Duke of Storm

by Gaelen Foley

  She looked so beautiful—and so happy—that Connor lost the ability to speak for a moment. His chest clenched, and his heart beat faster.

  His future duchess.

  He had not seen her since the wee hours of Saturday night, when they had pledged themselves to each other. Now he couldn’t take his eyes off her. All he could think about was that gorgeous ring with the diamond and emeralds, and how it would look on her finger.

  She studied him with a playful smile. “Well, my dear duke? I assume there is a reason you are standing in the middle of your coach house staring into space?”

  CHAPTER 21

  The Coach House

  As Maggie ventured into the cool, quiet, expansive space of the carriage house, she gazed with pleasure at her future husband.

  It was risky of her to sneak in like this unchaperoned, but she could not deny that her heart welled up with champagne bubbles of delight at the mere sight of him: tall and powerful, elegantly dressed for the day in a smoke-gray tailcoat with a steel-blue paisley waistcoat. Exquisitely well-fitted ivory breeches hugged his legs, disappearing into shiny black boots.

  He was indeed a specimen to behold, and Maggie couldn’t help thinking as she drifted toward him that such a husband could make even the most mild-mannered woman viciously possessive.

  “You, sir,” she said, “are a sight for sore eyes.”

  “Pshaw,” he teased, taking her hands and drawing her into his embrace.

  She went without the slightest thought of protest, and as his strong arms encircled her, she smiled up at him, thinking how wonderful it was that she could say to him whatever popped into her mind.

  It was how they had begun their strange acquaintance, and how they would always continue, she vowed.

  Then he bent his head and brushed her lips softly with his own. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

  “Good afternoon to you.” She smiled, gazing into his eyes, then she pulled him down by his nape to kiss her once more.

  Closing her eyes, she reveled in his eager response. Connor deepened the kiss, tightening his embrace. They both ignored the sound of the man-door clicking closed several feet away, as some discreet soul outside—probably Will—gave the two of them their privacy.

  Maggie wondered if the major had told his trusty followers yet that they were now engaged. But her musings dissolved as his mouth slanted over hers and his hands molded the curve of her waist, soundly claiming her anew.

  As his firm hold inched down to her hips, his delicious tongue swirling against hers, Maggie could not stop herself from pressing her entire body flush against his. She could feel the stirring in his trousers against her belly.

  He left her breathless several moments later, when he ended the kiss. He stood in silence for a moment, still holding her, as though he needed to collect his thoughts.

  “Now that,” Maggie panted, “is what I’d call a proper greeting.”

  He nodded with a low, charming laugh, then met her gaze with a roguish smile. “Aye.”

  He took a deep breath and stepped back from her. He looked away, running a hand through his thick black hair. “Right. What was I doing, then?”

  She laughed, feeling the glow of a blush in her cheeks. “That’s what I was wondering.”

  “Well, it’s gone, whatever it was. You’ve stolen my wits again, dash you.”

  “And I’m not giving them back.” She smiled like a troublemaker and wandered off to admire his luxurious coach house and all its fine vehicles, giving her wondrous fiancé a moment to compose himself.

  Mellow wood-polish smells infused the coach house. As Maggie ambled by an opulent mahogany barouche with the top folded down, she could not resist a peek inside the gorgeous vehicle. It was even finer than Delia’s, with exquisite light green damask upholstery.

  “That must be hard to keep clean,” she said, impressed, then strolled on. “You are living very well, aren’t you, Your Grace?”

  Connor snorted. “Nowadays, perhaps. This building alone is bigger than some of the barracks where I’ve lived.”

  She smiled at him over her shoulder, and then opened the glistening door of the massive traveling chariot and had a snoop inside. “Goodness. You could sleep lying flat in here. Well, maybe not you, you great bruiser.”

  He grinned and leaned against one of the wooden posts. She could feel his appreciative gaze traveling over her body as she sauntered around the long-distance vehicle.

  It was an enjoyable sensation, feeling herself the object of his desire as she meandered around. “So have you told your men about us yet? Nestor and Will?”

