Her Night with the Duke

by Diana Quincy

  She bucked a little, but stifled a groan from deep in her throat.

  “Does this feel good?” he murmured as he moved to her other thigh, licking and kissing his way toward the core of her womanhood.

  “It is fine, I suppose.” She held herself back even as he felt her body responding.

  “I shall have to try harder to please you.” He relished the challenge. He moved up, skipping the place between her legs, to press his lips against her bare mound atop her sex.

  “Elliot,” she sighed. “Oh, Elliot. You hurt me.”

  “I’m sorry, my love, let me show you how sorry.” He finally ventured to where she wanted him most, tonguing and kissing her opening. He swirled his tongue around the tiny bud where so much female pleasure was centered. She writhed and moaned, and the beautiful pressure built within him. His balls drew up tight, his prick throbbed.

  “Ahhh!” she exclaimed as she lost her balance and suddenly flipped backward over the couch, disappearing from his sight.

  “Leela!” He leaped over the furniture to find she’d tumbled over the sofa and onto the floor. When he reached her she was laughing. He kissed her hard and she rolled over on top of him and worked to unbutton the placket of his trousers.

  “But I haven’t finished pleasuring you yet,” he protested. Weakly.

  “We’ll finish together.” She freed his erection, stroking him in firm movements. Her hands on him felt so good that his eyes almost rolled to the back of his head. Then she was lowering herself onto him until he was fully seated in her sublime snug warmth. She began to move over him, her hair now wild and free. Her eyes in a glittery daze.

  She controlled the pace and the intensity. He followed her lead, undulating with her, making guttural sounds of pleasure as her insides caressed his prick. Blood rushed to his groin. It was unbearably good. He wasn’t going to last. Sensation rushed at him. Warmth surrounded his balls. He felt lighter, freer, braced for the thrill of climax.

  “Leela!” he called out as the tension shattered and he released into her.

  She froze, threw her head back and arched into her climax. Then collapsed onto Hunt’s chest. Hunt wrapped his arms around her and drew her to him.

  “Am I forgiven?”

  She made a noncommittal sound and snuggled into the warmth of his body.

  Hunt pulled her closer and could not remember ever feeling more content. “I’m here and I am staying,” he whispered in her ear, his chest tight with emotion. “And I won’t leave until you send me away.”

  Hunt’s fingers explored between Leela’s legs.

  They were entwined on his massive carved wood bed where they’d spent the night together in his cavernous bedchamber. Again, she marveled at his vigor.

  Last night, he’d made love to her again, going slowly, exploring every part of her. Hunt, she discovered, was very thorough once he set his mind to something. It was wondrous to be on the receiving end of so much determined energy, of his ardor and zeal. And his stamina astounded her. Douglas had been much more quick about this business.

  “What was that you said to me yesterday when you were determined to leave Eaton Park?”

  She yawned. “When?”

  “You said something to me in Arabic when you were trying to get me off the floor when I was begging for your apology.”

  “Oh that. Nothing. It’s just something Arabs tend to say when they’re angry with someone.”

  “Say it again.”

  “Yikhrib Baitak.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “Something along the lines of, ‘May God destroy your house.’”

  “So harsh.” He chuckled. “But I suppose I deserved that.”

  “But I rather like your house now.” She pressed a kiss against his lips. “Particularly your bedchamber.”

  “I’m rather fond of it, too.” Elliot’s finger traced a path along the intimate slit at the apex of her thighs. “Does it hurt?”

  She stretched, her body still humming from the lingering sensations of intensely enjoyable lovemaking. “Does what hurt?”

  He feathered his fingers over the smooth folds. “Removing the hair.”

  “Somewhat.” It was difficult to carry on a conversation with his hand down there. “Among the Arab women it is often a communal ritual. My cousins and aunts would come together to make the special sugaring to remove all of the hair from their arms, legs and . . . elsewhere.”

