“We could have gone to my parents, you know,” she said from his lap where he had snugly placed her before the carriage had swung into motion.
His heart was a steady, reassuring beat against her ear, his embrace tight, as if he feared he would lose her if he did not hold her to him like his most-prized possession.
“I sent word to them that you are safe and all is well, but I did not want to be a burden or a guest tonight,” he said, kissing her crown. “Tonight, I wanted just the two of us. Christ, when I think of how close I came to losing you…”
His voice cracked with emotion on the last.
She tilted her head back, searching his handsome countenance through the shadows cast by the carriage lamp’s lonely beam. “You did not lose me, Hudson. I am right here.”
“Thank God. You are everything to me, Ellie.” There was such raw, earnest love in his face, in his voice.
“You saved my life tonight,” she said, in awe of the haste with which he had acted, eliminating the threat of O’Rourke. “If you had not been there with me, he would have killed me. I am certain of it.”
Hudson caressed her cheek. “Do not underestimate your worth, my love. You saved both of our lives with your quick thinking regarding the lamp.”
“It was a calculated risk. One of us had to provide a distraction, and you were the only one with a pistol.” She pressed a kiss to his warm, rough palm. “Besides, if I had not so recently overturned a lamp myself, I doubt the thought would have occurred to me.”
He smiled. “I know it would have. Your mind never ceases to amaze me, Ellie. When we return to Brinton Manor, I want to see your electrical frying pan.”
Heavens, she had almost forgotten about her prototype entirely. She had become so wrapped up in trying to solve the murder of Mrs. Ainsley, that she had scarcely given it a moment of her time. Her every thought had been for her husband, her love. Each day had been a race against the unknown evil they faced.
Until today, when evil had stared them down from the other side of a loaded gun.
She shivered again, her teeth clicking together as another rush of shock swarmed her.
“Cold?” he asked immediately.
“No.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Merely overset. I will gladly bore you with my frying pan. I have yet to complete the design, however. It is not functional.”
And there was the possibility it would remain in its current state, that she would not complete it with enough time to see it entered in the Society of Electricity’s exhibition after all. But considering what she and Hudson had just been through together, her invention was her least-pressing concern.
They were alive. How glorious it felt. She had never truly realized how much she took her every day for granted until tonight. Never again. From this day on, she would appreciate each second, each minute, each hour. They were precious gifts, not finitely hers to claim.
Hudson stroked her cheek with his thumb. “You could never bore me, and I have no doubt you will have it functional soon. You are the most determined woman I have ever met, and I love you all the more for your perseverance.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, reveling in the words I love you issued in her husband’s deep, rich baritone. “Tell me again, Hudson.”
“What?” His tone turned teasing as he dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “That you could never bore me? Surely you know that you could not by now. From the moment we first met, you have dazzled me.”
“When I called upon you with Mama and Izzy?” She thought back to that day, which seemed a lifetime ago already. How much she had changed—how much they both had changed—since then. “You seemed thoroughly irritated with my lack of concern for your fountain.”
He had been brooding and grim, she recalled. Handsome, too. She had thought he would make the perfect husband, and she had not realized how right she had been, but for entirely different reasons. The old Elysande would never have imagined just how completely her marriage would alter everything she had thought she had known about herself.
As it turned out, she had not been disinterested in gentlemen. Nor had her heart been too hardened for love. She had merely yet to meet the right one, to have her walls brought down by a most unlikely duke.
“I was not irritated with you,” Hudson said, kissing her jaw, then the corner of her lips. “I was irritated with my circumstances. I had been forced to abandon the life I had known and the work I had dedicated myself to, all to shoulder the burdens of debts and a title and responsibilities I never wanted. I was a cad that day, and I apologize.”
“You were not a cad,” she denied loyally. “You do not have it in you. You were merely brooding and aloof. I found you quite handsome and intriguing, but I was determined that we should carry on with our marriage of convenience and you would go to London while I devoted myself to my workshop.”
“You found me handsome and intriguing?” He grinned down at her. “You never said.”
She found herself smiling back at him, relieved to be distracted by his boyish charm and their easy conversation. After what they had faced earlier and survived, this lighthearted carriage ride seemed a miracle.
“You never asked,” she countered softly.
“Damn, Ellie.” He lowered his head and pressed his forehead to hers. “It was not my intention to make such a muddle of our union.”
She turned in his lap, resting her legs on the bench at his side so she could face him better, her arms looped around his neck. “You did nothing of the sort. We married as different people with different reasons for doing so. But we came together in the best way, and I do not harbor a modicum of regret for anything that has happened.”
“You cannot mean that, love. After what happened with O’Rourke—”
“Hush.” She pressed a finger to his lips, stilling them. “Everything that has happened—the good, the painful, the terrible—has led us to where we are. And at the end of it all, we are here together in this carriage. We are safe, and a terrible man has met his fate. He cannot hurt anyone else ever again, and I am so very thankful for that.”
Hudson’s head fell back against the squabs, a heavy sigh leaving him. “I have been in some dangerous situations over the course of my years with Scotland Yard. When it came down to him or you, I was left with no other choice.”