  “Aye.”

  “What did they say? Were they happy for you?”

  “Happy and shocked,” he said in amusement.

  Maggie beamed. “I’m bursting to tell the whole world. Don’t worry, I won’t,” she quickly added. “I know—we will, together, as soon as it’s safe. Major’s orders.” She peered around the side of the tall coach and gave him a little salute.

  “I am sorry about the delay,” he offered. “I just want to keep you safe until this whole bother is laid to rest.”

  “I don’t mind. Just stay alive for me, eh?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He saluted her in return. “Say, has your sister apologized to you yet?”

  Maggie scoffed. “No, and I won’t hold my breath. This is only the fourth day, you see. Delia can hold a grudge for ages.” She inspected the plainer brown coach in the end bay. “I have a feeling she is waiting for me to apologize for daring contradict her in the first place.”

  “Ha!” Connor said.

  “Ha indeed. But don’t worry. That part of my life, trying to please everybody, is over.”

  “Good.”

  She shrugged, swinging her reticule thoughtfully. “I have you to thank for that, you know.”

  “Me? How?”

  “You don’t especially try to please anyone, do you? You just simply are who you are, and I admire that. It inspires me. It’s quite freeing, actually. I don’t care anymore what people think about me. Except for you.”

  “Well, you never need to worry about that, my darling. I am your greatest admirer.”

  Hearing the squeak of carriage springs behind her, Maggie turned around in surprise and found Connor sitting back in the luxuriously upholstered open barouche.

  He rested one arm along the back of the carriage seat, and, with a devilish glimmer in his eyes, crooked a finger at her, beckoning her to join him. “Fancy a ride, love?”

  Maggie gulped at his wicked entendre. At once, a blush bloomed in her cheeks, and her heart leapt at the seductive glow in his eyes.

  She sauntered toward him, her pulse suddenly pounding. “Where to?”

  “Come and find out.” He began unbuttoning his waistcoat. “Have a seat in your future carriage, my lady. I think it would make a fine lady’s coach for my future duchess.”

  Maggie halted in her tracks, for not until that moment had it crossed her mind that everything she was seeing on his property would soon belong to her, as well.

  He patted the empty seat beside him. “You’ll have to tell me what color horses you’d like to pull this thing.” A half-smile curved his lips as he read the astonishment on her face. “Did you just realize that now?”

  She shrugged. “I was never the mercenary type.” She could see by the look on his face that he was enormously pleased by her words.

  “All the more reason for me to spoil you.” He leaned forward and offered his hand as she approached, helping her to step up into the barouche.

  She sat down next to him, facing the wide, closed door of the bay. Still dazed by the thought that she was about to become a very wealthy and powerful woman, she let her stare travel over the carriage interior. “Oh, Delia’s really going to hate me now.”

  He chuckled and studied her, his arm resting on the back of their seat. “I’m glad you like it. Too fancy for my tastes, but I like seeing you in it.”

  She turned to him. “Do I really g
et to marry you?”

  “I wouldn’t have it…any other way,” he whispered, then he lifted her hat off her head, cast it aside, and pulled her onto his lap.

  Maggie went to him eagerly, peeling off her gloves as fast as her trembling fingers would allow her. She couldn’t help herself. She had thought far too often of all they had shared in the gazebo. And, heaven help her, she was hungry for more of this man.

  Apparently His Grace felt the same. He took off his tailcoat, kissing her all the while. Maggie used the fleeting respite when he tossed his coat aside to start removing her tight velvet spencer.

  He kissed her throat, his hot, silken mouth intoxicating her as he helped strip the snug little jacket off her shoulders. Her hands bared now and tingling with a heightened sense of touch, Maggie caressed her lover’s face as he devoured her neck in an open-mouthed kiss. She began untying his cravat, and he joined the effort, yanking the knot free and sliding the length of starched fabric off his neck.

  With his cravat removed, the V of his loose linen shirt fell open, revealing his sculpted chest. Maggie caressed it in delight, fascinated by the heat of his skin and the light furring of hair that she discovered there.