  His seeking fingers stilled. “You watch each other do this?”

  She smiled at his shock. “No, the most private removal is done in privacy behind a curtain. But the rest, our arms and legs, we did while we were together.” All while gossiping, laughing and drinking delicious shay flavored with either mint or rosemary.

  Leela had balked at first; the concept of removing her body hair was completely alien to her. Ultimately, however, curiosity about the customs and cultural traditions of her mother’s people, and a desire to share a sense of belonging, had prompted her to try the ritual.

  Beauty requires courage, her aunt had said laughingly when Leela had winced at the pain the first time she’d tried sugaring. But once she’d experienced the results of the procedure and reveled in the silky feel of hairless arms and legs, Leela had regularly joined the sessions and had even sugared on her own upon her return to England.

  “Does it feel different?” he asked.

  “A bit. You have taught me that it heightens my pleasure. I am more sensitive to a man’s touch when I am bare down there.”

  “Is that so?” He dipped under the bed linens.

  “What are you doing?” she asked as his lips trailed down her stomach.

  “I am keen to find out just how sensitive you are.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Later, they breakfasted in Hunt’s old-fashioned bedchamber.

  Sitting in comfortable stuffed chairs pulled up to a round table with carved legs, they feasted on a massive spread of food. Warm buns, kidney pie, beer, coffee, cheeses, breads, plum cake, hard-boiled eggs and a slab of beef.

  Contentedly wrapped in Hunt’s too-large dressing gown, Leela helped herself to a second helping of steak and kidney pie. “Mmm, this might be what I missed most when I was abroad.”

  “Kidney pie?” he asked dubiously.

  “I suppose a lady can remove herself from England but you cannot remove—”

  “England from the lady,” he finished for her. “What else did you miss?”

  She chewed as she considered the question. “Ratafia cakes. And definitely sponge cake.”

  “Any nonfood items?” he asked, clearly amused.

  “The English countryside. There’s really nothing quite as beautiful.” Sipping her coffee, she surveyed the red-and-white furnishings framing the four-poster bed. Her attention went to the tester adorned with ostrich feathers, a row of matching upholstered chairs and the century-old tapestries lining the walls. “Most apartments in Town are smaller than your private rooms,” she observed.

  He smiled, settling his elbow on the table and cradling his jaw as he openly took in the sight of her. “Eaton Park was built more than one-hundred-and-fifty years ago when the first Dukes of Huntington treated their bedchambers as public reception rooms and received visitors while lying in bed.”

  “Imagine receiving visitors in your bedchamber.”

  A naughty spark lit his eyes. “As long as the visitor is the most alluring woman I’ve ever laid eyes upon, I’m happy to receive her in my bed at any time.”

  He looked impossibly appealing in his red silk banyon. He wore nothing underneath. The robe was loosely belted, exposing the mouthwatering expanse of male skin all the way to his waist. She tried not to sigh too loudly in appreciation at the sight of his articulate musculature. Amber hair sprinkled his chest and belly and his dark golden hair was still tousled from their bed play.

  “Elliot—” She hesitated to give voice to the subject weighing on her mind.

  “What is it?” Hunt cut two slices of ch
eese, keeping one for himself and putting the other on Leela’s blue-and-gold patterned porcelain plate.

  “I don’t want to bring up an uncomfortable topic.”

  “Clearly you do. So out with it.” He bit into a hard-boiled egg. “What is on your mind?”

  “Do you think she is safe with Foster?”

  He paused. “Are you trying to ruin my appetite? The last person I care to think about is my double-crossing former secretary.”

  “I am so worried about Victoria. It’s been a fortnight and we haven’t heard a word from her. I’m desperate to know what kind of man this Mr. Foster is.”

  “If you had asked me before all of this occurred whether Foster is an honorable man, I would have said yes.”

  “What do you say now?”

