Regarding the Duke

by Grace Callaway

  “It’s not his fault. When I think about all the evil De Villier has done—”

  “Don’t think about it.” Adam brought her into the shelter of his body once more, stroking her hair. “I’m here. We’re both here. Together as we’re meant to be.”

  When she finally calmed, she lifted her head to look at her husband. The lines had eased from his handsome face, his eyes warm and intent as he regarded her. Was it her imagination or did he look younger, more at peace?

  “Do you still feel confused about who you’ve become since the amnesia?” she asked.

  “No,” he said immediately. “Tonight helped me to realize that who I am now is who I’ve been becoming since I first met you. By taking away my past, the amnesia took away my blinders, allowing me to see that revenge, the goal I’d worked toward all my life, wasn’t really what I needed. When De Villier died, I thought I’d feel something…some sort of resolution. And do you know what I felt?”

  “What, darling?”

  “Nothing. He had no power over me, nothing I wanted. You have already given me everything I need: the peace I’d been searching for was mine all along.” Adam’s eyes eclipsed all else, burning into her soul, melding them as one. “I started falling in love with you the moment we met, but I was too stupid to realize it. Too afraid to open my heart. De Villier told me once that a powerful man isn’t blinded by sentiment, but he was wrong. A man is made powerful by the love of a good woman and the love he gives her in return.”

  “Oh, Adam,” she said tearfully, “that is the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  Tenderly, he thumbed away her tears. “More romantic than your sultan commands it?”

  She gave a watery giggle. “That comes as a close second. You should have seen how mortified poor Mr. Murray was when he gave me the message.”

  “I knew my brave and loyal queen would insist on staying otherwise.”

  “I’ll always be by your side,” she promised.

  “On my lap is even better.” His arms circled her, his eyes holding her just as securely. “I may be your master, but you own me, Gabby. I’m yours, every part of me: my heart, my soul…and other assorted wicked parts.”

  “I love you and all your wicked parts.” She wriggled against him, smiling when she felt his virile response. “After we get home and give the children a good snuggle, I’ll show you how much.”

  “How about a sampling of it now?”

  “Is this my sultan’s wish?”

  “Yes. Love me, Gabriella.” His eyes smoldered. “Don’t ever stop.”

  With a blissful sigh, she obeyed her heart’s command.

  Epilogue

  Florence, Italy

  “Are we there yet?” Gabriella asked.

  “You sound like Fiona and Max,” Adam said, amused.

  Below the black silk blindfold, the rueful curve of his wife’s beautiful mouth acknowledged his observation. Just a week into their three-month tour of Italy and the children were already proving to be impatient little scamps. Today, whilst walking across a magnificent piazza, surrounded by views of the stunning terracotta-tiled rooftops and Renaissance buildings and sculptures, Fiona had started up the chorus of “Are we there yet?” and Max had promptly joined in.

  “Children, you are where you are,” Adam had said severely. “I suggest you enjoy it.”

  Fiona and Max had looked at one another. Then at him.

  “Yes, Papa,” they’d said obediently.

  Then they’d started whining for gelato, their newly discovered treat.

  Thank Christ they were currently with their governess and the army of nursemaids that he had had the foresight to bring along. As much as he loved the rambunctious imps, he wanted time alone with his wife. To give her the surprise he’d planned.

  He continued to lead her down the long corridor, their footsteps echoing against the diamond-checked tiles. Priceless art filled the passageway: busts, intricate tapestries, a brilliant fresco covering the ceiling. Because of the blindfold, Gabby couldn’t see any of it, but he’d arranged to have the entire Galleria degli Uffizi to themselves for the evening. There would be time for her to explore the museum’s riches after his surprise.

  “Can you give me a hint about what you’ve planned?” his better half asked.

  “I could, but that would ruin the surprise, impatient minx.” He tightened his arm around her waist, murmuring against her ear, “I ought to make you practice waiting more.”