  His sheer masculinity overwhelmed her senses. It was then that Connor managed to tug the low-cut short sleeve of her white muslin gown off her shoulder. Then his warm, clever fingers slipped inside her décolletage and went exploring.

  Her heart raced, and a frisson of delight ran through her when his questing fingertip reached her nipple. He began deftly teasing and playing with it until she was on fire. Moving to the other breast, he ordered her hoarsely to stand.

  When she did, he worked her breast free from the gown, and his mouth replaced his fingers.

  Maggie tipped her head back, wild with thrill, running her fingers through his hair. He was freshly shaved, so the pleasing roughness of his jaw that she remembered from Saturday night was gone now. It was all just warmth and wetness and urgency. Languorous kisses savoring her flesh…

  Straddling his bent knees with her skirts hitched up a bit, her hands propped against his broad shoulders, she grew weak-kneed with desire.

  “Oh, I missed you,” he whispered as he put that side of her dress back up and pulled the other down. Then he paid homage to her other breast with loving care.

  His hands traveled over her all the while, coaxing her body into reckless compliance with anything the man might ask.

  She assumed he knew what he was about when he moved her back from him a little and made her sit on the opposite carriage bench. Maggie bit her lip and waited, enthralled, yearning for more of the pleasure he had shown her before, but he had something else in mind for her today.

  Waiting in a state of throbbing breathlessness to find out what it was, she watched in fascination as he knelt on the spotless carriage floor between her knees and slowly slid her skirts up, higher and higher.

  “What are you doing, you wicked man?” she whispered.

  “Trust me. You’re going to enjoy this.”

  Oh, but he had a gift for understatement, she soon realized. Because when he lowered his mouth to her mound and began to kiss it, playing with the swollen crest, swirling his tongue over and around her center, she began to whimper with pleasure and went positively limp. She could do naught but lie back in the carriage and receive.

  He clearly enjoyed the giving as she arched helplessly against his mouth. He gripped her hips, bared to him beneath her skirts, and then slipped a finger inside her passage while his tongue played.

  Maggie had no idea such things were possible…

  Then all thought dissolved as he swept her on toward a needy climax, his face buried between her legs. Her hips pumped against his face as he licked her faster and faster, and ravished her all the more deeply with his hand. Her wanton cries of pleasure resounded beneath the soaring rafters of the coach house, and she had become deaf to the creaking of the carriage springs.

  “Oh, God, Connor.” It happened then, the same as at the garden folly, only so much more intense, a wrenching release that seemed to rise and explode from the depths of her very soul.

  It lasted several seconds longer, but he kept going until he was very sure he had wrung every ounce of pleasure from her body.

  She lay back against the carriage seat, panting, then winced as he withdrew his fingers delicately from her body. He drew his damp chin along the inside of her thigh, smearing her skin with her own dewy wetness, then rose from between her thighs.

  When she looked at him, breathlessly incredulous, his lips glistened, but his eyes were full of fire. He wiped his mouth off roughly with his loose white shirt sleeve, piratelike, and gave her the most rakish little smile she’d ever seen.

  He then pulled a silver flask out of his castoff tailcoat and washed down her wetness with a swig of whiskey.

  He licked his lips and winked at her. “You’re welcome.”

  “Holy God,” Maggie finally uttered, and began laughing dazedly. “You…!”

  He took a slight bow like an actor on stage and then collapsed heavily onto the opposite bench, laughing. Maggie shook her head and returned gradually to earth, tucking her legs shyly back together again and brushing her skirts down to their proper station.

  “You,” she said again, shaking her head in amazement.

  He flicked his eyebrows upward, playfully smug, then took a second swig of drink. While Maggie strove to reassemble her wits, he replaced the cap on the flask, watching her.

  Bliss flowed like a river through her bloodstream.

  “Told you,” he said, his fond gaze at odds with his cheeky jest.

  She laughed and went to him, planting herself unceremoniously on his lap again. She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a shy kiss after that madness.

