“Well? What did you discover?”
Poppy looked directly into his eyes, which were black pools in the darkness of night. “My mother was in the painting,” she said. “She’s the Pink Lady.”
Nicholas gave a short laugh. “You’re joking.”
“No.” She inhaled a deep breath.
“Are you sure it’s your mother in the painting?”
“Yes. I admit I thought perhaps I was seeing things. But it was Mama. And that gown she wore … it’s still in a press in a spare room at home.” She pressed a hand to her mouth for a moment and couldn’t help blinking back a tear. “I was so happy to see her again. With Papa.”
It was an image seared onto her memory forever.
Nicholas squeezed her hand. “It must have been a shock for you, as well.”
She nodded. “Yes, it was. But it was also a gift. A huge one.”
“I can see that it would be.” His voice was gentle.
She gave a little sniff. “Right now I don’t want to think about why my parents are in a painting sought after by the Service. It’s too upsetting.” She sat up, the words bursting to be said. “Right now, I want you, Nicholas.”
“Come here,” he said.
She flung herself into his arms and he held her tight. But the hug quickly turned into a kiss. He was warmer than toast, his masculine form more finely sculpted than any thoroughbred stallion’s. And he was handsomer than any man she’d ever known.
She had to admit that encircled in Nicholas’s arms, she didn’t feel confused and upset. She felt safe and happy.
He stopped kissing her for a moment and looked grievously worried.
“Why did you stop?” she asked him, her lower belly heavy and warm, her breasts aching to be touched.
“Because we need to be careful. This is a very tempting situation. We could do anything we want. Which means—”
“We could do whatever we want with whom we want when we want,” she said breathlessly. “We could … disrobe.”
“Exactly.” He shook his head. “Wait a minute. What did you say?”
All right, she shouldn’t have said it, but it was Nicholas and he’d never tell. “We could—”
“Never mind,” he said, his mouth curved in amusement. “I heard.”
She bit her lip and stared at him.
“Poppy.” He took her by the shoulders. “We can’t do that.”
“But you must admit, we could.”
He sighed. “Don’t you understand how women become with child?”
Of course she did. She’d seen dogs mating on the street. And she’d once seen a bull and a cow.
“Yes,” she said. “But we’ve no fear of that happening.”
He gave a short laugh. “To the contrary. A man and a woman naked together can easily make a baby.”
“Not if we don’t get into one of those strange positions. They should be easy enough to avoid, shouldn’t they?” She laughed, thinking of that poor cow. “I’d feel awfully silly.”
Nicholas narrowed his eyes at her. “Despite what we did in your father’s library, you’re still unversed in the art of lovemaking, and you’re never making it more obvious than now.”
“I only want to see you”—she smiled shyly—“in your natural form. And maybe kiss you naked, as well.” She reached out and ran her hand over his shirt. “You said no one would catch us. And I promise not to tell if you don’t.”
He groaned and captured her hand. “You’re killing me, Poppy.” He pulled her closer. “And you’re beautiful, you know. I want to take all your clothes off, too. But you’d regret this later.”
She thought of Sergei. And she thought about all her other suitors. She had no desire to see any of them naked. She would have closed her eyes (she actually did when Lord Washburn lost his breeches in that fountain during his proposal to her), but with Nicholas—
There was something about him that made a girl want to keep her eyes open.
“Please, Nicholas,” she begged him.
He was silent, brooding, staring into her eyes.
She could see the indecision there. “You told me nothing with you would be boring anymore. Remember?”
He gave a short laugh, and his expression relaxed. “All right, then. But we must be careful. Very careful.”
She couldn’t help it. She was so delighted, she kissed his chest, right over his heart. He smelled of man, a potent scent that made her heady with something—
Desire, she knew now. It happened when you could barely breathe and be sensible because you could think only about kissing and touching someone else.
“All we’re doing is disrobing.” She said it firmly and vowed to forget what Aunt Charlotte had said about the matter. “Hardly anything to worry about, particularly as it’s you and me. Think of all we’ve been through together already.”
She couldn’t help a little giggle as she removed her shoes and stockings. He did the same, and she marveled at the breadth of his shoulders when he removed his tailcoat.
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting we’re friends?”
“Yes.” She looked away a moment. He was so very handsome, she felt suddenly shy. “It’s quite something to think I’m friends with the wicked Duke of Drummond, isn’t it? But we’re friends only for the nonce. As soon as we get our clothes back on, we’ll go back to our usual arrangement.”
“Which is your vowing to get out of our betrothal, and my refusing to let you. And your insistence on helping with Operation Pink Lady, or else you’ll take matters into your own hands, which would no doubt spell disaster for me and the Service.’ ”
“Exactly,” she said. “We’re bound together by mutual blackmail.”
And a hearty appreciation for each other’s bodies.
She wouldn’t think about how much she appreciated his substantial qualities, the ones she and Aunt Charlotte had referenced in that talk they’d had over Papa’s apple tart.
