Duke of Sin

by Adele Ashworth

  “I don’t like it, Hastings,” Will said, staring now at the floor. “It smells of something else and I want the connection.”

  “We’ll find it, sir,” the investigator said with assurance.

  “What about the woman at the pub?” he asked, glancing up as it occurred to him.

  Hastings sighed. “Nothing, so far. We’ve tried with the pelisse but as yet she’s still a mystery.”

  The entire mystery absolutely confounded him, which in turn made him angry. If there was one thing Will couldn’t stand it was being played for a fool.

  “What do a blond, attractive woman, a banker’s son turned Shakespearean actor, and an inconsequential widow living perfectly well on her own in southern Cornwall have in common?” he asked aloud, though not really expecting an answer. He should have known that Clement Hastings was, if nothing else, the foremost expert on propriety and so felt obligated to respond.

  “Well sir, I still believe the answer lies with Gilbert Montague, or Herman, as it were. It all starts with him. I don’t have any information as yet on Mrs. Rael-Lamont being anything more than she claims to be, though I’ve got two men checking her background, and that of her late husband’s. If there’s something she’s hiding, we’ll find it.”

  “Very good,” Will muttered.

  Hastings stood as if knowing this was his cue to leave. “I’ll be in touch with anything new, your grace, especially if we uncover something about the woman, or Mrs. Rael-Lamont.”

  “Yes, thank you Hastings. That will be all.”

  The investigator bowed once and took his leave.

  Will stood where he was for several long minutes, staring at the floor, at the intricate weaving of the outrageously expensive oriental rug beneath his feet. It struck him how odd life was when he could afford such luxuries as this, any luxury he wanted, and yet, at this moment, he didn’t feel important, or worthy, or a man of unlimited wealth. He missed Vivian, the verbal witticism they shared with a strong sense of enjoyment, the moments of passion that seemed to possess the two of them when they were together. But mostly, at this second in time, when it felt as if there was no one in the world he could trust, he just felt lonely.

  Chapter 12

  If only the intimacy of married life had been so utterly incredible, she thought wryly, trying not to let the memories of the past bring tears to her eyes. If only her husband had wanted her physically. If only he had made love to her with a completion of passion that satisfied them both. If only, if only…

  Dear God, why did she have to keep dwelling on it?

  With irritation borne of stubbornness her father had constantly accused her of possessing to her detriment, Vivian dug into the large pot of soil with both hands, uncaring how dirt sprayed up onto her arms and coated her work apron. Truth be told, she was far more furious than upset, far more determined than confused.

  If only he had taken her…

  “Arggg,” she voiced, teeth clenched, tossing the soil with a force so great much of it spilled over the side of the ceramic pot. She’d done it on purpose, of course. Right now she felt like throwing dirt, and why not? It was late, nearly time for her bath and bedtime. It would feel good to get dirty, and to the devil with men.

  Digging deep, she fisted her hands and, with purposeful glee, pulled out two very large clumps of potting soil and tossed them into the air above her.

  “Hello, Vivian.”

  She gasped, whirling around to face the sound of his voice as waves of fine dark soil fell on and around her. Her entire body froze on the spot, eyes opened wide as the Duke of Trent stood in all his beautiful, manly, male… ness, three feet from her on her torch-lit backyard patio.

  For a moment she gaped at him, unable to speak. Then vanity overcame her as she realized she looked atrocious.

  Her dirty hands flew to her cheeks. “Your—grace.”

  He sighed and took a step toward her. “You’re— dirty.”

  She actually had to stop herself from giggling. Squeezing her lips together, she dropped her hands to her sides and stood very straight. “I was working.”

  He raised his brows as he glanced up and down her body. “Were you.”

  She didn’t answer, though she now felt thoroughly embarrassed by her appearance in an old gown of brown muslin. He, on the other hand, looked positively marvelous, dressed so casually he hadn’t fastened the top three buttons of his linen shirt. She’d never seen him looking so relaxed before, so less like a peer of his rank.

  “Messy work, too, apparently,” he added lightly. “You must have to bathe frequently.”

  She cleared her throat and swished a bit of remaining dust in front of her face. “I bathe daily.”

  A slow grin crept across his mouth as he eyed her candidly from forehead to waist and back again. “That’s very good to know.”

  She had to wonder if he was teasing her, trying to pass the time with idle discussion that had to have nothing whatever to do with his reason for being here, or perhaps just trying to imagine her in her bath, a shocking little notion that sent waves of heat through her body. Suddenly it occurred to her that the last time she’d seen him he’d made her—

  “What exactly are you doing out here so late in the evening, Vivian?”

  She swallowed, hoping it was too dark for him to notice how fiercely she was blushing. “I was working.”

  He remained grinning as he took another step toward her. “So you said.”

  “Actually, I was planting bulbs,” she expounded as if it mattered.

  “Ah.”

  For seconds she didn’t know what to do. Softly, she decided just to get to the point. “Why are you here, Will?”

  He smirked and reached over to caress her ceramic pot with his thumb. “I think we need to talk. Really talk.” Scanning his surroundings, he added,

  “I thought perhaps an enclosed, informal place like this, free of prying ears and eyes, might get you to open up to me.”

