Their breath mingled, humid and eager. The world was so small now, containing them alone and existing only in the minute space between their lips. Her pulse raced as he simply held her. She was balanced on the edge of madness. Once this line was crossed, there would be no going back. There was nothing to blame but her own need, yet she could not stop herself from lifting on her toes, bringing her mouth to his.
Arousal climbed higher as he made a low sound of pleasure—it was the sound a man might make when a long-cherished dream became reality.
“Put your lips on mine,” she whispered. “But take your time. Go slow. Learn and discover.”
He rubbed his mouth against hers, but soon grew bolder as the exploration shifted into a kiss. It took less than a heartbeat for him to learn what she liked and how she liked it, his need eclipsing any uncertainty he might have had. They drew on each other as their mouths opened, and she touched her tongue to his. He seemed to understand her cue, slicking his own tongue into her. With each stroke, sensation echoed in her breasts and between her legs.
“For a novice,” she gasped between kisses, “you’re exceptionally talented.”
His smile flashed, both shy and proud.
“Surely you’ve practiced,” she whispered.
Beneath her hands, his shoulders lifted. “The practice was only to make certain I got this right. I want—” His jaw tightened.
“Tell me what you want,” she urged.
“To touch you.” He brought his hand up from her waist to hover above the underside of her breast. “Been aching to know what you feel like.”
“No need to imagine.” She reached down and pressed his palm against her. Long fingers almost completely covered her breast.
He gave another growl and closed his eyes. A shudder moved along his body, resounding in hers. “God, yes.”
“Stroke me,” she breathed. “My nipple…pinch it.”
When he did as she said, the pleasure was so acute, her knees buckled. But he held her snug against him, supporting her.
“Put your thigh between my legs,” she breathed. “Rub against my mound—it’s where I need you most.”
He rumbled as he did so, lodging between her legs and creating impeccable friction.
Instinct seemed to guide him as he bent his head and kissed her again, the stroke of his tongue timed with flicking and pinching her nipple. She gripped his shoulders hard, determined to keep herself upright. It was all she could do to keep from grinding on his thigh in a frantic attempt to soothe the ache building there.
“Tell me,” she gasped, “what you need. I want to hear it.”
“Words are…difficult.” His breath sawed in and out.
“Then show me.”
There was a brief pause, and then he took one of her hands and dragged it down his torso. She luxuriated in the feel of him, his body solid and hard beneath his clothing, taut with power. He kept going, taking her hand along his abdomen, then lower, to the straining length of his cock. At the touch of her hand on him, they both hissed in pleasure. Gently, she squeezed his shaft, and the cords of his neck stood out as he threw back his head to groan.
“Know what I was thinking when I saw you bathing in the pond?” she murmured.
“I’ve wanted to be inside your head for years,” he said shakily.
“Nothing but admiration,” she whispered against his lips. “Especially for this.” She stroked him through his breeches. “What are you doing with such a marvelous cock?”
“It’s been waiting for you. I’ve been waiting for you.”
His words were far too intimate, as though they were more than two bodies seeking pleasure—there was no room for anything beyond this moment. Lust was less complicated, less dangerous. So she gripped his shaft, caressing him, reveling in his sounds of ecstasy.
“Is this better than your own hand?” she asked throatily.
“Much better than anything I’ve ever dreamt,” he said in a low, rough voice.
As she stroked him, he moved his thigh to again rub against her quim. The first golden filaments of release began to gather, and she surged toward them. It had been so long since anyone other than herself had made her come—yet she knew that the release would be all the greater, more devastating, because he was the one bringing her over the edge, and she had wanted him for so long.
There were several sets of footsteps nearby, and the rustling of leaves. Damned Mr. Fernham was still searching, and now he had someone with him.
“The groom said he arrived on horseback,” a girl said—it was Ellie, one of her pupils. “But he didn’t come in the house.”
“Where’d he go?” her sister Maria demanded. “I don’t want to wait another minute to see him.”
“Nash in the stables said he went in this direction,” Ellie said. “He’s got to be here somewhere. Maybe Goblin can find him—where’s Owen, boy?”
At once, Cecilia and Owen broke apart.
After smoothing her hair as best she could, she crossed her arms over her chest to cover her hardened nipples.
“We cannot hide here,” Cecilia whispered.
He nodded, his expression tight.
They left the shelter of the oak and headed toward the sounds of Maria and Ellie. The girls stood in a small clearing in the midst of the trees, the dog trotting around and nosing at the underbrush.
“Owen!” Ellie cried out. “You’re here!”
Cecilia pasted on a smile—glancing over, she saw Owen do the same—as they approached his sisters. The two girls beamed at their older brother, their voices overlapping as they peppered him with questions.
“When did you get back?” Maria demanded. She was thirteen, approaching maturity but sometimes very much a child. Since her father’s death, she’d needed to sleep in a cot beside her mother’s bed. Cecilia’s heart ached for the girl.
“Which horse did you take?” Ellie asked. At eleven, she was currently fascinated with anything involving horses or murder. She loved a good ghastly tale. And yet her grief over her father manifested in the way she clung to her sister.