Disrobing was actually quite a simple thing, Poppy convinced herself, and carefully undid a button on his waistcoat.
CHAPTER 29
“I’m not so sure your trust in my self-control is merited,” Nicholas said. He untied Poppy’s laces while she began work on his neckcloth.
They’d hardly anything to worry about, she’d said moments earlier.
Right?
Wrong.
Seeing her gown fall like a whisper at her feet brought home to him how deeply he was out of his element. For him, at least, this was suddenly about far more than sexual attraction. Her stays were next, and when she was released from them, completely nude, he was in awe of her beauty, of her vulnerability, of who she was—in a way he’d never been before with any other woman.
He ran a finger between her breasts and up to her chin, which she lifted proudly to him. Her eyes were filled with excitement and serenity—both at the same time. She grabbed his finger and kissed it softly.
Slowly.
That kiss reverberated deep within him. Somehow, feeling her lips on his skin was like connecting with himself again. He was home. For the first time in decades.
With her, he’d found a place to be.
Just be.
The wonder of it all left him speechless.
Naked as Eve, Poppy diligently worked to remove his shirt. Without a word, he helped her pull it over his head, enjoying the sight of her, flushed and pretty and so determined.
He crossed his arms over his chest and let her work on his trousers. She gave a little huff as she pulled down on both sides.
He chuckled.
She looked up, a bright gleam in her eyes, and laughed back. “They’re so tight.”
“Indeed. Tighter now than they were mere minutes ago.”
She paused in her efforts and blushed. “I noticed.”
He was glad she had. It satisfied a deep craving in him to have her admire him—in any way.
“I’m looking forward to this part,” she whispered.
“Good. So am
I.”
In about fifteen seconds flat, they were both naked and kissing and most definitely in trouble. But Nicholas was too wrapped up in squeezing Poppy’s delicious bottom to care.
And she was sighing and pressed up close to him. He ran a hand down her flank, and she pulled back and looked at him with a resolute gaze. “From now on, I’m going to want to see you naked—and touch you naked—every time we’re together.”
She touched him shyly with her fingertips.
“Oh, God.” He groaned, and leaned his forehead on hers. “That’s impossible, but you’re quite adorable to say so.”
She reached up for another kiss, wrapping both her hands around his neck. Thank God those soft, feminine hands were away from the danger zone, he mused, and gave her a deep, sensuous kiss.
“Would you like to go on deck?” he asked her when they came up for air. “The ceiling’s a bit close in here. And we’ve got a moon out.”
“But what if someone sees?” she asked, brushing a curl off his forehead.
“No one will,” he said, somehow touched by the gesture. “We’ll look like a shadow from the shore.”
“I think it sounds like a marvelous idea.” She clambered up before him as if she climbed ladders naked every day, which only whetted his appetite for her further.
He’d seen plenty of naked women. Why did this one in particular drive him mad with lust and occupy his thoughts when he wasn’t with her?
He had no idea, and he wasn’t one for thinking deeply about the opposite sex.
Women, he knew, were trouble.
Best to keep things simple.
On deck he spied the jib sail hastily folded and squashed between the mast and the hatch cover. He spread it out on the cabin top, and they lay down together, folding the edges of the jib over their exposed flesh.
It was a cozy yet tantalizing shelter. He put his arm behind her head, and she pressed her hip tightly against him. Together, they looked up, beyond the gently swaying boom with its loosely furled sail, to the stars.
“Tonight is different from any other night I’ve ever had,” Poppy murmured. “When I saw my mother in that painting, it was like I woke up from a dream. Everything’s crisper now. Bolder.”
She looked at him and smiled.
It was hard for him to remember to breathe. She was gorgeous. Her hair, a dark, coppery forest, fell about her creamy shoulders and breasts. Her hip was an alabaster hill that sloped away to long, slender legs.
He leaned over her and kissed her, and while he did, he explored the soft depths of her most feminine flesh with his fingers, reveling in the sighs of pleasure she was making into his own mouth.
“Nicholas,” she murmured, and he continued his finger play.
In the next few seconds, he switched positions, not a small feat on top of the small boat. He was back at his favorite spot, in between her legs, his mouth on the sweet core of her femininity.
“Oh, thank heavens,” she said breathily, arching her back. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this since you—”
He lifted his head. “This time you don’t have to be silent,” he said into the soft mound of curls between her thighs. Then he went back to playing with her flesh with his tongue, sipping and kissing and taking his fill.
“This is bliss,” she whispered, and wrapped her hands around his head, grabbing for him, pressing him closer. In an ancient motion echoed by the gently rocking boat, her hips lifted to meet his probing tongue.
“Nicholas,” she cried, and at the right moment, he brought her to pleasure, two fingers of one hand sliding deep into her, his other hand gripping her bottom, her femininity drawn up to his mouth. Her fingers were tangled in his hair, and her chin pointed heavenward, toward the stars. Her slender neck and taut breasts reflected the moonlight.
She was beautiful.
Beautiful.
“You’re … beautiful,” he said, feeling rather drunk with the word.
