If he had felt even the slightest amount of reticence before, of shyness, it was gone now. Her mouth was his; he had taken slow, skilful possession of it, their kisses deeper and more full of open longing by the minute. Her body was his too, he knew it; he could feel her quivering as he lavished kisses on her neck and shoulders, leaving her flesh reddened, the shape of her nipples visible through the bodice of her dress as they hardened. God, her breasts—Selby brought his hands to them, brazen as he cupped them in his palms, gently running his thumbs over her nipples. Brenda’s surprised cry, the way she looked at him, only spurred him onward.
‘Destiny compels me.’ He ran his thumbs more deliberately over her nipples, circling them, feeling her shudder with pleasure. ‘Does it compel you?’
‘Yes.’ Brenda nodded frantically; Selby bent his head to her breasts, kissing her through the fabric of her dress, unable to wait any longer. ‘I… oh, please.’
Her words were music to Selby’s ears. Taking firm hold of her dress, thanking the Lord that Brenda wore freer garments than the vast majority of well-bred ladies, he pulled the gown downward to reveal her bare chest. He took in the sight of her, dark-eyed, blushing, breasts rising and falling at the sensation of it all, and couldn’t resist a low growl of pleasure.
‘My God.’ His cock ached to be touched. ‘You are beautiful.’
‘Kiss me again.’ Brenda’s tone was equal parts impetuous and shy. ‘As you did before.’
Selby couldn’t resist smiling. ‘I am only too happy to oblige.’
Full of lust, full of hunger, he moved back to her bared breasts. Once again, he knew that he should begin gently—but who wanted to be gentle, to be cautious, when deep kisses were called for? Hands and tongue working in tandem, coaxing and stroking and licking his way over the soft, deep swell of her breasts, he eventually drew one rose-flushed nipple into his mouth with a deep moan of want.
‘Ah!’ Brenda looked down at him, her cheeks rosy, her lips parted. ‘Can one—can one really—’
‘Yes.’ Selby pressed his tongue to her nipple, working in ruthless, rhythmic tugs as he watched Brenda dissolve into soft sighs of pleasure. ‘Yes, one can.’
Time slipped through his fingers, ceasing to matter at all, as he made love to her. Who knew or cared how long he spent kissing her; minutes, or hours? Hours, or days? Years, perhaps; years of loving her, of licking and sucking and teasing her until she collapsed into happy cries of bliss—yes, it had to be years. That would explain why making love to her felt so familiar; as if he was taking part in a long-ago recollection, a future exploration, all at the same time.
Familiar had never felt so thoroughly exciting. Familiar had never had him moaning openly as he kissed; his cock threatening to rip through his breeches, his body trembling with uncommon want. Every part of Brenda felt as if he had caressed it a thousand times, but never truly held it at all; her thigh, for example, pale and soft and tensing as his palm rested against it, moving higher, her core damp and hot and waiting for him.
‘Ohhh.’ Brenda’s soft, slow sigh of need was exactly what he craved. He held his hand to her mound, learning the feel of it; how warm she was, how her curls tickled his palm. How wet she was as he slowly parted her lips, feeling with a delicious shock how ready she was for his touch.
God, he wanted to kiss every part of her. Every single inch. Selby stroked along her lips again, feeling her thighs quiver, watching Brenda’s face as she shivered with new pleasure.
‘I very much wish to kiss you here.’ He let his fingers rest at her bud, gently pressing it; Brenda’s sudden, sharp cry of bliss made his rigid cock twitch in his breeches. ‘I crave it.’
‘I… I did not think that could be done.’ Brenda’s slightly wondering tone unmanned him completely. ‘Excuse my lack of knowledge. I—I do not know if I am ready.’
‘You have nothing to excuse. Nothing.’Selby let his fingers flicker over her bud again, taking deep delight in the way Brenda gasped at his touch. ‘I shall kiss you here next time, if you are ready. I shall spend hours.’
‘... Next time?’ Brenda’s sudden, anxious look sent a cold spear through Selby. ‘What do you mean?’
She didn’t expect a next time. Perhaps didn’t want a next time. Selby, swallowing, cast his new hopes as far away from him as possible.