“Have you missed us terribly?” Maria pressed, tugging on his sleeve.
Fortunately, neither of her pupils seemed to observe Cecilia, which gave her a moment to calm her frustrated, throbbing body.
“To answer your interrogation, I arrived within the past hour, I rode Orion, and I was beside myself with missing both of you ducklings.”
“Why did you not come straight in?” Ellie wondered.
Owen’s gaze met Cecilia’s. She gave her head the slightest shake, though she had little fear that he’d blurt to his sisters that he’d been moments away from making their governess come.
“I had a bathe,” he said lightly, “and afterward Miss Holme happened by, and she wanted to find some insects for your lessons, so I helped her.”
“Oh, Miss Holme!” Maria turned toward her. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice that their governess’s coiffure was slightly mussed.
“Isn’t it wonderful that Owen has come home?” Maria asked.
“Quite wonderful,” Cecilia answered as brightly as she could. “I know how much you’ve been looking forward to seeing your brother again.”
Ellie fussed with the jet buttons on her black mourning dress. When the sisters had first put on their somber clothing, they had wept, missing their father, longing for their brother. Cecilia had comforted them both, soothing them with assurances that Owen would be returning soon.
Only a few minutes ago, she’d fondled his cock as he caressed her breasts.
Shame washed through her. Dear Lord, what was wrong with her, that she would completely lose control of herself and drown in her lust for a man nine years younger? A man who was, as he’d said, her employer. There were so many ways that indulging in her desire for him could lead to disaster. She should have learned from her past, but no, she’d been heedless of everything but wanting him.
There was freeing oneself from the cage of propriety, and then
there was utter recklessness.
For as long as she could remember, Cecilia had possessed a ferocious sexual appetite, but short of marriage, sating that appetite had been impossible. There had been no man that had tempted her to trade her freedom for access to cock.
If she had stayed in her small town, her path would have been set. Marriage to a man who would likely take over her father’s shop, then she would become a mother, and creep from middle age to dotage with barely any life experience beyond the mile marker at the edge of town.
Instead, wanting more for herself, she’d taken a position as a governess to a couple who lived on the Continent.
When she had been abroad, employed by Sir Kenneth and Lady Juliet Whelan, the unconventional, broadminded couple had encouraged her to pursue her own amours. Cecilia been surprised there was even a possibility that an unwedded woman could take a man to her bed. Lady Juliet had explained what was required to prevent pregnancy—as well as pointed out the hypocrisy in permitting men the freedom to pursue their sexual desires, while women were shamed for it.
With that knowledge, Cecilia had truly learned what it was to be fully in command of herself, taking lovers from the Whelans’ circle of similarly open-minded people. She’d done so with the gusto of a woman finally liberated from an unreasonable double standard.
But she was in England now, not the Continent. Things were quite different here. And Owen was her employer. She did not know if he would abuse his power, as Sir Kenneth ultimately had, but she could not take that chance.
Ellie chirped, “Mother’s inside and she has told Cook to prepare all your favorites for supper. Chicken pie, and roast asparagus, and strawberry flummery.”
“My mouth’s watering,” Owen answered, but he looked at Cecilia as he spoke.
In response, Cecilia’s stomach leapt. It didn’t seem to matter how much she lectured herself, she still wanted him—and he wanted her. Resisting that pull would take all her strength.
Ellie’s recitation of the menu reminded Cecilia that she hadn’t shared a meal with Owen. Before their father’s passing, the girls took their meals in the nursery, with Cecilia joining them. But since the late duke’s death, the duchess did not want to sup alone, and so her daughters and Cecilia ate with her in the dining room.
“No more lessons for today, Miss Maria, Miss Ellie,” she said.
“Surely you could find time for another lesson.” A blush tinted Owen’s cheeks as he spoke.
Ellie and Maria groaned, clearly uninterested in more schoolwork. Cecilia took no offense at their reluctance. Who wanted to spend more time learning when the day was fine, and their brother was home?
Of course, the kind of lesson their brother referred to was a very different sort.
Cecilia pasted on another smile. “Spend as much time as you want with your brother. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She rushed away to the house before she said or did something incredibly foolish—like instruct Owen on how to finish what they had started.
Chapter Three
Owen slammed an accounting ledger shut and dug his hands into his hair. The room’s walls loomed over him, capturing him, confining him. Air was scarce, and he fought to draw it into his lungs.
He used to love being in his father’s study. The rows and rows of book-laden shelves promised adulthood, while the smell of leather and paper was redolent of maturity. The large and heavy mahogany desk was where all knowledge concentrated, helmed by his father—who, to Owen’s young mind, was a man of infinite comprehension and wisdom.
The late duke hadn’t been much older than Owen when he’d married Owen’s mother, and within two years of that marriage, became a father. Of course, when Owen’s father had married, he hadn’t yet inherited the duchy, so there had been more time to ease into the role and learn from Owen’s grandfather what was expected of him.
If only there had been more time with Father. If only the late duke hadn’t gone riding alone that day, so someone could have been there when he’d fallen from his horse. They could have fetched a physician in time. If only. If only.