  She clasped her hands in front of her, refusing to appear affected by his frank statement or to back away. “We’ve been talking. Talking is not our problem.”

  For a moment or two he said nothing. “I told your staff we weren’t to be disturbed.”

  She snickered at that. “I have a staff of two, your grace.”

  “And they’ll leave us in private if they want to remain employed in Penzance.”

  Smiling, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “My, sir, but you sound arrogant.”

  He shrugged, eyeing her directly once more. “I’m a duke. It’s in the blood.”

  She cocked her head a fraction. “Or perhaps just a benefit of the title?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I would expect nothing less from you, Will.”

  He moved ever closer to her so that he stood only inches away, gazing down to her flushed and grime-covered face. “I will always be honest with you,” he fairly whispered, his voice husky.

  She blinked from his immediate change in mood, unsure how to respond. She’d been teasing him, more or less, and without any warning whatsoever he’d closed in, his expression as grave as his tone.

  “It’s time to talk, Vivian,” he repeated.

  Nervously, she chanced a quick glance to her right, to the corner of her house.

  “We’re alone,” he added in reassurance, noting her hesitation.

  She rubbed her palms over her upper arms. It seemed so odd to be standing next to him now, isolated in her humble backyard. No servants, no prying society eyes, no appointments to be kept, no rigorous formality and pomp. Just the two of them alone in her nursery by fading dusk and torchlight. On any other night, with any other man, it might seem… romantic. Only one thing remained to unsettle her. “Did anyone see you arrive?”

  “Would that matter to you?” he asked.

  She paused to consider it At last, she murmured, “Honestly? No.”

  She noticed a very slight easing in his shoulders, in his countenance, as he let out a long exhale.
>
  “I have something to confess to you, Vivian,” he admitted quietly, reaching out to run his index finger from one button to another down the front of her gown.

  The intimacy of that action made her belly tighten. He seemed different to her tonight, in a manner she couldn’t begin to decipher.

  “Perhaps I should take a few minutes to freshen up, so we can discuss this rationally in the parlor—”

  “No,” he cut in. “If I’d wanted that, I would have called on you formally.”

  True, she decided. “So what is your confession?”

  He drew in a long breath, standing so close to her now she could feel the heat from his body through the still evening air.

  “I want there to be total honesty between us,” he maintained, voice low and cautious.

  She gazed into his lovely brown eyes, now hinting of secrets and hidden feelings. Vivian had to fight herself from reaching out and touching his face in tenderness.

  “I believe we’ve always had relative honesty between us, sir,” she mumbled, her mouth going dry as the conversation grew even more personal.

  His lips twitched. “Relative honesty? You have not been entirely truthful with me, my darling Vivian, and you’ve truthfully admitted it.”

  His play of words annoyed her even as it warmed her very deep within. My darling Vivian…

  She raised her chin a fraction, noticing, oddly enough, how quiet it was outside tonight—no wind, no rain, no insect creatures buzzing around the torches. And not a sound from her house.

  At last, she murmured, “I told you that I can’t tell you everything, true, but it’s imperative that I—”

  He reached out and placed his fingertips on her lips, effectively cutting her off. “Let. Me. Help. You.”

  For the first time in her life, Vivian thought she might break down from nothing more than a demand of trust revealed so intensely, so empathetically, at a time when she felt she had no one in the world who would understand.

  Closing her eyes, she kissed the tips of his fingers that he held against her, brushing her lips across them. He inhaled in a shaky breath.

  “Vivian…”

  “Make love to me, Will.” she pleaded in a whisper. “Make love to me, and I will tell you everything. Please.”

  For long, aching moments, she waited for him to respond, wondering at his thoughts, why he really came to her tonight.

  Finally, he said, “You know how much I want you.”

  Vivian felt heat rush into her face, her legs liquefy. She nodded negligibly.

  “But you also know that once I take you, that would be the end,” he continued, his tone gruff. “And I’m not ready for this to end.”

  The end. She hadn’t considered that. If he consummated their “companionship,” he would then be obligated to fulfill their agreement; Vivian never for a moment doubted that he would. Suddenly she understood, ‘”That’s why you didn’t take me yesterday.”

  With all the things he could have said to her, she never expected him to chuckle.

  Raising her lashes, she gazed at him by torchlight, taking note of his handsome face, his thick, dark hair, his hard, masculine features aligned in perfect planes, complementing even his unpredictable amusement

  “I’m sure I don’t see the humor in any of this,” she said a bit curtly.

  He leaned toward her, looming over her. “I didn’t take you,” he revealed in whisper, “because my attraction to you is so strong, Mrs. Rael-Lamont, that by the time you asked, it was already too late.”

  His explanation perplexed her for a second or two.

  Then his meaning struck, and as embarrassment flooded her, her initial thought was that she couldn’t believe he said something so utterly… personal. She continued to stare at him, her body growing hot, afraid to let him know that although she was fairly certain she understood what he meant, she was more impressed by the fact that he told her of it without showing any apparent discomfiture.