This could be discussed. This could be saved—but not now. Not when there was pleasure to give her. His pleasure was irrelevant; only hers mattered, bringing it to life, making it grow.
‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ He stroked her deeper this time, his fingers curling at her entrance; Brenda gasped. ‘Just… just feel. Feel everything.’
With renewed purpose, he bent his head back to her breasts. Slowly, paying deep attention to every part of Brenda as she tensed, then relaxed, he pulled a nipple into his mouth as he slid two fingers inside of her. The effect was immediate; Brenda tightened around him, drawing his fingers deeper, the wondering gasp on her lips becoming a pure, arched cry of pleasure.
Yes. Selby began to stroke her inner walls, his mouth tight on her breast. Feel everything.
It took a little while for his fears to subside; his hopes, his dreams, ones that he hadn’t realised he possessed until beginning this strange journey. The only thing he could do was focus intensely on Brenda; on her tightly shut eyes, her furrowed brow, the sweet music of sighs and moans and gasps that fell from her as he curled at her inner walls, moving from one breast to the other as he licked and sucked. Soon, as Brenda trembled under his hands, Selby realised that he had succumbed to desire as completely and utterly as she had.
He had never finished without touching himself. He hadn’t thought it possible. But hearing Brenda’s soft, sweet cries of pleasure as she grew closer to her peak, her core tightening around his fingers again and again as he coaxed her to climax, had Selby biting his lip as his cock pulsed with violent, unimaginable bliss.
‘I…’ Brenda’s voice was faint, broken by cries as her back arched. ‘Something is—something is happening.’
‘I know, my darling. I can feel you.’ Selby bent to kiss her, stroking his tongue along the roof of her mouth, gasping as Brenda clenched her thighs with a moan of pleasure. ‘Let it come. Let it come.’
Stroking faster, deeper, obeying the mute demands of Brenda’s body as she bucked and writhed, he bent his head to her breasts. Giving in to his basest urges, not knowing whether to kiss, lick, bite or all three, he found himself moaning with her as she finally reached her peak.
‘Yes.’ He whispered it to her skin, her high pink blush as she came undone in his arms. She was hot, wet, tight; she was everything, had always been everything, would be his everything from this day onward. ‘Yes, come, come for me…’
Come for me. Come for me, my love, and stay with me.
After such a long, shattering moment of rapture, it was time to return to earth. Brenda felt as if she were falling from the attic again, far more slowly this time, landing in the welcoming shelter of Selby’s arms. She lay still, silent, trying to piece together what remained of the Brenda Hartwell who had begun the day with no idea of what would occur.
‘You are so very beautiful.’ Selby’s kisses fell on her like sweet, gentle rain; her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids. The hollow of her throat, which tingled with pleasure as he touched it. ‘So, so beautiful.’
This wasn’t how Brenda had imagined a half-finished seduction, especially one that she herself had interrupted. He had wanted to kiss her in such an unorthodox place; it would have felt wrong to agree. Ladies were meant to feel cheap and silly; gentlemen, if they had any feelings on the matter at all, were meant to be overcome with callous melancholy.
Selby did not seem melancholy. He was holding her as if she were the only person in the world, his face, full of a soft wistfulness, was almost as pleasurable as his mouth on hers. And as for feeling cheap and silly… Brenda couldn’t remember the last time she felt so honoured. So safe.
This meant, of course, that she was in t
errible danger.
How much had she fought—how much had she sacrificed of her old self, her old ways of life, only to end up in the arms of a gentleman? All of her fine thoughts of independence, of self-reliance, of becoming truly herself… why, she had done so much patient, laborious work, for it all to come to nothing.
It didn’t feel like nothing, of course. It felt like everything in the world, lying in a haze of pleasure, Selby cradling her in his arms. But the Devil was meant to be attractive; the only thing she hadn’t realised was just how divinely attractive he could be.
With a slow, deep breath, gathering her courage, she sat up. At first Selby’s hands trailed over her back, her arms, attempting to keep her where she lay—but as she began stiffly wrapping her dress about her, Brenda felt his touch fade away.
He knew. He already understood everything. Brenda didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to feel the pain already lancing her heart… but duty, honour, compelled her.
