by Gill, Tamara
He shrugged, reaching for her again. She did not shy away from his touch. If anything, she melted into it. Her breasts pushed against his silk waistcoat, the tight pebbles of her nipples teasing him to lathe them with his mouth.
Not yet. Not here, his mind warned.
Josh dipped his head, kissing the whorl of her ear, the sensitive skin beneath her lobe. Her hands tightened about his hips, and he breathed deep her delicious scent. Now his favorite.
What was happening to him?
"You smell so good," he spoke, unable to think of anything more delicate and pretty to say what he meant. He doubted he could speak with a poetic verse, for she had his mind blown. "When we're married, I'm going to taste every part of you, Iris," he promised her, moving to the fleshy mounds of her breasts at her bodice.
When he'd seen her this evening, his heart had stopped at the sight of her. So beautiful, he had physically ached at the vision she made. He'd wanted to strip her of her gown and have her for himself, not escort her to another ball where others would enjoy what was his.
He'd found his bride. He wanted to have her all to himself.
Her fingers spiked through his hair. She lay her head against the wall, giving him leave to do as he pleased, without a word spoken.
He could not let her leave him without having one taste of her. Josh slipped her gown down over one breast, exposing her.
Her breasts were ample, a lovely handful and then some. He ran the pad of his finger about her nipple, transfixed as it pebbled harder still. Her chest rose and fell with labored breaths, and he glanced up to see her biting her lip, watching his every move.
"Do you like what you see, Your Grace?" she boldly asked him.
His cock hardened at her sultry words, and he took a calming breath, fighting the urge to take more of her tonight. "Fuck yes, I like what I see, and it is mine to do with as I please."
She made a half moan, half gasp before his mouth was on her again, suckling her sweet nipple into his mouth. He teased her with his tongue, relished every squirm, and thrust into his mouth.
His mind thought of all the things he wanted to do to her. How he had to wait what seemed like forever before he could have her alone, all night, without the fear of interruption.
He wanted her with a need that both scared and fascinated him. She wasn't what he thought he wanted. Unsuitable in so many ways, but with her in his arms, her touch that drove his senses wild, her gasps and breathy sighs against his ear drove him mad. She may not have been what he thought he wanted, but he certainly wanted her now. Iris would be his wife and soon.
Just not soon enough.
* * *
In the early hours of the morning, the duke escorted Iris and his mother back to the London townhouse. The servants already going about their workday, lighting fires, and preparing breakfast.
"I am for bed, my dears. I shall see you later this afternoon," the duchess said, not bothering to ask what they were about.
Iris turned to the duke. Sure he, too, would leave and gain some sleep. Her feet ached, but surprisingly, her leg did not, a nice change to her normal routine. Maybe with all the extra exercise she'd been partaking in of late, the dancing, walking, and riding, her leg agreed with the action. Maybe being idle in Cornwall was not what was best for her.
"Come, breakfast with me," he whispered against her neck, sending a shiver of delight down her spine. She met his gaze, wanting to lean back into his body behind her.
"I would like that," she replied, reaching back and taking his hand, pulling him toward the dining room. He kissed the top of her gloved fingers, and her heart did a little flip in her chest. How was it that the man walking beside her was hers? She could not quite believe the truth of it all.
The table was set with the finest silverware, flowers, and a large fruit platter adorned the center. Four footmen stood at the corners of the room, ready to serve.
Iris sat beside the duke, who seated himself at the head of the table, catching the eye of one of the servants. "You may serve," he commanded the staff.
Iris's stomach rumbled at the sight and smell of bacon, ham, eggs, and freshly cooked bread.
The duke chuckled, reaching around and tipping her face toward him. "Had I known you were that hungry, Iris, I would have brought you home sooner."
Iris bit her lip, not so much hungry for the food on her plate but the man at her side. How delicious it was to be the center of his notice. "I enjoyed the ball. Parts of it were very pleasant indeed. I would not want to have left," she admitted, liking the wicked grin he bestowed on her.
"I did not want to leave either," he admitted, letting her go and putting a respectable distance between them again. "Not the closet, at least."
She chuckled as the servants finished attending them, pouring Iris a cup of tea and the duke a coffee.
"You may leave." The duke dismissed them, and they left without a word, closing the door behind them.
The duke picked up his coffee, sipping it. Iris could feel his eyes on her, watching her. She wondered what he saw. Was he pleased with whom he was marrying? Did he really mean what he said about enjoying her kisses?
After what they had done in the closet at the ball, she could not imagine that he did not. No man kissed a woman with such passion and did not care for her. Even if that care was innocuous right now, it could grow, bloom into so much more if she were blessed a second time in her life.
"We will be married in only a few weeks. I want to use that time to get to know you more. I believe we are not expected at any entertainment this evening, so I was hoping tomorrow morning you would be up for a ride in Hyde Park without Mother. I will bring a groom as chaperone, of course."
Iris swallowed the slice of bacon she was nibbling on. A morning at the park with the duke, when there would be few ladies present and a groom, no dowager duchess. "What would you like to know about me, Your Grace? I could answer any questions that you like if you wanted to start now."