When she was fully spent, he laid her down and lay next to her, scooping her into the circle of his arms. Her body quivered, and she gave a languid sigh. For a few moments, she was quiet, and together they looked up at the night sky again.
“Look,” she said, pointing.
“I see it,” he said, and had a sudden feeling of completeness.
Naked girl.
Shooting star.
Rocking boat.
It didn’t get better than this, did it?
* * *
After a few more minutes of listening to the creaking sounds of the boat tackle and the slap of water against the hull, Poppy sat up.
“Where are you going?” Nicholas asked her.
“Nowhere.” She looked down the length of him, and pressed her hand over his shaft. Instantly, it hardened into rock again.
Her touch was exquisite.
She bit her lip and smiled. And then slowly, she began to run her hand up and down him. “Do you like this?” she asked shyly.
“God, yes.” What else could he say? He was hers. All hers. She could do anything she wanted with his body, as far as he was concerned.
She applied herself more vigorously. “I like it, too.”
He pulled himself up, leaned back on his elbows, and watched her. Just seeing her this way, kneeling over him, intensely focused on pleasing him, was enough to send him over the edge. But he didn’t want that to happen. Not quite yet.
“Watch the boom,” he warned her as it swung dangerously close to both their heads.
She laughed.
“I’m serious,” he said.
She lowered her head, but she also laughed again. “You and your lectures,” she told him.
In retaliation, he caressed her bottom. She moaned with pleasure. And then he put his hand between her legs and began to stroke her.
She dropped her head, and her hair fell over his torso, tantalizing him with the sensation.
“You’re wicked,” she whispered, and made those whimpers of delight that he knew would come to haunt his nights.
“Just a warning,” he said, as his climax came nearer. “It can be quite messy.”
“I don’t care.” She sucked in shorter breaths.
“I want you to come, too.”
“Come?”
“To pleasure,” he said. “With me. What you did before.”
She didn’t have time to reply because a few seconds later, they did just that.
Together.
Afterward, they lay side by side on their backs, arms and legs outstretched, the boat bobbing a bit more forcefully.
“The wind’s picking up.” Nicholas wished Mother Nature weren’t working against him at the moment. But he supposed they must eventually leave this lovely little boat—how could he ever have thought it plain?
Poppy rolled over on one elbow and looked at him. “I suppose this time we’ve had together—being naked and kissing … and all those other wonderful things—is over, then.”
He rolled up, too, and pulled her hair from her face. “You’re right,” he said. “And I hope you enjoyed it. Because”—he hesitated—“it can’t happen again, especially if you don’t intend to marry me.”
He wondered, and not for the first time, why she found him so unsuitable.
She cast her eyes down. “I know it can’t happen again,” she whispered, and looked back up at him. “I see the danger now.”
He pressed his lips together. “Yes. You see how—”
“How now I can’t think of anything else,” she said rather passionately, almost angrily. She pressed her lips together.
“Don’t be upset,” he said. “Of course you’ll be able to think of other things. But it takes time to … recover. And if you stay busy, you can manage without this, um, sort of experience. Until you marry. And then you can do it all the time, and it’s even better when—”
She brightened. “When what?”
“When the man and the woman can have a real coupling.” Did she not care that they never would, if she
had her way?
The waves rocked the little sailboat, and all was quiet. Snug. In their intimate little world, he felt he could ask her something he’d wondered about—but hadn’t had the courage to ask until now.
“Poppy.” He heard a faint edge of unsurety in his voice. “What exactly are you looking for in a mate?”
He was unfamiliar with rejection from women, but his curiosity went deeper than that. He wanted to understand her, what she thought about, who and what made her happy. Or sad. Or angry.
For the first time in his adult life, he was interested in forging a connection, a bridge, to another person.
“Someone who understands me,” she said instantly.
“And I don’t?” he responded, quick as lightning.
“Do you?” she challenged him with a saucy grin.
He pulled a piece of hair off her face. “We certainly have fun together,” he said, and thought hard. “I think you like adventure. You’re restless, searching for something, but perhaps you’re not sure what.”
She bit her lip. “You’re right, actually.”
He chuckled. “I’m the same way. Yes, I’m a duke, a position many might envy, but I want adventure, as well. I think it’s in my blood. Uncle Tradd must have had this same restlessness. A large part of me would like to drop everything and travel the world.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“Mainly because of Frank. But also because of the other responsibilities I have as the Duke of Drummond—keeping up Seaward Hall and my other estates, for one. It’s why I work for Groop. At least I can experience a little adventure without leaving home.”
“So you’re saying … you’re sad.”
He shrugged. “Not sad, exactly. But not happy, either. Caught between the life I have … and the life I want.”
“Funny,” she said. “I feel the same way.”
“So you can have no objections to our betrothal. I understand you, don’t I?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “But there are other things on the list, too.”
“What list?”
“The Spinsters Club list. A girl can’t resign her membership unless a potential mate meets all qualifications.”
Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right Page 20