by Amy Jarecki
Facing him, Eleanor took his hands. “There was something you said this evening that made me understand what you are wanting.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. And it wasn’t until we danced like a couple who had been married for years that I realized…”
His heart skipped a beat as he waited for her to say it.
“I’m in love with you,” she whispered. “After everything—your secrets, my secrets, the mistrust, the devices we both employed to keep a watchful eye upon each other yet remain at arm’s length. None of it matters now.”
As she uttered the words he had been longing to hear, Sher swept her in his arms and carried her toward the bed. “We matter. You and I and Margaret.”
Eleanor pressed her lips to his throat. “Make love to me, Sher.”
His breath grew ragged with her words. He placed her on her feet and, barely able to control the trembling of his fingers, he removed her gown, unbound her breasts and hastily cast away her petticoats until she stood naked but for a pair of stockings, secured at her thighs with pink ribbons.
Eleanor curved inward, crossing her arms over her breasts.
“Oh, no. Never hide your beauty from me,” he said, grasping her hands and opening them. “Exquisite.”
“But I’m too old and a little too round.”
“Not at all, my dear. You are perfect. You are womanly and your delicious curves make me want to do wicked things with you.”
Her gaze slipped upward as she slowly untied his cravat. “But not until I see you bare.”
He needed no more encouragement. Within a few ticks of the mantel clock, he’d shed every strip of cloth from his body. And then he placed his hands on her. He covered her mouth, kissing while he pulled her against his body—skin to skin, passionately fevered flesh molding as one. He’d waited so long for this moment, he shuddered as her breasts caressed his chest.
The sensation of her soft hands on him sent a new wave of need directly to his cock. “I won’t last long.”
“Nor will I,” she said, sliding onto the bed, urging him atop her. “Show me what to do.”
Sher forced himself not to act on impulse and take his plunder. No matter how much he desired to be inside her, he must control the tempo—make it the most memorable night—or morning—of her life.
He held himself rigid over her. “It might hurt at first.”
“I don’t care.” Eleanor ran her hands down his abdomen, her lips parting as she stopped just before she touched him. “May I?”
“Please!”
Sher’s eyes rolled back as she wrapped her fingers around his member. “Have mercy, kitten, else it will be over before it begins.”
“Then take me. Make me truly your wife.”
Heaven help him, she was a vision. Half-cast eyes, his cock in her hands as she guided him toward her. “My God, you are astonishing.”
As the words spilled from his lips, the tip of his cock pushed against her entrance. “Are you sure you’re ready?”
“Please. I’m close to the edge. The pressure is about to burst!”
He inched inside until she let out a little gasp. “That’s right, lioness, just a bit at a time. You control the pace.”
It was pure torture not to force it, but he held steady, feasting on the banquet of her lips. Waiting for her to move. As Eleanor purred beneath him, she began to circle her hips, softening for him. “More,” she said, tugging him deeper.
“You control me,” he growled, nibbling her flesh, giving himself over completely to her.
What she lacked in skill, she made up for in eagerness. By God, she had bewitched him. For the first time in his life, her pleasure was all that mattered. As she thrashed and moaned beneath him, he watched her. Sher reveled in her beauty and waited patiently until the moment came when she completely shattered, her climax sending him into the abyss of no return.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Completely satisfied and utterly exhausted, Eleanor fell asleep in Sher’s arms. The night had been one for the memory books, not ending until well past dawn. When she next stirred, she was enveloped in the most heavenly scent, though the warmth of her husband’s body was no longer spooning behind her.
She ran her hand over the linens, but they were cool to the touch. On a sigh, she hadn’t a mind to open her eyes. Not yet, not when she still floated on a dreamy cloud.
Oh, yes, yes, yes, all the waiting and the doubts she’d harbored had been worth enduring.
When the rustle of skirts and the sound of tiptoes echoed from the servants’ entrance, Eleanor rolled to her back and opened her eyes. Bright rays of light beamed in through the edges of the draperies, and as she grasped the bedclothes to pull them up to her chin, she then realized she was covered in rose petals.
Red rose petals.
As her eyes adjusted, dozens of vases of red roses filled the chamber—on the tables, the mantel, the floor, even the washstand.
“You’re awake, Your Grace,” said Rosie with yet another bouquet of roses in her hands.
“Look at all these beautiful blooms.”
“The duke wanted you to be swimming in them.”
“They’re unbelievable.” Goodness, how long had she slept? And she hadn’t even roused when the petals were scattered across her bed. “Did you cover me with rose petals?”
“Not me. His Grace did the honor.”
Warmth swelled within her breast. Red roses meant only one thing.
At last.
Eleanor pulled a petal from her hair. “What time is it?”
“Half past one in the afternoon.”
“Oh my, I cannot believe I slept so late.” She started to sit up but then realized she was still naked. “Will you please bring me my dressing gown?”
Rosie drew the drapes and set the roses in the window. “Straightaway.”
“Do you know where Danby has gone?”
“He went to check on Margaret.” The maid ducked into the antechamber and came out with the robe. “But he told me to fetch him as soon as you woke.”
“How is she?”