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his jaw in thought. "What is your favorite pastime?"
"Well, I once would have said reading, but after last evening, I would have to say kissing you."
Shock registered on the duke's handsome face. His eyes burned with a need that she had also to her very soul. Her body did not feel like itself. It was all fidgety and eager.
She wanted more kisses, more of his touch.
The memory of his tongue laving her nipple almost made her groan. He clasped her hand, pulling her from her chair and wrenching her onto his lap. Iris gasped, feeling the hardness of his member jutting through the evening breeches he still wore. She pressed against it, a delicious warmth settling between her legs.
"There are going to be more kisses, Iris," he growled, his mouth taking hers in a punishing embrace. Iris threw herself into kissing him, having wanted to do nothing but kiss the man since his mouth left hers several hours ago.
What was this madness that thrummed through her veins and would not be sated?
To know that she would have her whole life in his arms thrilled her. How had her fortune changed so much in the last few weeks? She had not dreamed of coming to London and becoming betrothed to a duke.
A kind and passionate one as hers was turning out to be.
The start to their courtship may not have been conventional, but she was determined to make him happy. Make them both so, and give him lots of children.
She broke the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I do hope so," she replied, kissing the duke this time, reveling in his taste, his heat, and ardent response. Because now that she had a taste of His Grace, she would be loath to lose it.
Chapter 17
Josh had not meant to haul Iris onto his lap. To kiss her again so soon or demand his servants leave them, which no doubt right about now was fodder for gossip below stairs. He could just imagine the size of the hornet's nest he had disturbed.
But seeing her seated beside him, nibbling on her bacon had been too much to bear,
and he'd snatched her onto his lap, determined to have her close, just for a little while longer until they parted company for the day.
He wished he could stay here, sleep under the same roof, but it would not be safe to do so. Such an action would tarnish her reputation. But until he left, he would make use of the close proximity and have her all to himself and in any way he wished.
Still, the idea of sneaking into the house late at night, stealing into her room and laying her bare, stripping her of her night rail or gown made him groan. He wanted nothing more than to slide her free of her silk stockings. Work his fingers through the ribbons of her corset, setting her ample bosom free for his kiss.
He lifted her, pushing the plates to the side of the table and seating her atop the mahogany. She gasped but did not try to stop him. She should, of course. He wanted to have her here in the dining room without thought of who could come in or what would be said.
Fire coursed through his blood. His cock felt heavy and hard in his breeches. "Touch me," he begged. If he could not have her fully, he needed her in this way.
Her eyes gleamed with fiery promise, and then the slow, tentative touch of her fingers grazed the outside of his breeches. He fought not to demand her to take him in hand harder, stroke him until he came. Instead, he leaned his forehead against hers, watching as she learned every part of his cock.
"You're so hard, Your Grace." She bit her lip, and he clenched his jaw.
The sight of her teeth clasping the small piece of flesh drove him mad. He imagined lifting her silk gown to pool at her waist, stroke the wetness between her legs until she squirmed for more. Begged to be fucked.
She flipped the buttons to his falls open and reached into his breeches. A guttural moan wrenched from him, a sound he had never heard before, not in all the times he'd been with other women. He pumped into her touch, her fingers long and banded tight about him, helping him find pleasure.
"What will happen to you when I do this?" she asked him, still fascinated by his cock that strained and grew in her hold.
"I'll spend against your dress, and we cannot be having that," he said, covering her hand with his and stopping her.
She pouted, and he took her lips, wanting her so much that he thought he might die. How was he ever to survive the time before their wedding?
Her thumb rubbed over the tip of his cock, and she lifted her fingers, staring at the transparent liquid. "Fascinating," she stated, her tongue darting out to taste him.
Good God, he would expire. Who was this woman? The siren in his arms did not appear to be the shy, sugary-sweet woman he'd met at the beginning of the Season. This woman did not shy away from pleasure but wanted to experience and learn all that he could show her.
He could not wait to be hers in truth.
"I like the taste of you, Your Grace."
"You would taste better," he returned, tying his falls back up and placing well-needed distance between them. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths.
"I will not deflower my future bride on the dining table. We must behave," he demanded, needing to rein in his desires, for he would allow her to do anything to him, so long as he was able to play with her in return.
"Pity," she quipped, slipping off the table and starting for the door. "It would have been as memorable as the closet last evening. Good day, Your Grace," she said, grinning over her shoulder and leaving him standing, gaping after her as she left him alone.
There were too many weeks left before she became his wife.
* * *
"Do you have it, Father?" Lady Sophie commanded, her voice harsh and impatient as she snatched the rolled parchment from her father's hand. She opened it, scanning the black scrawl that ran over the page.
She laughed, the sound calculating. "La, how the dear Miss Cooper will find what I hold in my hands disappointing. I should think being the daughter of a vicar, she would not appreciate her betrothed had a hand in Redgrove's death."
"The baron's death was his own fault. The young man was always partaking in bets. It was only a matter of time before he came to an unfortunate end," her father stated, starting for the library.