“You did what was right,” she reassured him. “You are a good and honorable man. I have known that about you from the beginning. Nothing—not what happened tonight, nor anything else—can change that.”
His gaze searched hers. “Your faith in me never faltered. I cannot thank you enough for standing by my side even as the evidence mounted against me. Lesser women would have turned their backs on me in a heartbeat.”
“I will always stand by your side, Hudson. I love you.”
“Ah, Ellie. My sweet, intelligent, capable Ellie. I love you, too.” He lowered his head, his lips perilously near to hers once more. “I am the most fortunate man in all of England.”
She smiled against his mouth. “And I am the most fortunate lady.”
They kissed until their carriage rocked to a halt at the hotel, and then they went inside, arm in arm.
Chapter 18
The Argent Hotel was astoundingly luxurious, blessed with an ostentation that put even the tremendous spectacle of Talleyrand Park partly to shame. Hudson was awake at dawn, pleased with the wisdom of his decision to take rooms here in the aftermath of O’Rourke’s attack. It was modern in every way, the first hotel of its kind to be fitted entirely with electricity. That he had recently become friends with the hotel’s owner, the Marquess of Greymoor, had benefited him greatly in securing lodging at such an unspeakably late hour.
The marvel of electric lights throughout the halls and chambers had distracted Elysande last night. As had the adjoining bathroom, connected to their suite of rooms. They had soaked in the large tub together and fallen asleep on the cloud-like bed wrapped in each other’s arms, exhausted and grateful to be aliv
e.
Gratitude was still humming through him as he watched his wife sleep. He had taken care not to awaken her when he had risen and dressed with the thought that he might procure them some breakfast. But when the time had come to go, he had found himself reluctant to leave. His legs had possessed a mind of their own, taking him to an easy chair in the sitting room where he could still see Elysande.
Foolish, he knew.
It was not as if she would disappear if he were to leave her for ten minutes.
And yet, he could not bring himself to part from her. Last night, he had almost lost her. Impossible to believe. In his life of darkness and death, she had become the light of the sun, which O’Rourke would have extinguished. The pills he had been determined to give Elysande likely contained strychnine. According to Chance, the post-mortem had revealed that particular poison as the cause of Mrs. Lamson’s death.
His vibrant, clever, beautiful wife.
Despite his many years as a detective, regardless of the harrowing occasions he had faced in the past, chasing down murderers and other criminals, he had found himself hopelessly frozen when O’Rourke had appeared in his bedchamber, having apparently entered the town house through the servant’s entrance. His first instinct had been to draw his own weapon, but he had not, for fear O’Rourke would shoot and wound Elysande.
He had been caught unaware in a trap of a madman’s making.
There was a foreign burning behind his eyes. He had almost lost her last night. Her wit and bravery had saved them both. A pressure rose in his chest. Surely not?
Tears.
Yes, his cheeks were wet, his shoulders shaking. And to his dismay, a sob tore free, the sound echoing in the quiet of the chamber. On the bed, Elysande stirred, her bare arm reaching for the place where he had slept at her side.
“Hudson?” She patted his abandoned pillow, the sleepiness in her voice giving way to a greater urgency, almost frantic. “Hudson?”
“I am here, my love,” he reassured her, rising from the chair and going to her.
Silken chestnut curls tumbled around her shoulders as she sat up, holding the bedclothes to her breasts. Her eyes were wide, her gaze a little wild as it settled on him. “You are here. Thank God. I had the most wretched dream. O’Rourke was here, and he forced me to take his poison, and then he…he shot you.”
He sat on the bed and drew her into his arms, his heart giving a pang at the terror in her voice. “He is gone, Ellie. He can never hurt you or anyone else again.”
Her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, and he felt the hot kiss of her breath on his neck as she exhaled. “You were weeping.”
Ah, she had seen his wet cheeks, then. He had been hoping she would not take note. He buried his face in her hair, the soft tangles smelling sweetly of her. Lily of the valley and Elysande. Love and promise and hope. What would he have done if he had lost her?
He could not bear to think about it now. She was here, soft and warm and wonderful in his arms. She was his, and he was hers.
“I was feeling a bit overwhelmed this morning,” he admitted, for once unashamed of his vulnerability. “I watched you sleep and thought about what a gift today is, that we are here together.”
Alive.
He did not say the last. It was unnecessary.
Her lips moved on his neck, and for the first time since their terrible adventure the night before, his cock stirred.
“Together,” she repeated against his greedy skin.
The rush of need thundering through him took him by surprise. He was suddenly ravenous for her. Why the hell had he dressed? Why had he even spared a thought for coffee and stupid bloody eggs?
All he wanted was to lie in this bed with this woman, to hold her in his arms, to slip inside her. To stay there forever if he could.
As was always the case with Elysande, she seemed to know what he needed before he did. She pulled at his coat, and he disentangled from her long enough to shuck it off. He wanted—needed—for there to be no barriers between them.
His fingers fumbled on the buttons of his waistcoat. “Damn it.”
He was trembling with the furor of his emotions. Everything he had managed to tamp down last night unleashed now, a raging waterfall.
“Yes,” she said. “Why are you wearing so much dratted clothing?”