  He shrugged. “He was hardworking, honest and very capable. He fully immersed himself in his work. Honestly, he could probably run the duchy without me there to oversee matters. However, I cannot speak to his intentions toward Victoria. I have no idea what he was thinking when he stole away with her.”

  “Is he a fortune hunter?”

  “I would not have thought so. But I suppose it’s possible.”

  “She has no money. Can he afford to keep her? Devon told me he won’t give Victoria anything. Not a shilling.”

  He refilled their coffee. “Foster seemed responsible enough with his earnings, and I gave him generous bonuses. But he certainly cannot keep her in the comfort to which an earl’s daughter is accustomed.”

  “I’m sick with worry. If only I knew she was safe.”

  “If I know anything about Victoria and Foster, it is that they are both smart, enterprising and generally averse to risk. They’ll turn up when they are ready to make a reappearance.”

  “I hope you are right.” She exhaled. “Forgive me for raising a sensitive topic?”

  “It’s already forgotten,” he said dismissively. “If the cost of getting you into my bed was public humiliation and ridicule, then it was well worth it. Honestly, I haven’t thought about that unpleasant business since you arrived.”

  Hunt did appear far less perturbed by the calamity that drove him from town now than when Leela first arrived at Eaton Park. “When will you return to London?”

  “Next week. I have government business.” He gave her a speculative look.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Will you stay here with me until then? Or will your absence draw unwanted attention?”

  “The staff at my brother’s house thinks I’m at Parkwood, so they won’t miss me.”

  “That’s very convenient.”

  “Isn’t it?” She reached for a warm bun. “I could become accustomed to being spoiled so terribly.”

  He pushed the plate of warm buns closer to her so it was within easy reach. “I’ve only just begun to spoil you,” he said softly. “I have much to make amends for.”

  Her insides warmed. “Are we having an affair then?”

  “I certainly hope so. I am the most fortunate of men to have a mistress as mesmerizing as you.”

  She balked. “I never said I would be your mistress.”

  His face fell. “But I thought you agreed to continue our liaison?”

  “I have. But I am no man’s mistress. That sounds like a kept woman and the only person keeping me is myself.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  She rose and slipped into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck to wipe that look of concern off his face. “We are having a clandestine affair.” She pressed a kiss just below his ear. “We’ll be secret lovers for as long as we wish to continue our liaison.”

  He put his arms around her and pulled her in for a long slow kiss. “You’ve no interest in becoming a duchess?”

  She shook her head. “For the first time in my life, I am finally free of society’s disapproving gaze. I intend to continue writing and traveling without worrying about what anyone thinks. Besides, you don’t want a half-Arab duchess. The last thing you need is more scandal.”

  “You are also a countess. And the daughter of a marquess.”

  “And a foreign merchant’s granddaughter,” she reminded him. “There are people who will never see beyond my origins, or my dark eyes and skin tone. I witnessed how hard my mother tried. She shed everything from her past, but Mama was never truly accepted.”

  “You are not your mother. You were born and raised here. Your father was an English lord.”

  “Nevertheless, to the ton I am forever tainted by Mama’s inferior connections.” Her chest knotted. “Since the day I wed, I’ve been judged and found wanting. As good as Douglas was to me, I felt trapped in a society that turned up its nose at me. I never want to be in that situation again. Besides, imagine what the ton will say if they learn you’ve taken up with your betrothed’s stepmama.”

  “We were never formally betrothed,” he corrected. “But I will admit that I would prefer to avoid another scandal at all costs. I do not relish being the subject of gossip. I am still trying to live down my brother’s infamy. Not to mention this calamity with Victoria.”

  “Then we are in accord. No more talk of marriage.” She put her forehead to his. “Let us just resolve to enjoy ourselves.”

  “And our liaison continues once we return to Town?”

  “Absolutely, if you wish it.” She paused. “Will it be difficult for you to face everyone?”