‘Thank you.’ She looked once into his eyes, before looking away. ‘This… this has been most enlightening, Your Grace, when it comes to destiny.’
‘James.’ Selby’s voice was dark with feeling. ‘Please, give me the decency of using my name.’
‘I cannot call you by your name.’
‘You can.’ Selby reached for her hand, taking it; Brenda gasped at the feel of his palm, the way his fingers stroked her own. Feeling such weakness at the touch of a man’s hand was not, not to be borne. ‘You can call me anything you like. You can do whatever you wish to me.’
‘That is not true.’
‘You wish it were not true.’ Selby’s eyes were devastating. ‘But it is.’
It was too much. Everything was too much. The touch of his hand was too much; the pleasure he had given her, rich and strong and strange, was too much. The agony that Brenda felt when she thought of leaving him—oh, that was much too much, far too much, and therefore the only thing she could do.
Being twinned with someone felt more spectacular than she had ever imagined. But being twinned was being caged, and she would never put herself in a cage again. Not even if it felt like the most wonderful, delicious thing in the world.
She pulled her hand away. Selby clenched his hand into a fist; a small sound escaped him, half-growl, half-sigh, and Brenda knew she would cry if he said another word.
‘I shall take my leave, now.’ She moved away from him, walking to the door on unsteady feet. ‘And—and this will not occur again, no matter what temptations destiny offers us.’
She half-expected Selby to object. Hoped for it, in fact. When nothing came, not even as she closed the door behind her, Brenda’s eyes filled with hopeless tears.
Selby had often given thanks for his stony face; a lack of expression was an essential part of every spy’s tool-kit. He used it to its full extent as he sat through dinner, then a game of whist, then seemingly innumerable games of billiards until the rest of the gentlemen were yawning. As evening became night, the staff bleary-eyed and most of the ladies retiring to bed, he went to the kitchens as quickly and quietly as he could.
It was Matilda’s custom to take a cup of warm milk before bed. It was one of the many things he knew about his friend; his sunny comrade, who he could treat like a younger brother without any sense of falseness or guilt. The time had come to speak to her about Miss Hartwell—and from the confused but happy look on Matilda’s face as she entered the kitchen, she was eager to speak of anything at all.
He had spoken to Matilda about any number of things over the course of their singular friendship, things that gentlemen and ladies were not to meant to discuss… but Brenda, and what he felt about Brenda, had felt too strange and sacred to discuss with his closest friend.
Selby didn’t like that. He didn’t like what it meant; that his sentiments when it came to Brenda Hartwell were somehow unmanageable. So profound, so powerful, that not even Matilda could untangle them into anything resembling normality.
‘Well?’ It was clear from Matilda’s face that she already knew the story; Selby grimaced as a mixture of relief and annoyance rose in his chest. Brenda had every right to speak to her, of course, the two of them were now friends… but oh, Brenda could do anything in the world, anything at all, and it would still feel as if she were stamping on his heart.
He sat down at the kitchen table with a scowl. ‘I do not know what you mean.’
‘I believe you do, James Selby. I rather believe you do.’ Matilda sat with a flourish; Selby looked at his friend with equal parts irritation and hope, wondering if she really did have some sort of miraculous solution to Brenda’s reluctance. ‘I have been most attentive, and admirably restrained, but now I am forced to ask just what on earth is happening between you and Brenda—’
‘Nothing.’ Selby tapped a finger on the table; he felt so frenetic, so profoundly wrong in his own skin, that it was all he could do not to pace the room like a madman. ‘Nothing.’
‘But that is not true! She told me what occurred at the theatre, James—why, it sounds magical!’ The eagerness in Matilda’s eyes cut Selby like a knife. ‘And I know I was rather conniving, leaving the two of you in the attic, but neither of you appeared afterwards for quite some time. You cannot tell me that absolutely nothing has happened between—’
‘Alright. Things have… occurred.’ Speaking the words felt like a betrayal, somehow. Selby kept his gaze focused on the table, trying not to lose control. ‘But the lady is not interested in continuing, Matilda, and thus I am forced to retreat.’
‘I… I do not know what to say.’ Matilda’s voice filled with sadness. ‘My goodness. If there is anything I can do, please tell me.’