Sophie followed close on his heels. "That does not signify. The duke will not be marrying Miss Cooper from silly old Cornwall."
"She is the Earl Buttersworth's granddaughter. Do not forget that, Sophie, even if the family is estranged."
She shrugged, slumping down on the leather settee before the roaring fire. "The countess wants nothing to do with her granddaughter after Lady Jane married a boring old vicar. How droll."
"Lady Jane fell in love. I worry that this course you are taking is not right, Sophie. You are an earl’s daughter yourself. There are other dukes, marquesses, and earls in society you could marry tomorrow. What is it about Penworth that you're so fascinated with?"
She bit her lip, not wanting to tell her father it was a simple purpose. The duke did not want her. The diamond of the Season. One of the most beautiful and adequately dowered daughters in England. No, he wanted the scarred, lame Miss Iris Cooper from nowhere. A woman who she had seen herself limp when no one else had noticed. "He will not be happy with Miss Cooper. Not in a year or so. He will regret his hasty choice. I am equal to him in wealth and position. We suit much better and I have always loved the ducal coronet I've seen the dowager duchess wear at times. It will suit my coloring more than Miss Boring Cooper."
Her father sighed, pinning her with one of his disapproving stares. She ignored his warning.
"It is already done, Sophie. They are engaged. You cannot come between them now, no matter the fact that I have given you that note out of fatherly affection."
She read down the torn bet from the book at Whites. So many years ago, but the words were as clear now as they were then. The bet that the duke had placed, one hundred pounds to anyone who could beat his time about Hyde Park in a curricle.
What a pity that it was the duke's newly betrothed's lost love who had taken up the call. Had raced about the park with carelessness and killed himself in the process and almost killing Miss Cooper along with him.
What would the sweet, angelic Miss Cooper say when she hears the duke, her future husband, had been the mastermind to her injuries? To her betrothed's death.
"Miss Cooper will not remain engaged to the duke with this knowledge. And then he shall be free to marry a woman suitable to his rank. That woman will be me. No one in society would dare try to cut me off from having what I want."
"Do not be so manipulative, Sophie, or I shall send you back to Hampshire. You must not cause trouble in town. I will not have it. You're a lady. You must act like one."
"I will not cause trouble, and you can be certain that I shall act with the utmost care. Miss Cooper will never know that it is I who has given her this information. No one will trace it to you or me, Papa. But you do wish to have what I want, do you not? You would not deny me happiness."
Her father pointed at the parchment as if it were something alive and dangerous. "I should not have taken it, and if anyone should find out, I will lose my position at Whites. Never to be accepted there or any other gentleman's club. Be sure that it is not traced to us if you're so determined to have the duke as your husband. Although, in my opinion, I did not see the attachment you seem so certain was between you. Are you sure you're not mistaken and have confused friendship with more?"
She frowned, rolling up the bet and starting from the room. "Of course, I know the difference. The duke would not have called on us had he not wanted to further his acquaintance with me. That is not the way of a gentleman."
Her father shook his head. "Very well, do what you must, but this better not go awry for our family, Sophie, or it'll not just be the ton whom you will have to face, but my wrath as well."
She threw her father a sweet smile, knowing when she did, she always got her way. His features softened, and she knew he'd already forgiven her and trusted her words. "I promise it will not. All will be well, Papa, and soon you w
ill have a duchess as a daughter. How pleasing that sounds."
She flounced from the room, starting for her own. Tomorrow night was the Morrison masquerade ball. She would start her plan then, small tidbits of questions, little doubts in Miss Cooper's ears, so when she did finally read the bet, she would know the truth of her past and her future.
Sophie smiled, excitement thrumming through her veins. Her Grace, Sophie Worthingham, Duchess of Penworth had a special, perfect sound to it. She would enjoy being a pillar, one of society's highest-ranked hostesses. Married to Penworth, she would rule all of London if for no other reason than she wanted it to be so.
Chapter 18
Iris and the dowager duchess arrived at the Morrison's masquerade ball dressed specifically as their hostess the dowager countess had specified on the invitations.
The theme was the royal court of Versailles, an opulent and extravagant mask for anyone to attend. Yet, the duchess had procured Iris a gown that was beyond her expectations, delivered and sized a day before the event. A marvel that she still could not grasp had occurred. It was told other attendees started to plan their gowns months before they traveled to London for the Season.
The gold, embroidered silk frock had roses stitched into the fabric. Although not entirely correct for the royal court of France, the empire cut was nonetheless a beautiful, opulent gown.
Her black cloak had a gold silk ribbon stitched about the hems and complemented the dress. Her mask, however, was a piece of art. The brightest blue silk she'd ever seen and covered in multicolored paste jewels, it sat across her eyes and nose, her hair hidden under a highly perched wig that ladies would have worn a century before.
Iris caught sight of herself as they entered the ballroom and could not recognize the woman she saw. Would Josh pick her out from the many people here? The noise, laughter, and dancing somewhat rowdier than other balls she had attended caught her by surprise. How anyone could continue a conversation in this uproar was a miracle maker.