“Mrs. Temperance reported the babe showed no signs of a fever this morning.”
“Thank heavens.”
Rosie placed the dressing gown on the bed. “I’ll go collect a walking dress.”
As the maid disappeared into the antechamber, Eleanor quickly donned her robe and tied the sash. “I suppose ’tis too late to don a morning dress.”
“Agreed, and His Grace gave explicit instructions to dress you in the blue.”
“Did he now?” Eleanor asked, pulling a rose from one of the vases and inhaling its scent. “What does he have planned?”
Rosie giggled. “I have no idea. Who am I to ask his purpose when the duke gives me an order?”
“I suppose it is the blue then.” Eleanor stopped at each vase and admired the roses. “As soon as I am dressed, I must check on Margaret. Come to think on it, I’ll go up myself and let him know I’ve rejoined the living.”
“As you wish.”
When Eleanor found a note written in her husband’s hand, she felt as if she were floating like tufts of dandelion pappus sailing through the air.
You embody the perfection of each bloom
Which is why I have filled your room
With red roses to declare my love
Because you are my heavenly dove.
Sher
Blinking back tears of joy, Eleanor drew the poem to her lips and kissed it. All this time he’d been waiting for her to take the initiative. Filled with love and completely satisfied, she turned full circle, admiring the dozens upon dozens of flowers.
It didn’t take long to dress and, rather than have Rosie fuss with her hair, Eleanor removed the remaining pins from the night before and wore it down.
Carrying a rose with her, she made her way to the nursery and found Sher asleep on the carpet with Margaret happily napping on his chest. Miss Repast peeked in from her adjoining room, and Eleanor held a finger to her lips.
“I’ll just go to the kitchens for a moment,” whispered the nursemaid.
Eleanor gave a nod, then tiptoed toward the pair. Who knew the diabolical Duke of Danby had a soft heart? Who knew he wrote poetry about flowers? Who knew he was so incredibly wonderful with children?
She sat beside him. There they were, one of the wealthiest couples in England—on the nursery floor. Eleanor was quite certain the Dowager Duchess of Danby would not approve. Perhaps even Mrs. Temperance wouldn’t approve.
But what mattered was Eleanor approved immensely.
In slumber, Sher looked ever so regal. Gone were the lines across his brow. He inhaled deeply through his nose. It suited his face, long, bold, but not too big. His lips parted slightly, the top a tad thinner than the bottom, though neither were too thin. She liked his mouth—especially when it was kissing her.
Oh, and the wicked things he does with his tongue.
Before her thoughts went too far astray and grew quite unsuitable for the walls of a nursery, she brushed the tip of the rose across his forehead.
“Mm,” he sighed and smiled.
She tempted him by running the petals along his cheek, his jaw, his throat. And as he opened his eyes, she leaned forward and kissed his mouth. “Good afternoon, my love,” she whispered.
Cradling the baby in one arm, he drew the rose from the tips of her fingers. “And how fare you this day, oh duchess with the lovely auburn locks?”
“Well rested. Happy to see Margaret content.” She kissed him again. “And utterly, irrevocably in love with a man who filled my bedchamber with roses and who writes delightful poetry.”
“A man, aye?” He tapped her nose with the bloom. “And who might this fellow be?”
“Well…” She kissed his cheek. “He’s tall and very good-looking. And he has quite an audacious reputation.”
“Does he?”
“Though I think the papers have had him all wrong for years.”
“Tsk, tsk. Whatever will he do if his ruse is exposed?”
“I think he’ll just have to settle for loving his wife for the rest of his days.” Eleanor glanced to the flower. “Red roses—they are forever, you know.”
“Forever,” he whispered. “I like the sound of that.”
A knock came at the door. “All is in order, Your Graces.”
Sher sat up, keeping Margaret secure in his arm. Goodness, the baby didn’t even stir. “Thank you.”
“In order?” Eleanor asked.
“You’ll see.”
“What is this place?” Eleanor asked as Sher helped her dismount. They’d ridden through Danby wood to a clearing beside the estate’s secluded lake. Waiting for them was a blanket spread on the ground, held down by stones at each corner. Atop it were two pillows and an enormous basket covered with a linen cloth.
He gestured with open arms. “’Tis where fairies make their magic.”
“You do not believe in fairies, do you?”
“I believe in magic. My grandmother told me she conceived all nine of her children in this very spot.”
“Scandalous…and a duchess as well?”
“Her words were uttered in strictest confidence, mind you.” Sher took Eleanor’s hand and led her onto the blanket. “A feast for my lady.”
“Will you ever cease to surprise me?”
“I truly hope not.”
Eleanor sat on one of the pillows, raised the cloth on the basket and peered inside. “I just realized I haven’t eaten since supper. I’m famished.”
“Then we mustn’t delay.” Sher pulled the cloth away and reached for a bottle of wine. “For what I have planned, you’ll need your strength, kitten.”
“Hmm, that sounds invigorating.”
He pulled out a rectangular silver tray, placed two glasses on it and poured.”
Eleanor took a round of cheese from within, along with a loaf of bread and a knife. “Look there, we have grapes as well.”