  He thought about it for a minute. “No, not when I have so much to look forward to.” Surprise tinged his words, as though he’d just come to the realization. He pressed his lips to her shoulder. “I shall just get on with it. It will not be long before another scandal eclipses this one. As it turns out, Victoria jilting me just might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  “Her loss is definitely my gain.”

  “So it is settled.” He stood up with his arms around her waist and walked her backward toward the linens they’d rumpled through the night. “Upon our return to Town in five days’ time, we shall continue to be lovers, but you are not my mistress.”

  “Precisely.” She glanced behind her. “What are we doing?”

  “You are my visitor”—he picked her up and tossed her onto the soft feather mattress—“and I should like to receive you in my bed.”

  She giggled and reached up to embrace him as he lowered himself on top of her.

  “Remember the point of the game is to get the ball in the hole by using the fewest strokes,” Hunt said patiently.

  “I understand that perfectly.” Leela blew a loose tendril of hair away from her face. “But my muscles do not seem to want to cooperate.”

  Her face was flushed and her marvelous hair slowly escaped its pins. Hunt had to keep himself from staring at Leela. He could hardly believe that she was here with him. That she’d agreed to continue their liaison indefinitely. “The position of your arms is perfect. However, you must allow your hips to support the force of the swing.”

  “What do my hips have to do with hitting a ball?” Leela grumbled. “And, if you ask me, the ball is entirely too small. It’s almost impossible to hit.” Her enthusiasm for the game was diminishing rapidly because she couldn’t muster enough power for her swing.

  They were halfway through the golf course at Eaton Park. Two aides proceeded far out ahead of them, tasked with running down any errant balls. A caddie carrying their clubs tucked under his arm trailed Leela and Hunt at a discreet distance. It was an overcast day, with a slight chill. The air smelled like autumn.

  Hunt smiled. “You are rather fetching when you are irritated.”

  She scowled. “You have an advantage because you play in pantaloons while I have to manage these blasted skirts.”

  “Come now. Becoming proficient at golf takes some time. You aren’t doing too badly for a novice.”

  Leela gave an inelegant snort. “It took me eight strokes to land my ball anywhere near the target. You managed to very neatly do the same in just three strokes.” They stro
lled across the green grass to where their balls had landed.

  “If your skirts are such a bother, I, for one, would not object to your wearing those peculiar trousers of yours.”

  “Which trousers?”

  “The ones you wore under your skirts at the Black Swan, the evening we met.”

  Her eyes rounded. “You noticed that, did you?”

  “I noticed everything about you that evening.”

  “Hmm. I don’t recall what you were wearing.” She lowered her voice. “But I clearly recall the spectacular view once you removed your clothing.”

  Hunt’s blood warmed. Contentment washed over him. He hadn’t considered that Leela might be such an engaging companion. He savored every minute with her. Beyond the bed sport, which was extraordinary, he enjoyed the simple pleasures of just being with her—the bantering and easy intimacy, the conversation that flowed so easily, the companionable silences. These past few days proved that their first evening together at the Black Swan was no anomaly.

  “We’re a good fit, you and I,” Hunt remarked. “I look forward to a long affair. Until we’re both old and gray, I hope.”

  “Or at least until you are compelled to marry and produce an heir.”

  His mood darkened. “Don’t speak of it.”

  “We both know our eventual parting is inevitable.”

  He studied her. “Because you will tire of me?”

  “Because you will do your duty. And even if I were not a scandalous choice for your duchess, I am most likely barren and you need an heir.”

  The reality of his need to fulfill his duty settled like a heavy weight on his shoulders. “I have years before I even need to think of securing the succession.”

  “Not so long ago you were eager to wed as soon as possible.”

  “That was before I met you. There are men in my position who do not marry until they are in their late forties.”

  “That’s more than a decade away.”

  “Precisely.” He brightened at the prospect of continuing their affair well into the future. “I’ll need at least fifteen or twenty years to get my fill of you.”