“Hell if I know.” Breakfast had never seemed more superfluous than when his beautiful wife was awake and deliciously rumpled in bed. When he could join her there.
“Let me.” She dropped the bedclothes and reached for his buttons, brushing his ineffectual fingers aside.
He had a brief, inviting view of her breasts, pale and full and pink-tipped, her chestnut curls trailing over the delectable swells. But she was at work. His waistcoat parted, then disappeared, whisked somewhere over his shoulder. She leaned into him, kissing his jaw.
Which of them was the seducer and which the seduced? He could not say. It hardly mattered. Nothing mattered but her.
He tore at his shirt, feeling more alive than he ever had. And desperate. But Elysande was there, with her calm, measured movements. With her rosebud lips curved in a knowing smile.
Words had never been more inadequate, but he felt he should say something. To explain himself lest his inglorious display somehow alarm her. He was not ordinarily such a voracious beast.
“Ellie.” Her name, a prayer torn from him as she plucked more buttons from their moorings and his shirt came undone. “I need you more than I need another breath.”
An exaggeration, but true. He felt it down to his bones, this all-consuming yearning for her. Nothing had ever been so strong. So right. So real. He had almost lost her. The reminder was there, a flame burning steadily beneath the surface.
He had almost lost this incredible woman.
He swallowed down a knot. His shirt was gone, and then he rose from the bed to remove his trousers as well. To his surprise, she joined him, all pale, elegant curves. Her waist was the perfect place for his hands, and he set them there, caressing her silken warmth as she opened the placket of his trousers and slid them down his hips. His smalls came next, pooling to the floor.
He stepped out of them, his cock springing high between them.
Elysande sank to her knees.
“You do not need…” His words ended on a groan as her tongue traveled down his length.
“I do need,” she said, glancing up at him with a minx’s smile as she grasped him at the root.
Her hand wrapped around him and the flick of her tongue on his cock head was enough to make his knees nearly buckle. He caught a handful of sweet-scented chestnut curls, wanting to hold her there, to thrust his cock down her throat, yet needing to be gentle. To allow her to have her way with him.
And have her way, she did. Those perfect pink lips parted, and she took him into her mouth.
“Ah God, Ellie.”
Heat and wetness engulfed him. She held his gaze as she gently sucked. Love. He saw it in her eyes. Unabashed and fervent. She was worshiping him with her body, with her mouth. He clenched his jaw and held himself still, keeping the movement of his hips shallow. Small thrusts.
The sight of that mouth stretched and filled with his cock was enough to make his ballocks tighten. She hummed around him, the vibration forcing a groan from him. The pleasure was so intense, he was not sure how much he could withstand. She was getting bolder, alternating between pulling him deep into her throat and driving him wild with her clever tongue.
Finally, he could take no more.
“Enough,” he rasped, gently taking her arms and pulling her to her feet. “I need to be inside you.”
Her lips were glistening, their pretty pink hue darkened to red from her ministrations. He could not resist taking that mouth with his. He tasted himself in their kiss, and it made him even harder.
He guided her to the bed, shoving aside the bedclothes so that she lay unencumbered, bare and beautiful. He fell to his knees on the mattress. The sun was rising higher ove
r London, bathing her in a loving glow. He took a moment to admire her, like a Grecian goddess.
Mine.
Wordlessly, she slid her legs apart in invitation.
One he greedily accepted. The heart of her, pink and glistening, called to him. He bent his head and lapped at her clitoris, then down her folds until he licked into her. She was so slick and warm, like the finest silk on his tongue. This was all the breakfast he wanted. Just Ellie, wet and ready for him.
She whimpered as he thrust his tongue into her again and again, claiming her this way. Claiming her every way he could. He wanted to make her scream. To make her splinter apart into a thousand tiny jagged shards of herself that he would put back together again. He had to have it.
He cupped her arse and lifted her higher, devouring her cunny until she was indeed screaming. Feet planted flat on the bed, hips bucking as she pulsed and quivered and ground herself mercilessly against his face. Her juices gushed on his tongue, and he sucked them up as if they were honey. His, just like the rest of her.
He was not going to last long. He kissed his way up her body, stopping to suck a nipple. She writhed and made the most decadent purr of desire he had ever heard. Pure feminine need.
Yes, oh yes.
More.
He grasped his cock, aligning himself to her soaked entrance. It was there, everything he wanted. She was there. He pushed forward, sheathing himself with ease. She tightened around him, her body undulating in welcome. He braced himself on his forearms and held still for a moment, relishing the liquid heat of her quim.
So good. Too good.
He kissed the soft slope of her shoulder. “I love you.”
This seemed the most important. All the coherent thought he could manage just now.
It was enough. Her hands were on his back, caressing and sure. They filled him with fire. To have her hands on him forever—that was what he wanted. What he craved. Her touch, her love, this woman. How she had changed him. When he had become the Duke of Wycombe, he had never fathomed how richly his life would change. That not every alteration would be a sacrifice. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he no longer felt alone. Free of the specter of Croydon and O’Rourke, he could love her as she deserved.
The Detective Duke (Unexpected Lords Book 1) Page 26