  But alas it was his eyes that held her interest. Always his eyes … so bold, speaking so clearly of a strong male desire, openly expressing his concerns and longings. Always so honest.

  Reaching up with both hands, she captured his fingers between her palms, caressing his skin with soft thumb strokes. Bravely holding his gaze, she whispered, “This will only end if you want it to.”

  His smile wavered; his brows drew together as he assessed her. And then he lowered his head and kissed her, teasing her lips with his, stroking them with his tongue, invading the softness of her mouth.

  Passion quickly enveloped them. He pulled his hand from hers and reached around to run his fingers through her hair, loosening her coiled braid so that it fell down her back.

  She pulled away from him a little. “Will—” she gasped. “Not here—”

  “Here,” he insisted with a groan against her mouth before capturing it once more, his tongue probing, finding hers, sucking.

  She moaned when he raised a hand and gently began to knead her breast over her thin work gown, playing her nipple till it rose to a peak.

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, Vivian remained only vaguely aware of her surroundings as he pulled her away from her wooden work table to guide her toward the side of the nursery where a cushioned, wrought-iron bench lay waiting in the far shadowed corner.

  Beneath a canopy of ivy and starlight, he gently urged her to climbed on top of him. Through mingled breath, rapidly increasing heartbeats, and caressing hands, Vivian felt the swelling ache between her legs as she lifted her skirts then allowed them to fall around both of them as she gently lowered herself onto his lap, her inner thighs caging his hips.

  She felt his erection the moment she eased down on him, its thick hardness shocking her sensibilities at first—until she began to relish the feel of his desire for her, yearning to experience him skin to skin.

  He moaned very quietly when she nestled herself onto him. He continued to assault her lips with his, pressing both palms against her breasts and faintly caressing.

  It wasn’t enough for her.

  Vivian reached up and began to unbutton her gown from the neck down until she’d loosened it enough to expose her cotton shift.

  He continued to kiss her, increasing the momentum, hunger escalating, his fingers tugging at the top of her shift until her breasts came free of the loose material. Almost instantaneously he dropped his head and took one pointed nipple into his mouth. Vivian nearly screeched.

  Clasping his head, fingers raked through his soft hair, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes to the wondrous assault. He kissed her nipple, sucked it gently, nipped at it with his teeth, stopping only to move to the other one, giving it equal time.

  For ages and ages, it seemed to her, he tormented her with his mouth, breathing heavily as he sucked and kissed, clasping her back as she gasped and moaned and whimpered. Finally, of its own accord, her body began to rock against him, allowing her to feel his rigid erection as intimately as possible against her still-clothed body. He caught her rhythm immediately, pressing her to him with his hands at her waist, his tongue tracing circles on the tight tips of her nipples.

  “Will…” She breathed without real thought, fearing she was drawing near the loss of her sanity. She was so close, moaning incoherently now, ready to reach the peak of passion and tumble over that exquisite crest.

  Just as she neared it, he lowered his palms to her hips and forcefully stopped her movement.

  “Not yet,” he said with short, raspy breaths. “Wait for me…”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to calm the thunder rolling through her body.

  And then she felt his fingers under her skirt, fumbling with his pants, grazing the most intimate part of her unintentionally as he tried to free himself.

  God, it was happening.

  And I’m ready…

  She raised her hips up an inch or so, giving him better access. He kissed her mouth once or twice, quickly, concentrating on freeing himself. Then his fi
ngers again touched her between her legs and she whimpered when he found the tiny slit in her drawers, spreading it as wide as he could.

  Vivian opened her eyes and looked down into his. He was watching her, his face, partly in shadow, intensely focused on her pleasure, on what he was doing to her.

  And then she felt him touch her at her heated, moist center, and she gasped his name.

  He shuddered beneath her. “Wet, soft, perfect,” he whispered, voice strained, his gaze still locked with hers. “I knew you would be…”

  Vivian thought she might explode when he began to stroke her there. She drew a shaky breath, closed her eyes once more, and began to rock her hips against his fingers.

  It felt so good, so good…

  “Sit on me,” he breathed, placing both hands on her hips again.

  She complied, lowering herself until she touched the hot thickness of his rigid shaft, smothering the length of him with her own heated center.

  “Don’t move,” he said, his words almost imperceptible, his hands grasping her tightly to hold her still. “I’ll come if you move.”

  Vivian had never heard anyone speak so openly about what they were now doing. But instead of embarrassing her, it made her positively crazy with need.

  “I want to move,” she murmured, squeezing her thighs against his.

  He inhaled deeply and kissed her nipple. “I know, I know, sweetheart,” he replied as his lips circled the tip. “Give me a minute.”

  She pushed her fingers through his hair, feeling the quick pounding of her heart, listening to his harsh, rapid breathing, noting just how hard he felt between her legs.

  Suddenly his fingers sought the nub of her desire and a tiny sound of pleasure escaped her.

  “Raise up a bit, Vivian.”

  She did his bidding.

  He lifted until the edge of him began to slide into her.

  They were both panting now, both engulfed in an overwhelming fever, both oblivious to everything around them save each other, the intensity, the charge of accelerating bliss. The knowledge that they were about to become one and find satisfaction together.