not yet,” he growled.
Her eyes widened, then sparkled in anticipation. “That’s a yes?”
“It was a yes the moment I walked through the door and saw you naked.” He didn’t bother making noises about her reputation. She had always lived two lives. The public one she admitted to, and the private one she kept to herself.
Today would be just another one of her secrets.
He handed her a towel and dried himself with another before crossing to his armoire.
He always kept fresh bandages handy in case of accidents. The silk had saved his arm from dirt and debris, but wrapping the injury would keep the scratches from infection and help calm the swelling.
Task complete, he turned to face Felicity. The towel he’d given her was twisted about her hair, rather than hiding her perfect body. What he wouldn’t give to start every morning just like this.
“This is the moment,” he said huskily, “when I ought to toss you over my shoulder and carry you over to that bed.”
“And you can’t? You poor dear.” She gave a wicked smile. “You’ll have to watch me walk to the bed on my own two feet and open my legs for you all by myself. We’re a team, remember?”
Before he could respond, she rose to her feet and sashayed to the bed, giving the swing of her hips an extra little sway.
He followed right behind her. “Minx.”
When she turned in surprise, he covered her mouth with his.
This was the kiss he’d longed to give when she’d won the race. Wild and untamed, sweet and celebratory, possessive and demanding. A kiss that acknowledged the win but was not yet done conquering. A kiss that claimed her as his own.
It wasn’t enough. He lowered his mouth to her neck, to the curve of her shoulder, to her breast.
The gasp of pleasure that escaped her throat was nearly his undoing. As if her knees had weakened, and she seated herself unsteadily on the edge of the mattress and reached for him.
It was the welcome he’d been waiting for.
Without taking his mouth from her breast, his fingers found the wet heat between her thighs. A delicious rhythm unfurled: suckling, stroking, suckling, stroking, until she arched her spine and cried out as the spasms took her.
When she collapsed backward against the mattress, he did not climb atop her. Instead he sank to one knee and placed his mouth where his fingers had been. In no time at all, his tongue coax her back toward the peak.
“Now,” she whispered, tugging him toward her. “I want all of you.”
He lifted his head from between her thighs with one last, lingering lick. “I can’t.”
She jerked her head up from the bed. “What?”
“As much as I would dearly love to position myself between your legs and thrust until we can’t see straight, I can’t hold myself up with one arm and I don’t want to crush you.”
“But…” She blushed.
“Fortunately, there’s another way.” He lowered himself onto the bed beside her and gave her a wicked smile. “If you want to ravish me, you’ll have to do it yourself.”
Her eyes lit up. “Can I taste you like you tasted me?”
The swollen member jutted up between his legs.
“Straddle my hips,” he said hoarsely, “and ride.”
She knelt over him, her legs straddling his. But then she lowered her head, her soft hair falling to his taut stomach, hiding her lips from view. She immediately placed her mouth about his member and gave an experimental lick.
Every muscle in his body twitched at once.
“Felicity…” he growled.
She ignored the warning and sucked instead, just as he had done to her breast.
He sucked in a tortured gasp of air, unable to think from the rush of pleasure.
“Felicity,” he rasped hoarsely, reaching for her hand. “For the love of all that’s holy… Ride.”
After a final lick of his member, she then positioned herself so that it nudged her opening.
Inch by inch, she began to lower herself onto him. He lifted his good hand to where their bodies joined. His thumb made lazy little circles that caused her to hitch her breath as the growing slickness quickly seated their bodies together.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked quietly.
“No.” Her passion-drugged eyes lifted to his. “Am I hurting you?”
“If you stop, I’ll die.”
“I never want to stop.” She moved her hips, rocking against him, lifting and lowering.
The muscles in his legs tightened as he strained to keep from release until she’d found hers, too. With the pad of his thumb, he coaxed her back to the precipice to join him.
“Giles,” she gasped.
That was all she had time to say before her muscles contracted around him. When she caught her breath, she asked, “Are you—”
“Right now,” he growled, hauling her off of him with his good arm and covering his bucking hips with the bedclothes.
He curled himself about her, his good arm crossing possessively over her chest and stomach.
And then, if he wasn’t mistaken, a
tiny snore escaped her lips.
He pressed a kiss to her hair and gave himself over to sleep. When next he opened his eyes, the angle of the sun indicated hours had passed. Mid-morning had become afternoon. If he didn’t act fast, the day would be gone… and so would Felicity.
Her brother had already indicated he would refuse consent to the match. But Giles didn’t give a damn what the Duke of Colehaven wished. Giles wanted to marry Felicity. Her feelings were the only ones that mattered.
“Are you awake?” he murmured into her hair.
She nodded. “But I’m not ready to leave this bed.”
He hoped she never would.
Now that he’d committed to pursuing this path, he was at a loss as to what the right words were. What was the proper post-coital procedure to broach the topic of wedding someone you had never officially entered courtship with?
“Felicity,” he began tentatively. “I really like you.”
Smiling, she turned so that their foreheads touched. “I like you, too.”
“Let’s get married,” he blurted.
There. The words were out. They had an impact, all right.
Just not the intended one.
He wasn’t sure what stung worse: her involuntary wince at the idea, or the oh god what do I do now terror in her eyes.
“If you’re uninterested, just say so,” he said stiffly. “Put me out of my misery.”
“I’m extremely interested,” she said. “Close to obsession, really. You’re all I ever think about. But… I can’t.”
Elation at her reciprocated interest crashed into the brick wall of rejection.
He tried to understand. “We just—”
“I know.” She looked tortured. “But no one else has to. Just like I can’t tell anyone I wear lads’ clothing and work on carriages.”
“You told me,” he pointed out. “I like it. I like you.”
“It’s not that simple.” She bit her lip, her brown eyes pained. “Yesterday, I… That is, Lord Raymore…”
Giles sprang upright, wounded arm be damned.
“You’re betrothed to someone else?” he burst out in shock and disbelief.
“Not yet,” she said at once, then lowered her gaze. “But that’s the path I’m on. It’s… not about you…”
One Night to Remember: Wicked Dukes Club #5 Page 12