Some Like to Shock (Mills & Boon Historical) (Daring Duchesses - Book 2)

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘I have no idea.’ He shrugged. ‘I can only warn you of what I know of men such as Sandhurst and Suffolk.’

  ‘And in doing so you are seriously in danger of overstepping the bounds of our newly formed friendship.’ She eyed him primly.

  Benedict gave a humourless smile. ‘Was the kiss we shared earlier not also “seriously overstepping the bounds of our newly formed friendship”?’

  Genevieve clutched her cloak more tightly about her as a gentle breeze rustled through the trees. ‘We did not share a kiss—you took one!’

  ‘Strange you should think that,’ he drawled derisively. ‘When I distinctly remember the parting of your lips so that we might deepen the kiss?’

  Genevieve’s cheeks flared with embarrassed colour even as she looked about them self-consciously to see if anyone might have overheard their conversation; luckily everyone else strolling the pathways seemed intent only on their own pleasure. ‘I admit I was momentarily too taken back to do anything other than respond, but that does not alter the fact that you were the one to instigate the kiss.’

  Benedict chuckled huskily. ‘Or that you are hoping for me to “instigate” another one, perhaps even more than a kiss, before this evening is over?’

  Genevieve had no idea whether she was hoping or dreading such an occurrence, although her response to his earlier kisses was daringly reassuring of the former, to say the least! ‘You really are the most insufferable, conceited—’ She broke off as he gave another chuckle. ‘I fail to see what is so funny, Benedict!’

  ‘Why, you are, my dear Genevieve.’ He eyed her derisively. ‘For believing, for one single moment, that I will allow myself to be diverted, even by thoughts of making love to you under the moonlight at Vauxhall Gardens, from knowing the answer you gave Suffolk in regard to the two of you riding in the park tomorrow morning.’

  If not for the fact that she was wearing delicate silk slippers, and would no doubt have caused herself pain on the gravel pathway beneath those slippers, Genevieve would have stamped her foot in temper at this gentleman’s unshakeable—and equally as infuriating!—single-mindedness.

  As it was she could only scowl at him—a completely wasted scowl, when Benedict could not even see it behind her golden mask. ‘If you must know, I turned down Suffolk’s invitation for tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it.’ He nodded grimly.

  ‘But I am seriously considering accepting for the morning following that one,’ Genevieve finished triumphantly. ‘I only refused for tomorrow because I felt sure I would not wish to rise so early in the morning, after what will probably be a late night this evening.’

  Benedict stared down at her in frustration, again wondering how it was that a woman of such experience could be so worryingly naïve in regard to the gentlemen of the ton. Suffolk was both a handsome rogue and notorious for his exploits in the bedchamber and no doubt fully intended to seduce Genevieve the moment the two of them had reached a place he considered private enough for that seduction to take place!

  Unless, of course, that was the appeal the invitation held for Genevieve?

  Benedict’s mouth firmed. ‘And would I be right in supposing, that an early ride in the park, alone with a handsome gentleman, is yet more of that “adventure and fun” you hunger for?’

  Genevieve eyed him impishly. ‘Suffolk is very handsome, is he not?’

  Benedict bit back his impatience with the habit Genevieve had of latching on to the least important of his comments. ‘He holds no appeal for me, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’ She chuckled softly.

  ‘But I can see how his golden good looks might … hold appeal for some women,’ Benedict concluded.

  ‘I believe you might apply that to any woman with red blood flowing in her veins,’ she corrected ruefully.

  ‘Maybe so,’ he continued firmly.

  ‘What do you have in the basket, Benedict?’ she prompted with a teasing glance at the basket he still carried.

  In truth, Benedict had forgotten all about the damned picnic basket during their sometimes-heated conversation; indeed, Genevieve seemed capable of making him forget most things.

  Such as the very reason he had first approached her, his idea to use her as a shield for his activities for the Crown apparently forgotten, or rather dismissed, once he became better acquainted with this often exasperating and yet beautiful and enticing woman …

  ‘Benedict …?’

