“Vixen,” he whispered. “See how you like this.”
Holding her firmly with one arm, he let the fingers of his other hand trace a path downward to the spot between her thighs. When he separated the lips and stroked her pearl, a surge of electricity shot through her, and she stiffened, shouting.
“To the bed with you before I take you up against something,” he said. Before she could answer, he’d scooped her into his arms and laid her on the mattress.
She lay in a haze of excitement and wonder as she watched him undress. Although he moved quickly, his movements seemed like a ballet. He stretched to drape his waistcoat over a chair. With a graceful arc of his arm, he tossed his neck cloth on top and then began a dance of his fingers over the buttons everywhere. Each garment he removed showed her more of the man without all the coverings of propriety. When he removed his shirt, she could marvel at the firmness of his chest, the flat male nipples and the muscle stretched over his ribs.
Then, facing her, he unfastened his pants, pushed them over his legs and stepped out of them. After rising again, he stood, meeting her gaze with his own. The message came across without words. Look at me.
She forced herself to do it, staring first at his stomach and then at the thing at the base of his torso. Oh, dear heaven.
No surprise she’d felt him through their clothing. The wonder was that he’d fit inside his pants at all. His sex stood out from his body. Rigid and swollen. It would join them together now. In the next few moments, he’d breach her barrier, and his tool would enter her.
Her own sex craved it, even as her mind rebelled. She’d been created so that every contact with the lips between her legs and the sensitive nub would cause an unbearable yearning. Not for his fingers or her own, but for his hardness to fill her. And still, how could her body possibly take its bulk?
He hadn’t moved for several seconds, and when she looked back at his face, she found the same quiet intensity in his eyes. Waiting for her to accept him, when he could have taken her by force if he’d wanted. As warmth blossomed inside her, she spread her arms in welcome.
A huge sigh escaped him as he joined her on the bed. His face looming over hers, he smoothed her hair off her forehead. “My first wife was a virgin, so I’ve had some experience.”
“Not your second wife?”
“We won’t discuss Evelyn.”
“Ever?”
Instead of answering, he kissed her. Slow and deep, the caress drove everything from her mind but the taste and feel of this man. Her husband. No point in shyness now, not with their naked bodies touching everywhere. Though he held his weight on his elbows, she still bathed in the scent and heat of him. Her hands could explore everywhere—across his shoulders, down his back and then over his buttocks.
He kissed her as if he’d devour her, his lips sliding over hers and then parting to allow the tip of his tongue to stroke the sensitive inner flesh. She sought him with her own tongue, and when they touched, a surge of energy coursed through her. Her breasts felt heavy, and even the backs of her knees tingled. Arching her back, she released a sob and surrendered to him utterly. From this moment on, she’d deny him nothing. Any place he chose to touch, any way he chose to do it—whether kisses, strokes, or the passage of his tongue—she’d allow him access, and she’d allow herself the pleasure.
“You drive me mad,” he groaned into her ear.
“Please, Richard, don’t stop.”
“As if I could.” Then, he was everywhere. His hands stroked her sides, his fingers massaging the flesh, as his mouth traveled over her neck to her chest. Dozens of tiny kisses, each leaving a prick of desire. He went lower, covering her breasts. When he reached her nipples, he took one of them into his mouth and teased the other with his hand.
Who would have thought such feelings possible? The swirling of his tongue connected to deeper places, making her sex throb. She grew moist there as hot liquid seeped from inside her. Need coiled in her belly and below. She would climax again, and it would overwhelm anything else she’d ever experienced. Her husband would be inside her when she did.
He gave her other nipple the same attention, working it until her breath came in soft gasps. Still, she lay limp, powerless to do anything but stroke his hair in thanks.
Now, his hand went wandering, over her belly and into the hairs that covered her sex. She ached inside for his touch, and when it finally came, she cried toward the ceiling. Without words, she told him— Yes. Just there. More.
He must have understood, because he released her breast and laid his face against her ribs as he stroked her nether lips.
She bit back a sob, as he continued the torment. So close. So close.
“Sweet, little puss is wet for me,” he said. “Let’s see if I can make her wetter.”
He used firmer strokes now so that she could feel the passage of his fingers over her. Her pearl had already hardened, and when he finally touched it, she nearly burst out of her skin. A cry tore from her chest, as her sex wound tight like a spring. The craving became unbearable. Only he could ease it, and surely he would soon end her agony.
“You’re ready,” he said finally.
Yes! Oh, please, now.
When he parted her legs and settled himself between them, she held her breath. It would hurt. He was too big, but she needed every inch.
As he pressed for entrance, she didn’t pull away. Pain cut through the pleasure, but she wouldn’t give in to it. He pushed again, harder, and this time, she rose to meet him. She whimpered as the barrier tore, and then, nothing separated them as he eased into her sheath.
“Rosalind,” he whispered as he took her face between his hands and covered it with kisses. “Oh, my sweet wife.”
Clutching his shoulders from underneath, she found the strength to lift her lips to his ear. “More.”
“Oh, God.” He thrust his hips slowly, and her body stretched to accept him. She’d thought him too big, but in fact, he filled her perfectly.