“’Tis a feast fit for a king.” Sher handed her a glass and raised his own. “But first a toast. To a long and happy marriage, children as beautiful as their mother, and fairy magic.”
“And roses.”
He grinned and tapped her glass. “Red ones.”
Eleanor watched his eyes as together they drank, then Sher leaned in, his long lashes lowering, his gaze shifting to her lips. “A kiss before we sup?”
“Only one?”
He brushed his mouth across hers. “My impatient lioness,” he purred, pulling away and making quick work of slicing the bread and cheese. Then he held up a morsel. “Open.”
Reclining on the pillow, Eleanor let him feed her, as he popped bits of cheese and bread into his mouth all the while.
“Did the fairies order the fine weather?” she asked.
He waggled his eyebrows. “’Tis the magic.”
She laughed while together they ate and savored the wine, staring into each other’s eyes, talking about everything and nothing. Eleanor was simply happy to be with him without worry, without wondering what might come, knowing in her heart they would always be together.
After they’d eaten their fill, Sher removed his coat, his neckcloth and shirt, then stretched out his long legs and reclined with his head on a pillow.
Eleanor rolled to her side and swirled her fingers through the hair on his chest. Unable to look anywhere else, she drank him in. The powerful chest, tipped with light brown nipples. The abdomen rippling with muscles she’d never imagined a man possessed, and the trail of dark hair leading from his navel and down beneath the waistline of his trousers. “You are beautiful.”
He laced his fingers behind her neck and pulled her lips toward his. “Do you have any idea how watching your eyes on me makes me feel?”
“How?” she asked, not waiting for his response. As her desire mounted, she took his mouth and savored him, their kiss every bit as raw and unapologetic as it was seductive.
“How?” she asked again, coming up for air.
“You make me feel like a king. I want to hold you in my arms and never let go.”
She glanced about the clearing. This was Danby land. Secluded, private, hidden land. Eleanor inched up the hem of her skirt and exposed her calves. “I want to see you completely bare.”
The smile that spread across his face was so wicked, the passion they’d shared in her bedchamber last night returned with the force of a raging fire.
“What a wanton woman you are.”
“If I am wanton, then it is you who have made me so.”
Sher glanced to the basket. “Are you not still hungry?”
She unfastened his falls. “My only hunger is for you, Your Grace.”
His eyes grew dark as he rose and made quick work of removing all of his garments. Standing before her with his hands on his hips, Eleanor allowed herself to drink him in. His member was long and hard as he moved toward her and offered his hands. “Now you.”
“Yes.” Urgently, she helped him shed every last stitch of clothing until they were both standing naked, the afternoon sun dancing across their flesh with the rustle of leaves above.
The green in his eyes grew dark. “There are no words to express how I adore you.”
“You need no words.”
And then they were in each other’s arms, their bodies caressing as they kissed and sank down to the blanket. Surrounded by Sher’s warmth, coveted by his mouth and his wicked hands, Eleanor’s head rolled back as his fingers stroked the length of her body. She gazed into his eyes and reached for him. “’Tis my turn to touch you.”
“Me.”
“I want to explore you.”
“I want to explode inside you.”
“Yes, but this time I want to be in the saddle.”
“On top?”
“Is that permissible?”
“God, yes.”
Without another word, Sher rolled to his back and let his arms rest at his sides. Eleanor licked her lips. “Now I truly feel like your lioness.”
Unable to wait a moment longer, she let herself enjoy him, running her fingers over his chest, kissing his nipples, mirroring the things he’d done to her. Downward she went, over corded bands of muscles, to the dark triangle of hair, stopping only to gaze upon his member.
“May I touch it?” she whispered.
Taking her hand in his, he wrapped her fingers around the velvety soft shaft, only to have him shudder.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No,” he said, his voice ragged, showing her how to milk him. “Stroke me.”
Eleanor marveled at his length, his hardness, his sighs of desire. “May I kiss it?”
“Not this time…I want you so much I cannot hold back,” he said, tugging her over him. “Straddle me.”
“Like this?” she asked, spreading her knees, feeling his length press into her.
“Yes,” he growled, slipping inside. “Ride me.”
She needed no more coaxing. He dug his fingers into her hips and gazed into her eyes. As if possessed by the fairies, she let her body take over, rocking and thrusting, working to relieve the mounting pressure. Their lips fused as Sher pushed deeper inside, filling her, taking her to the point of no return.
Eleanor’s breathing grew ragged as he thrust his fingers into her hair, bucking beneath her. “I love you,” he said over and over until she shattered around him and he came undone beneath her.
“I love you,” she managed to squeak, dropping onto his chest.
Together they lay there for a long time, their hearts thrumming in unison. And after her breathing returned to normal, she cupped his cheek. “I never want this to end.”
Sher smiled, wrapping a lock of her hair around his finger. “Nor do I, my love.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
As summer passed into autumn, Eleanor settled into her role as duchess, running the castle, hosting tea parties and soirees, but what she loved most of all was spending nights in her husband’s arms.
Today, Eleanor and her father received a call from Mr. Stourton, who had visited a few times since the ball. Now that Papa had been reunited with his former lieutenant, the improvement in his health had been astonishing.