  He sighed. ‘The basket contains our supper and a blanket upon which we might sit and eat it.’

  ‘Oh, how wonderful of you to think of doing something so romantic!’ Her eyes glowed with her pleasure even as she threw her arms about his neck to hug him tightly before stepping back self-consciously, her gaze no longer meeting his. ‘Might we go into one of the secluded arbours? Oh, please, Benedict!’ She looked up at him pleadingly.

  ‘If that is what would make you happy.’ Benedict was still too taken aback by the unabashed warmth of Genevieve’s hug to even think of denying her.

  He was not a man that people hugged. At least, not without invitation. And, despite what the ton might think in regard to his sexual exploits over the years, those invitations had been few and far between. Genevieve, with her warmth and exuberance for life, had not even considered waiting for him to make such an invitation, but had merely acted with her impulsiveness of nature.

  ‘Oh, I believe I should like it above all things!’ She smiled up at him glowingly now.

  And Benedict, fool that he undoubtedly was—and despite having claimed otherwise only minutes ago!—found he wanted to give Genevieve, at least for tonight, exactly what she wanted …

  Chapter Five

  ‘Is this the time in the evening when the gentleman would usually make indecent advances?’ Genevieve enquired carefully as she knelt up on the blanket to pack the remains from their picnic back into the basket. In the light of the lanterns hanging from the surroundings trees they had both removed their masks, their cloaks also discarded in the gentle warmth of the summer evening, the sound of a band playing and other people talking and laughing just a low hum in the distance.

  Benedict drew his breath in sharply before answering her. ‘It is to be hoped, Genevieve, that if I were to make advances, either now or at some time in the future, that I would wish for you to consider them to be at least halfway decent!’ He sat beneath a tall oak tree, watching her, his arm resting across one of his bent knees.

  She laughed softly. ‘And fun?’

  There was that word again. Fun. It was not a word, or a condition, which Benedict was accustomed to think of in regard to his own life. ‘As I have already told you, I am much too old to indulge in such nonsense as fun, Genevieve.’

  ‘Pooh,’ she dismissed irreverently. ‘You are surely only three or four years older than I?’

  ‘I believe it is six.’ He grimaced. ‘In years, at least. In experience …’ he shrugged ‘… that is quite another matter.’

  She lifted a hand to gently touch the hard contours of his cheek with her fingertips as she looked at him searchingly. ‘You have known much sadness in your life, have you not? During your years in the army and—and in other ways?’

  He frowned darkly. ‘You are referring to my parents’ deaths? Then no more so than you, I believe?’ he added at her nod of confirmation.

  ‘Maybe so.’ She grimaced, as she allowed her hand to drop away. ‘But I at least can draw comfort from knowing that my parents died together in a carriage accident, and that—that my brother, Colin, chose to take his own life.’ A look of sadness now shadowed her face.

  ‘And your husband?’ Benedict prompted softly.

  That sadness was instantly replaced by coldness. ‘Did not die soon enough in my estimation!’

  ‘Genevieve!’ Once again Benedict found himself shocked into laughter by her outrageous candidness.

  ‘I only state the truth, which is what you say you prefer.’ She gave another sigh as she turned to sit with her
back towards Benedict, nor did she offer any resistance as Benedict moved forwards to gently pull her back so that she now rested against his chest. ‘I often imagined placing one of Josiah Forster’s own pillows over his face and suffocating him in his sleep and was only prevented from doing so because I was unsure whether or not the doctor, when he came to examine the body, would be able to tell the cause of death. Much as I disliked my husband, I did not consider the taking of his life to be worth relinquishing my own to the hangman’s noose!’

  Benedict was too stunned by Genevieve’s honesty this time to even attempt a rebuke. He was aroused by the way her bottom was now nestled against his erection, her thighs touching both of his, those red curls resting against his waistcoated chest, the full swell of her breasts visible to him above the long-sleeved, gold-coloured gown she had earlier revealed she wore beneath her cloak.

  Just as he had been moved by the gentleness with which Genevieve had touched his cheek moments ago …

  ‘What a vengeful little minx you are …’ He twirled one of her red silky curls about his finger.