‘Keep her away from me.’ Selby looked at Matilda, knowing how dramatic he sounded, not particularly caring. ‘Please.’
‘James… I am sorry.’ Matilda’s wide eyes let Selby know how haggard he must look. ‘I had no idea that things were so—’
‘They are.’ Selby swallowed, knowing that unburdening his soul would hurt as much as it would heal. ‘I love her. I believe she knows it—she must know it. I even believe that she feels the same way—or perhaps I am simply hoping she does. But she refuses to countenance the idea of marriage, and so I—’
‘Marriage?’ Matilda’s mouth hung briefly open. ‘James, you have never spoken of marriage in anything close to a positive light.’
‘I know. I also know that now, knowing her, it is the only thing I want.’ Selby tried to smile, but felt only bitterness. ‘But Miss Hartwell does not. She will not be moved. And so I must ask you, Matilda, in no uncertain terms, to… to keep her far from me…’
He let the sentence trail away, aghast at the tears that had begun to fill his eyes. He hadn’t wept since childhood. Selby bowed his head, attempting to regain some self-control, gritting his teeth as Matilda’s cool palm gently enclosed his own.
‘Of course.’ The soft understanding in Matilda’s voice unmanned him completely; one tear fell, then another. ‘Do not fear. I shall never throw you two together again.’
Choosing the path of righteousness wasn’t meant to be easy. Brenda knew this; she had read such a sentiment in any number of novels. But the path that she had chosen for herself—that of a strong, secure, single woman of means—had never felt quite so horribly unpleasant.
She was doing the right thing. Wasn’t she? She had been so sunnily strict with herself; so many friendships, so many healthy ambitions, had been lost because of scheming over some marriageable male. It had been so enjoyable to turn over a new leaf, go against the grain, shock the ton with a professed desire to never marry…
… Which didn’t explain at all why she was crying in the library. Crying quite desperately, in fact, with Winston snoring gently at her feet.
Brenda didn’t want to look at Winston. He reminded her of Selby, and she did not wish to think of Selby. Above all she didn’t want to think of the look in his eyes as she had left him; not anger, not coldness, just… just sadness. S
o she did not look at Winston—did not look at anything in the room, because everything else reminded her of Selby.
She couldn’t even look at her own hands. If she did, she remembered Selby holding them. Brenda, a sob rising in her throat, shut her eyes as tightly as she could.
The door opened. A sick wave of dread rose in Brenda’s chest; it would be him, of course it would. But then, as she heard an apologetic clearing of a gentlemanly throat, she sighed in sudden relief.
Matilda’s husband. If anyone had to come across her crying, she was rather glad it was him.
She had always been a little scared of Harding. Older than the other dukes that had made up their infamous club, the man had always possessed a steely gravity which had frightened Brenda enough to ensure she never made advances towards him. His spectacularly scandalous marriage to Matilda, the infamous courtesan who had turned out to be so lovely that Brenda was incapable of disliking her, had only made Harding seem more mysterious in her eyes; the man clearly had great depths of passion, so at odds with the deliberate gentleness of his manner…
Of course, he was nothing compared to Selby. Nothing at all. Brenda, who had always kept a detailed ranking of every gentleman in the ton, was shocked to realise that her detailed categories had abruptly burst into flames.
‘Forgive me, Miss Hartwell.’ Harding bowed; Brenda, too shocked to get up, jerkily inclined her head. ‘I shall leave you alone.’
‘No. No, that is not necessary.’ Of course it was necessary; why had hiding away suddenly become unnecessary? Brenda, awkwardly patting her hair back into place, knew that Harding could see her red-rimmed eyes and much-bitten lips. ‘There is no earthly way I can convince you that I have not been weeping.’
‘True.’ Harding’s careful gentleness almost caused yet more tears to spring to her eyes. ‘But it is certainly not my place to interrupt your solitude, if solitude is what you are seeking.’
‘I am not seeking solitude.’ Brenda knew that if she were strictly honest with herself, the only thing she wanted to seek would be Selby. ‘I am… I am in need of quiet, I think. Not silence. And… and generally comforting things, said in a soft tone of voice.’
The Duke and His Destiny Page 5