  When he parted her lips with a stroke of his tongue, she noted the taste of her own nectar on his tongue, mingled with whiskey.

  More than anything, though, the fevered urgency in his kiss made her realize that, although he was too polite to say so, the man was beside himself with frustration.

  Rallying her spent strength and gathering her nerve—emboldened, no doubt, by all they had shared so far—she reached down and laid her hand on his most forbidden region. His manhood stood erect, flush against his body; she could feel it throbbing against her palm and fingers behind the buttoned placket of his breeches.

  He went very still, closing his eyes as she ran her hand lovingly up and down the solid length.

  “Connor?” She leaned closer, and he shivered with desire when her lips brushed his ear. She smiled, still intoxicated from the magnificent experience he’d given her. She inhaled the clean scent of his cologne. “Can one do that to you, as well?”

  He did not open his eyes. “One can’t, but you can, darlin’. Anytime.”

  She bit her lip. He held perfectly still, as though he dared not scare her away. But Maggie wasn’t going anywhere. She could feel his rapt attention, absorbing her every move.

  “Would you like that?” she whispered.

  He nodded rapidly.

  “Only, I’m not sure how.”

  “It’s not complicated,” he said hoarsely, and, at once, began unbuttoning his trousers. She drew back, filled with a daring spirit of adventure as he gave her the most seductive look imaginable. Need glittered in his heavy-lidded eyes.

  Before guiding her hand to his body, he cradled her face in his palm and kissed her, as if to make it clear that he was not insisting on this. Whatever she wanted to do…

  His refusal to pressure her made her adore him all the more. But, eager to learn the ways that she could give him pleasure, she slipped her hand down into his unbuttoned clothes.

  He drew in his breath when her fingers grazed the satin tip of his member. “Show me what to do,” she whispered.

  He seemed to have lost the power of speech as her fingertips traveled down the towering length of his shaft until she came to the furred base of it.

  “Oh my,” she
breathed.

  He dragged his eyes open and stared at her like he’d devour her. She wrapped her fingers around the silken steel of his shaft. “Like this?”

  He nodded.

  She tightened her grip and began to stroke him. He groaned, swallowed hard, and swelled further in her hand.

  “Heavens…”

  “Oh, Maggie,” he moaned as she redoubled her efforts. “Yes, hard is good,” he encouraged her. “Fast is even better.”

  She complied, and indeed, his advice proved most sincere. His massive cock lunged again and again through the tight tunnel of her fingers.

  His hand wrapped around her shoulder almost roughly as he clung to her. “All the way up to the tip, sweeting. God, yes—please—don’t stop.”

  She obeyed, mesmerized. She kissed his cheek, and he stole a quick kiss from her lips, but then turned his mouth slightly away, as though he needed air. His breaths came deep and fast, in time with the wild tugging of her fingers.

  Maggie clenched her jaw, astounded and thrilled beyond measure at his response to her as a lover. Something in her had taken over, a deep, primal beat in her blood. If she could do this to him with a touch…

  “But what of kisses, darling?” she whispered in his ear, pausing in her rough caresses. “Down there, I mean.”

  He drew in his breath sharply at the question, then dragged his eyes open and looked at her.

  “Are you sure?” he said, looking slightly astonished.

  Maggie nodded so that her forehead brushed his cheek. “May I?”

  She heard him gulp. “Aye.” Wasting no time, he lifted his hips to push his breeches down several inches more, and then Maggie mimicked his position of a while ago, kneeling daintily on the carriage floor.

  Connor bent forward to claim her lips in a passionate kiss. He did not have to say a word to communicate how badly he wanted this. She could feel it in his fevered touch, could practically hear his slamming heartbeat in the quiet of the sleepy afternoon.

  After a moment, he ended the kiss and sat back slowly, watching Maggie between his sprawled thighs. She took his towering cock in hand again, lowering her head. A strangled moan of pleasure escaped him as she parted her lips and licked uncertainly at the tip. She was nervous but willing, and quickly caught on to the notion that she was meant to open her mouth wider and take him in.