  She glanced up at him. ‘I believe you are the one who is reputed to still be seeking vengeance for past wrongs?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Not only was Benedict ‘reputed to still be seeking vengeance’ for the murder of his parents, but he had vowed that he would find the person, or persons responsible, before he even considered making any sort of life for himself. Hence the years he had spent in the army fighting for his king and country, and this past two years working for the Crown, neither of which allowed for the sort of settled personal life his two closest friends now seemed to be seeking.

  Genevieve gave an inelegant snort. ‘And if I were truly a vengeful person, then I am sure I would have saved myself much heartache and stabbed my husband through his black heart on our wedding night!’

  And there, Benedict felt sure, was a tale that would be worth the knowing, but not one he wished to force Genevieve into revealing this evening. Not when this conversation had already caused her to lose so much of that happy glow which had lit her face only minutes ago. A happy glow which Benedict found he was very much enjoying being a part of.

  He moved slightly, so that he was no longer sitting behind Genevieve, but at her side as he drew her down to lay slightly beneath him. ‘This, I believe, is the appropriate time in the evening for the gentleman to make indecent advances,’ he murmured throatily before his head lowered and his mouth claimed the parted pout of Genevieve’s.

  Genevieve had wondered if she might have imagined the pleasure she had experienced as Benedict had kissed her earlier; she had certainly felt none of that pulse-pounding joy when the duke had kissed or touched her.

  No! She would not think of her husband now, or the horror of their wedding night. This, here and now, might be the only joy in a man’s arms she would ever know.

  And, as Benedict kissed her, gently at first, and more deeply, hungrily, Genevieve knew she had not imagined a single thing about her response to his earlier kisses. That, despite the past, she actually enjoyed being kissed by a man as excitingly, disturbingly sensual as Benedict Lucas!

  Her arms moved up tentatively to allow her fingers to caress the muscled width of his shoulders, as his hands cradled her cheeks. His tongue swept slowly, erotically across her lips, parting their softness as he groaned low in his throat before his hunger returned to deepen the kiss.

  He kissed her long and druggingly now, causing the pleasure to course hotly through Genevieve’s body, radiating outwards, until every part of her felt as if she were on fire with an aching need that caused her to arch up against Benedict, her breasts swollen and aching against the hard friction of his chest, the softness of her thighs moving sinuously, pleadingly, against the hard and throbbing length of his hard arousal.

  ‘Oh, yes, Benedict …!’ She wrenched her mouth from his, groaning her need for him to never stop as his lips moved to the sensitive column of her throat and his hand moved slowly along the flatness of her abdomen before cupping the fullness of her breast and squeezing gently through the soft material of her gown. ‘Benedict!’ She gasped as that pleasure now radiated fiercely from her breasts down to between her thighs, heating them and making her long for so much more. ‘Benedict, please …!’

  He groaned. ‘We should stop before this goes any further.’

  ‘No!’ Genevieve’s lids flew wide, her eyes feverish as she surged up with surprising strength before turning, so that Benedict was now the one who lay upon the blanket, looking up at her as she lay half across him. ‘We will not stop, Benedict.’ Her eyes glittered down at him heatedly. ‘Can you not see that I need this? That I need you?’

  Benedict had been taken by surprise by her sudden refusal to end their encounter. He saw the determined glitter in her eyes and could only watch in mute fascination as she reached behind her to unfasten the buttons at the back of her gown before allowing the material to fall away from her breasts, revealing that she wore only a thin chemise beneath, her breasts showing firm and plump.

  He licked his lips in anticipation of experiencing the succulent taste and feel of them. Even so … ‘Have I not warned that you are in danger of finding your wings well and truly singed in a situation such as this one?’

  ‘I already burn, Benedict,’ she assured him huskily, holding the darkness of his gaze with her own as she pulled that last covering away from her breasts before leaning forwards to place those breasts enticingly close to his parted lips. ‘I burn, Benedict!’ She sounded both distressed and fascinated that this should be so.

  Her words and her bared breasts were an enticement, a veritable feast—Benedict had no willpower left with which to resist!