“So tight and wet.” He groaned, a dark sound laced with hunger. “So good.”
“I want you.” Not love. Not yet. No thought, no intellect, just pure lust.
He moved inside her…slow, even thrusts at first. Neither of them had patience for that, though, and soon, they were straining against each other. Grasping any flesh for an anchor as he moved faster, deeper, harder.
The fire he’d set inside her hadn’t gone out but had only banked, waiting for its ultimate expression. It came to life again—the throbbing, the ache, the coiled need. The faster he went, and the harder, the closer he pushed her to the edge. Angling her hips for maximum contact, she met his thrust with her own.
The madness washed over her, and her whole body tensed. Deep inside, her muscles clenched around him, and then she burst into climax. A full-throated shout filled the room—her own—as her sex convulsed around the whole of his length.
His answer started as a growl and then became a yell of triumph. He slammed into her a few more times, and then his body stiffened. Inside her, his body released his seed, and though she couldn’t feel that directly, the shudders that wracked him allowed her to share his joy.
They’d united. They’d become one being in those transforming moments. So, when they came back to reality, and even after he separated their bodies and pulled her against his chest, they hadn’t really parted.
Chapter Three
“Richard, why does one of the bedrooms have bars on the window?”
Her husband looked up from the ledger he’d been writing in and set his pen back into the stand. “Been exploring, have you?”
“I hope that’s allowed. I am the duchess here.” Duchess. She’d deliberately used the word in her mind a dozen or more times a day since their wedding. It still didn’t register as real. Exploring the huge manor didn’t help. So many rooms. How could she even remember them all?
“Of course.” He rose, went around the desk and leaned against the edge. “Come here, my little duchess.”
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When she did, he parted his legs and drew her between them so that he could embrace her, his face at the same level as hers. Grasping her hips, he pulled her closer. “Fallon is a very big place with a lot of secrets. Some of them involve me.”
“Should we have secrets from each other?”
“No, and we won’t.” His lips brushed hers in a brief kiss. She’d expected sex with the man, but the constant touching and innocent caresses made her glow inside. The fact that he could turn that glow into a flame at a moment’s notice was all the more astonishing.
“Let me tell you one story at a time,” he said. “Once you’ve accepted that, I’ll move on to the next. Agreed?”
“As long as I don’t have to wait for too long.”
“Now then, we know why you married me,” he said. “Because I was better than Tewksbury.”
She poked at his chest. “It was more than that.”
“Well enough. I was much better than Tewksbury.”
“You’re being silly.”
“Perhaps.” His expression grew solemn, and he smoothed her hair away from her face. All the while, he watched the progress of his fingers, avoiding her gaze. “Let’s start with my first wife.”
“Was she very beautiful?”
“Ah, Louisa,” he said. “She was the very image of a duchess. Perfect in every way.”
Quite in contrast to Rosalind. She might be on the path to being a wife, especially when it felt so good to step into his embrace. She still had to learn to act as his duchess.
“She could speak three languages, play the piano, draw. She knew everyone’s station and exactly how they should be treated. She ran this place better than Buckingham Palace,” he said. “We only had one problem.”
“She didn’t give you an heir.”
“That was a small part of it.” He took a breath. “She hated the marital act. Absolutely loathed it. She couldn’t bear to have me touch her.”
“How could that be?”
“You couldn’t understand, and that’s the beauty of you.” The light in his blue eyes softened as he studied her face, drawing a knuckle along her jawline. “I don’t know what perverted her. Women are taught such nonsense about their own bodies.”
She had to smile inwardly at that. Whatever she’d learned about the sins of physical intimacy, he’d untaught her since the afternoon of their wedding day.
“Louisa accepted that she had to give me an heir, so she surrendered herself to me as a virgin sacrifice,” he said. “Deflowering her was pure hell.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “For both of you.”
“She did her duty, though. She lay there like a block of stone as I slaked my lust inside her.”
“That’s terrible,” Rosalind said. “She couldn’t have called it that.”
“Something her mother told her. Heaven help her father.”
“So, what happened?”
“She conceived finally. After that, I never had to touch her again.”
Rosalind stood, watching him. By now, she knew him as intimately as one could another human being, and yet she didn’t know him at all. How odd that he could be so familiar and so foreign at once. His scent surrounded her as she slept. She sensed every time he came into a room. And yet, what could she understand of what went on behind those blue eyes?
“She died in childbirth. The child only survived for a few days after,” he said.
“I’m sorry.”
“I wasn’t. It was a girl. I would have had to start all over.”
“You can’t mean that.”
“I do. Or at least, I did at the time. I was so angry at everything and everyone.” His large hands still on her hips, he shook her lightly. “So, I determined I’d never have another frigid wife. And that brought me you.”
“Me?” She stared at him in wonder. “I hadn’t had anything more than a few kisses.”
“The way you walked gave your passionate nature away.”
“The way I walked?” she repeated. “How could that tell you anything?”
“I have a friend who’s a terrible rake.”
She lifted a brow. “A friend?”
“You doubt me, little wife?” he said. “His name is Thornton. I was at school with him.”