  Her cheeks turned rosy against the black silk. He knew she was thinking of a recent interlude when he’d used velvet ropes to tie her to their bed. He’d enjoyed every inch of his lovely slave’s body, teasing her until she was panting, writhing helplessly against the sheets. He hadn’t let her come until she’d begged him for it, pleading with him using the hot, naughty words he’d taught her.

  Thinking of that decadent encounter made him harder than rock, and the festivities had just begun. When his wife had allowed him to blindfold her in the carriage, her sweet trust had made his chest throb along with his prick. She was the finest gift a man could wish for, a treasure he couldn’t believe was his, and that he would never again take for granted.

  In fact, he’d planned on taking her on this trip sooner, but several events had delayed his plans. First, Gabby’s father had passed. She’d needed time to grieve, and Adam was determined to give her everything she needed. For her sake, he’d even mended fences with his father-in-law before the other’s death, giving his word that he would look after Billings Bank. Billings had passed away peacefully, with Gabby, Adam, and his grandchildren by his side.

  The second delay was business related. After De Villier’s death, Adam had inherited the lion’s share of Grand London National Railway, not because of the blood relation, but because he owned Villier’s debt. He’d planned to let the venture run its natural course—that is, to let it fail. Gabby, however, had asked him to try to save it for the sake of the ordinary folk who’d invested their life savings in the scheme.

  Because he could deny his wife nothing, Adam set about reviving the company. He took on partners to oversee various aspects of the business: Harry Kent, in particular, had expressed interest in the scientific side of things and Murray had always dealt well with the public. Adam himself managed the financial matters. It had taken about eight months and a complete restructuring of the business, but GLNR had recently unveiled the world’s fastest steam engine, and the value of the company had shot through the roof.

  Now that GLNR was a success and Gabby was out of mourning, the time had come for Adam to take his family on a vacation...and to give his wife a special treat. Hence, he navigated her into the present chamber. Noting that everything had been arranged to his specifications, he steered her into place.

  He stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders. “Ready for your surprise, love?”

  Her nod sent ripples through her flame-colored tresses. Per his instructions, she’d left her hair loose, and it flowed down to the waist of the ivory silk gown he’d chosen for her. Time to reward his good little wife…and himself.

  He untied the blindfold.

  Gabriella blinked, her jaw slackening as she saw what he intended for her to see.

  “Goodness,” she breathed. “This is the painting? The one you think…I resemble?”

  “Titian’s Venus of Urbino,” he said with satisfaction.

  The goddess was as he remembered her: her naked curves lush, her eyes warmly sensual, her reclined pose on the red couch coyly come-hither. Her body was tilted toward the viewer, her front elbow resting upon a pillow, a bouquet of flowers dangling loosely from that hand. Her other arm was draped across her body, that hand resting over her sex, hiding it…or deliberately drawing attention to that shadowed cove.

  As stunning as the painting was, it was Adam’s real-life goddess who consumed his attention. He’d had full-length looking glasses placed in a semi-circle around the artwork, giving him views of his lovely wife from various ang
les. Behind them was a wide crimson couch, a replica of the one Venus was reposed upon. As in the portrait, fluffy white pillows were piled at one end.

  Gabby was staring at the painting as if transfixed. He couldn’t blame her. The likeness between her and Venus was uncanny.

  “She’s so beautiful,” Gabby said in a hushed voice. “You truly think I look like her?”

  He couldn’t resist teasing her. “I’m not absolutely certain.” Seeing her crestfallen expression, he said silkily, “You’re overdressed compared to her, and one ought to compare apples to apples, don’t you think?”

  He cupped her nape, loving her shiver of awareness, which turned into a deeper trembling when his fingers continued onto the silk-covered buttons on the back of her dress. He’d chosen the garment because it resembled a tunic gown of the Far East, gathering beneath her bosom and flowing down in a graceful column…and because it was easy to remove.

  As he unhooked the last button, the garment slid down, pooling at her slippered feet. His nostrils flared as he saw she’d followed his instructions to the letter: no corset, no petticoats, not even a chemise to hide her beauty from him. The only thing she had on were sheer white stockings held up by frilly garters and her slippers.