  Genevieve gave a low and keening moan at the first touch of Benedict’s parted lips against the heated tip of her breast, followed by yet more groans as he lathed her swollen nipple with the soft, moist rasp of his tongue before opening his lips wider and drawing the ripe and aching tip deep into the heat of his mouth.

  Eyes closed to absorb and enjoy every particle of this, the first pleasure she had known in a man’s arms, Genevieve’s fingers became entangled in the heavy thickness of Benedict’s black hair as she held him to her, shivering, quivering and burning with need. She felt his hand move beneath the hem of her gown to push the material aside, allowing those caressing fingers to travel along the length of her leg to the opening of her drawers between her thighs. ‘Do not stop …!’ she pleaded as those long and sensitive fingers came to a halt at the opening. ‘Touch me there too, Benedict? Give me the pleasure, all the pleasure, I have only ever dreamed existed until tonight, here with you!’

  Benedict could not resist or deny a woman as beautiful and responsive as Genevieve, when she asked. And so utterly revealingly …

  Benedict had no doubts left and no longer just suspected, but knew that whatever her marriage to Josiah Forster had been, it had held very little in the way of happiness or pleasure for Genevieve. The sort of pleasure Benedict now dearly wished to share with her …

  He claimed Genevieve’s other nipple into the heat of his mouth, to the rasp of his tongue, as his fingers moved assuredly through the slit in her drawers, seeking out the heated folds as he caressed her there, his fingers moving higher and seeking out the hard and throbbing little nubbin above as he touched her with a slow and sensuous rhythm.

  She was so deliciously responsive there, her neck arching, her groans becoming more rapid and uneven, and she cried out her pleasure as Benedict continued to caress her with the soft pad of his thumb, entering her with one finger, and then two, thrusting slowly, deeply, into that hot and moist channel.

  ‘Benedict …? What is happening?’ She gasped suddenly, her eyes wide when he glanced up at her. ‘Oh.’ Her eyes widened even further, her body tensing even as Benedict felt the first contractions of the muscles as she began to climax.

  Genevieve felt consumed with heat as a pleasure unlike anything else she had ever known—could ever have imagined!—pu
lsed through her hotly, sweeping everything but Benedict from existence, as those waves of pleasure took her even higher as an intensity of pleasure that was almost pain ripped fiercely through her.

  ‘Oh, yes, again,’ Benedict encouraged gruffly, his face now bearing the fierceness of a conqueror as he looked down at her. ‘And again …!’ he insisted as those ripples of pleasure surged from deep inside her to take her over that edge to a third, shattering climax.

  Aphrodite. Venus. Diana.

  As Benedict held Genevieve cradled against his side, her head resting on his shoulder, her gown still gaping open and revealing breasts once again covered by the thinness of her chemise, he very much doubted that even one of those beautiful and sensual goddesses had ever been as responsive to a man’s caresses as Genevieve had just been to his. So open, so honest, in her pleasure that Benedict now felt humbled, privileged, to be the man with whom Genevieve had chosen to share such an uninhibited response.

  Although, as she lay silent and still in his arms, her body still racked by the occasional aftermath of trembling sensation, he was unsure if she now felt as comforted in that knowledge.

  ‘Genevieve …?’ he finally prompted gruffly when he could stand her silence no longer. ‘I did not hurt you? Or your sore arm?’

  She breathed out a shaky breath. ‘Not in the least. And I was so lost to—to pleasure, that I completely forgot my arm was sore,’ she added self-consciously. ‘That was—it was perfectly, utterly, delicious. But—’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But you did not find your own release.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you now wish me to—?’

  ‘No.’ Benedict held her still at his side as she would have moved up on to her knees.

  ‘No …?’ She sounded surprised, even slightly startled. ‘But are you not in some discomfort? Do you not wish me to—?’

  ‘No,’ Benedict assured again ruefully as he turned so that he might once again look down at her as he gently cupped one of her cheeks. ‘I am content, Genevieve, completely satisfied, in the knowledge that you found pleasure.’