Owen touched the black band on his sleeve as if he could somehow touch his father’s hand once more, but all he felt was the strip of crepe.
His attempt to temporarily escape the weight of responsibility and grief yesterday had become something far more surprising and wonderful than anything he had a right to feel.
Miss Holme had encouraged him to release the tether of propriety that kept him pinned in place. Still, he would have said nothing had he not sensed her attraction to him. The way her gaze remained on his body, his mouth. How her touch had lingered on him.
He had been prepared to immediately apologize to her for harboring such thoughts and laying them bare before her. Instead, the most remarkable thing had happened. She admitted her own attraction to him.
He’d been granted one of his deepest, most cherished wishes.
To kiss Miss Holme. Touch her. Feel her become aroused for him.
His body responded at once to the memory of her. She’d guided him and he had been her eager student, discovering things she desired. And as he had made those discoveries, he’d felt something within himself that he hadn’t anticipated—he could give her pleasure. It was intoxicating and heady, and he craved more of it, even as it unsettled him.
He’d had to frig himself three times last night as he relived those moments with her in the woods. He had pumped his hand furiously on his cock over and over. It hadn’t been enough, but at the least, he’d been able to dull the gleaming edge of his hunger, and managed to tumble into a few hours of sleep.
For five years, he’d fantasized hearing her say that she desired him. The reality had far outpaced the dream, especially seeing the desire in her hazel eyes. Desire for him. Fate had bestowed a cruel sort of torment, to grant him this long-held hope in the midst of his grief and confusion. But she’d given him something else besides physical pleasure, and by turning toward their shared hunger, she had eased the crushing weight of his loss.
His fever for more broke under the chill of reality. What happened at the pond could never happen again.
He hadn’t told Miss Holme everything about his father’s farthing. It had come with another warning: a duke’s personal life was everyone’s business. With the title came tremendous responsibility, and that included his romantic affairs. Many men of rank abused their female servants and social inferiors. Some of those aristocrats believed it was their right to do so. But his father insisted that being the Duke of Tarrington carried more accountability, not less. As the duke, Owen could not, would not, hurt anyone in his employ—especially women.
That included his sisters’ governess. He had known it yesterday, but desire had overridden sense. In the aftermath, he’d faced the truth that he’d done something terribly wrong, and had to make it right.
A tap sounded at the door.
“Enter,” Owen said, hoping he sounded properly ducal.
Vale, the butler, appeared. “You asked me to remind you that Mr. Leaton and Mr. Sulham would be arriving by this afternoon, Your Grace.”
Owen glanced toward the clock. It was just after eleven in the morning. He’d spent the hours since breakfast reviewing the mountains of paperwork requiring his attention in preparation for meetings with Leaton and Sulham. They were part of his army of men of business, and had met Owen already in London. Those had been only for preliminary discussions.
I’m just a geologist, he wanted to shout.
“Very good, Vale,” he said. “How is my mother?”
“She is well, Your Grace. Currently she is in her parlor, reviewing correspondence, I believe. Would you care for me to summon Her Grace?”
“That won’t be necessary.” Then, “My sisters?”
“Having lessons, Your Grace. Though I believe Miss Holme usually permits them to take some exercise in the hour before luncheon.”
That could be right now. “Does Miss Holme usually take exercise with them?”<
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“On occasion, Your Grace. Other times, she remains in the schoolroom and plans her lessons for the afternoon and following day.”
A fine film of sweat coated Owen’s back, and his shirt clung to his skin. He should not appear too eager, not where the governess was concerned. “I’ll want Orion saddled once Mr. Leaton and Mr. Sulham and I have concluded for the day.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“That will be all, Vale,” Owen said.
The butler bowed and retreated, leaving Owen alone again in the study.
He glanced at the desk, with its towers of ledgers, letters, and other papers. The wisest, most ducal thing to do would be to sit himself down and apply himself to a serious and studious examination of all the documents.
The need to simply see Miss Holme drummed through him, urging him toward the door. Scenes from yesterday reverberated in his mind and body. The feel of her in his arms. Her hands upon his skin. The taste of her mouth. The assured, instructive words she’d spoken, guiding him in the ways to bring her pleasure. Even now, he shuddered with need.
Miss Holme had pulled the truth from him and revealed her own. She’d said that she wanted him—yet full consent was not possible if she was in his employ.
The thought of forcing her into doing anything churned in his stomach. He’d sooner tear the flesh from his body than make her act against her will.
He ought to ask for her forgiveness. He had to. But that wasn’t enough. She needed to know that he’d put his mother in charge of Miss Holme’s employment to ensure the governess’s security.
His mother had thought it odd, but he’d explained that as the new duke with new demands on his time, he would not be able to devote adequate attention to his sisters’ education. Fortunately, his mother had agreed.
Suddenly, he was in the corridor, and then up the stairs, climbing higher and higher to the schoolroom on the second story. On the way, he passed a few servants, who bowed or curtsied, reminding him that he was the master of this home. The care and protection of all his staff and tenants fell to him, and he’d never abuse that.
Duke I’d Like to F… Page 23