  He stepped back. “Take off the rest.”

  When she bent over to comply, presenting him with her peach-shaped arse, his erection strained against the fall of his trousers. By God, she was delicious and so willing to play out their mutual fantasies. There wasn’t a woman in existence who suited him better than his own wife.

  Straightening, she whispered, “Now what should I do?”

  “Lie on the couch the way Venus is doing,” he said huskily. “So that I may fully judge the resemblance, hmm?”

  Looking flustered, Gabby did as he bade. She reclined against the pillows, and he had to smother a grin as she awkwardly flopped this way and that, trying to emulate Venus’s seductive, side-lying pose. Although Gabby’s self-confidence had grown by leaps and bounds, she was still sweetly shy by nature. He didn’t mind. In fact, he enjoyed unraveling her inhibitions strand by silken strand.

  Posed on the couch, she bit her lip. “Will this do?”

  God, yes. His cock heartily approved the picture she made. But the game was just beginning, and he liked to draw out their marital pleasures.

  He went over and casually tapped her hand where it lay on her top hip. “Is this where Venus has her hand?”

  Her gaze slid to the painting, her cheeks growing rosier as she shook her head.

  “What part of herself is Venus touching? Use the proper word, the one I’ve taught you,” he said in a deliberately strict tone.

  “Which word do you mean?” She peered at him with guileless blue eyes. “Because thus far I’ve learned a few. There’s pussy, cunny, and quim. And let’s not forget hot buttered crumpet…”

  Perhaps his wife had come along farther than he realized. Saucy minx.

  Then it occurred to him.

  “I’ve never called it a hot buttered crumpet,” he said with narrowed eyes.

  “It must have been someone else then.” At his pointed stare, she added with a laugh, “One of my female friends mentioned that she overheard a footman use that term. We found it ever so amusing.”

  In recent months, Gabby’s circle of ladies had become even more tightly knit. They bonded regularly over tea and mischief, to the amusement and exasperation of their husbands.

  “Kent was right: we husbands ought to plant a listening device when you ladies get together.” Adam’s lips twitched. “Now, Scheherazade, stop diverting me with your fascinating vocabulary and tell me where Venus has placed her hand.”

  “On her pussy.”

  Christ, he loved hearing dirty words uttered in his wife’s sweet voice.

  He arched a brow. “So where should your hand be?”

  “On my pussy.” After a moment, Gabriella moved her hand over the gentle swell of her belly to her sex. Her fingers hovered over the coppery nest like birds poised to take flight.

  “Good,” he allowed. “Now tell me, do you think Venus is being modest…or naughty?”

  Her eyes went first to the painting, then to a reflection of herself.

  “Naughty,” she said, her voice breathy.

  “I agree. Now show me exactly how naughty you can be.”

  He watched, his jaw taut with arousal as his wife’s delicate fingers dipped between her thighs. She was always shy when she did this for him, which was why he loved having her do it. The sight of her petting her pretty cunny made his cock weep. She was similarly aroused, her fingers and slit glistening with her honey.

  “So beautiful and you’re all mine.” He placed a hand gently over her throat, feeling the rapid flutter, the warmth of her pleasure flush. “Say it.”

  “I’m yours.”

  The affirmation expanded his chest with lust and love. He got down on one knee. “Then keep frigging yourself while I avail myself of my queen’s delights.”

  He kissed her, long and hard and deep. It was a conquering kiss, and she yielded in that way of hers that drove him wild, made him burn to have all of her. He found a sensitive spot on her neck, claiming it with a savage suction that would leave a mark.

  He made his way to her breasts, pure male greed taking over. God’s blood, her tits were a masterpiece. He kneaded and squeezed, his thumbs grazing the stiff cherry tips. He licked around her wide areola, spiraling toward the peak. As he suckled her, she moved her arm faster, diddling herself with lovely desperation.