“And what did your friend Thornton, the rake, tell you?”
“Thornton always used to say that you could tell by a woman’s walk if she liked to fuck.”
“Fallon!”
“Don’t be shy. That’s what we do.” He kissed her again, and this time he let his mouth linger on hers for a moment. When he pulled away, his eyes had a wicked twinkle to them. “As I rode near your house or in your village, I’d watch your energetic stride. I’d imagine all that energy in my bed, and I’d get hard sitting on my horse.”
“You couldn’t have.” And yet, he certainly could have. She’d felt his gaze on her more than once, even though he’d look away if she lifted her chin to confront it. At the time, she’d thought she’d imagined his attention because he was a duke and cut such a striking figure. And all that time, he’d been excited by her presence.
“I should have trusted my instinct and not tested you that first night.” He paused, glancing downward and then back up at her face. “Was it really dreadful for you?”
“It was better than Tewksbury.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Saved by Tewksbury.”
“Imagine that.”
Still chuckling, he pulled her against his chest. “It seems Tewksbury has a purpose in living, after all.”
“Richard, I’ve never seen you do that.”
“What’s that?” He rubbed her back.
“Laugh.”
“I laugh all the time.”
“No, you don’t.” She pushed away from him. “You hardly ever smile.”
“Perhaps you’ll fix that over time.” His lips covered hers again, and now, his palms went to her rear and cupped her buttocks. When he’d finished with her mouth, he pressed kisses along her temple to her ear. “For now, there’s something else you can fix.”
Her breath caught. “I thought I fixed that this morning.”
“It needs constant work, I’m afraid.”
“Then, I’ll have to try again, won’t I?”
He pushed away from the desk and took her hand. “I’ll leave myself in your able hands, Lady Fallon.”
As he led her to the doorway, a sound came from outside the manor. Carriage wheels pulling up to the front of the house.
“Who could that be?” she asked.
He tugged at her hand. “Simms will deal with it.”
“If we have visitors, we need to see them.” She pulled him toward the window, where they both looked out.
As soon as he saw the crest on the side of the carriage, he stiffened beside her, and his fingers closed tightly around hers.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“Not her,” he said. “Please, God, not her.”
After opening the carriage door, the footman let down the stair, and a delicate slipper emerged. A woman climbed down onto the drive. Tall and graceful, she seemed as confident as if entering her own home. After a bit, she lifted her head to scan the house, revealing herself to be a stunning brunette dressed in the latest fashion. Rosalind gasped softly. “Do you know her?”
“I should.” He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. Finally, he dropped his hand and straightened. “You’re about to meet my second wife’s sister.”
* * *
The woman was even more beautiful at close range. With long limbs, she managed to wrap herself around Fallon like ivy climbing a trellis.
“There’s my darling man,” she declared. “It’s been much too long.”
“Elizabeth.” Fallon set her away from him—firmly enough to convey a message. Don’t touch me. She either missed his intent or ignored it because she continued clasping his hand in both of hers. He stepped aside, forcing the w
oman to face Rosalind.
The brilliant smile hardly faltered, but one dark brow arched. “Who would this be?”
He finally disentangled himself from her and went to Rosalind’s side. “This is my wife, Rosalind, Lady Fallon.”
“Well, of course, she is.” The woman’s gaze swept to her feet and back up again. “And when did this happen?”
“I’m sure you know all about it,” Fallon said. “Otherwise, why would you have come?”
The woman put her hand over her heart, and managed a very lovely pout. “I missed my dear brother and wanted to see how he was.”
“Well, now you’ve seen,” Fallon said.
“Rosalind.” The woman removed her gloves and hat, revealing a pile of intricately arranged sable curls. She carefully set her things on a nearby chair. “What a lovely creature. I’m sure the two of us will be great friends.”
He tugged Rosalind closer to him. “I rather doubt that.”
“What an old stick you’ve become, Richard.” The woman—Elizabeth—nearly forced her way between Fallon and Rosalind and swept her to a settee where they sat so close their knees touched. “Richard used to be a lot more fun. You must coax that out of him, my dear.”
“I do whatever I can to make him happy, of course,” Rosalind answered. After no more than a week of marriage, she hardly knew what making him happy involved. Aside from the obvious. He’d kept her very busy at that to the point where all the other duties of being a wife and a duchess still lay ahead of her. She glanced at him where he’d gone to the sideboard. He didn’t appear happy now. In fact, he seemed tense enough to jump if she clapped her hands.
“You must fill the manor with light again,” Elizabeth declared. “Parties, balls. We could get all the right people up from London for a fortnight of riding and shooting.”
He turned, holding a delicate sherry glass in a grip firm enough to break it. “We?”
“Force of habit,” Elizabeth said. “I used to help Evelyn with all her plans as hostess here. I could do the same for you.”
Fallon approached and nearly shoved a glass into Elizabeth’s hand. She accepted it, gazing up at him as though she’d won a point. He seemed to ignore her and offered Rosalind a drink a bit more gently. Still, his strong fingers—the same ones that stroked her body with such skill—seemed poised to shatter the fragile crystal. Her own fingers trembled as she took it.
The Devilish Duke Page 3