  He nuzzled the inviting softness of her belly, his hands roving possessively. Such bounty and all of it was his. When he arrived at her sex, breathing in the scent of her arousal, her fingers stilled.

  He glanced back at her face. “Did I tell you to stop pleasuring yourself?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did you cease?”

  Her eyes were wide, earnest. “Because my sultan does it better.”

  Devil and damn. She knew exactly how to incite the beast in him.

  “Does my slave wish for me to take care of her?” He had to fight to keep his voice calm in the face of his raging desire. “To frig and eat her pussy?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Tempt me with a taste, then.”

  She brought her hand to his lips. Holding her delicate wrist, he slowly sucked two of her fingers into his mouth. Her flavor intoxicated him, a drug that made him crave more.

  He licked his lips. “Your cream is delectable, a meal I shall enjoy.” Her hand trembled in his grasp, and he brought it to her sex, positioning the index and middle fingers on her nether lips. “Spread your cunny for me, love.”

  His nostrils flared as her slim, ladylike fingers exposed her dewy secrets for him. He leaned in, running his tongue up her plump seam. He took his time worshipping her femininity. She chanted her pleasure as he feasted on her. As he swived his naughty queen with his mouth.

  When her thighs tightened in that telling way, he commanded, “Come for me now.”

  With a tremulous cry, she obeyed, her completion gushing upon his greedy tongue.

  Breathing heavily, he rose and tore off his clothes. His wife’s face was radiant with love and insatiable sensuality worthy of the goddess she resembled. When he was naked at last, he curled one hand around the base of his thick, straining cock and gave her a meaningful look. She needed no further prompting, moving to kneel gracefully at his feet.

  Her palms resting on his hard thighs, she swallowed his prick with mind-obliterating enthusiasm. As her mouth serviced him, her eyes stoked his flames ever higher. Those blue depths glowed with the pleasure of pleasuring him. With the knowledge that she was his equal in passion and in life.

  Everything he wanted—love, loyalty, tender playfulness—swirled in his wife’s gaze. He couldn’t resist the emotions she invoked in him or her selfless sucking. He gave himself over to the joy, the sheer carnal bliss of spending betwixt his beloved’s lips. She took all of him as she
always did, and he grunted with approval as her throat caressed and coaxed out the last drops.

  Still hard, still hungry, he lay on the couch, hauling her on top of him. He teased her by rubbing his crown along her cleft until her cream coated them both, her eyes beseeching him.

  He tucked a wayward tress behind her ear. “Do you want my cock, sweetheart?”

  “Ever so much,” she breathed.

  “Then sit on it.”

  Her palms pressed against his chest as she impaled herself, inch by inch, on his up-thrust rod. He loved her initial struggle to accommodate him, the way she wriggled and stretched around his invading shaft. They both groaned when she took him to the balls, her sheath surrounding him like a hot, tight glove, every part of her made to fit every part of him.

  She slid up and down, her movements torturously slow.

  He placed his hands on her hips, urging her on. “Tell me how it feels to ride my cock.”

  “It feels…so good.” Her neck arched as she sank down again.

  “Surely my Scheherazade can do better than that.”

  “You’re so big and thick, filling me up. Sometimes it feels like too much…but at the same time not enough.” Her passion-slurred voice revealed how close she was to coming. Her fingers tangled in his chest hair as she rose up. “There’s this place…deep inside. When you push into it, it feels like a Roman candle going off…”

  “Like this?” He slammed her down on his cock, thrusting his hips up at the same time.

  She cried out as her crisis hit her. He let her ride out her peak, then flipped her onto her hands and knees, plowing into her from behind.

  “It’s never enough,” he said through harsh breaths. “I’ll never get enough of you, Gabby.”

  She looked back at him, her red hair streaming over her shoulders, the sweetest smile tucked in her cheeks. Only she would look at him so tenderly while he speared her cunny with his veined meat. The recognition unraveled the rest of his control. Unleashed his limitless wanting for this rare, glorious woman who was his mate, his heartbeat. His everything.