“Tristan?”
He tugged her closer so he could rub his body against hers. The subtle musk of her arousal was an intoxicating scent that had him salivating for a taste.
“Aye, darling.” The strap slipped free from her shoulder, revealing a glimpse of her rose-colored areola. He nipped and pulled the fabric with his teeth, revealing more until her puckered nipple was exposed.
She started at the initial contact of his tongue curled around the delicate bud and he opened his jaw wider so he could draw more of her flesh into his mouth. Her hands were not gentle when she pulled his head closer, begging him to take more.
Tristan unexpectedly released her breast and bowed his head as he strived for control over his unruly body. Imogene was more responsive than he could have ever anticipated. He covered his cock with his hand. Hard and aching, he squeezed the flesh, knowing the relief he craved could be found within the depths of her body.
He looked up and their gazes locked. “I am trying to be gentle,” he said, already sensing he would have to apologize later because he was impatient and the demands he would make on her were beyond her experience. “You deserve a tender lover.”
Imogene touched his face. “You are everything I want. Everything I need.”
“What do you need, Imogene?”
“You,” she coyly replied.
Tristan felt the invisible tether snap within him as he rose and coaxed her onto her back. His eyes focused on hers, he tore at the fastenings of his costume and hastily shed them and kicked them aside.
Imogene caged him with her legs. Her shift had ridden higher on her thighs with her movements, presenting him with a wanton view. Tristan glimpsed the honeyed curls between her legs and the beckoning dampness. He stroked his cock and shuddered; the rigid length was almost too sensitive to touch. Leaning closer, he used the broad head of his arousal to tease the folds between her legs. Although the lady in his arms was innocent, her body instinctively reacted to his proximity. His teeth clenched as he moved his hips, his cock pressing against the opening of her silky sheath.
His head bowed, he moaned as he mentally separated the sensations threatening to overrule his good intentions. Imogene tensed, feeling the first stirrings of discomfort as his demands manifested in a defining moment when he claimed her maidenhead and filled her.
“Kiss me,” he entreated, straining forward so he could taste her. The subtle adjustment drove his cock deeper and her sharp gasp told him that it would be kinder to be swift. He withdrew just enough to allow him to thrust, the action driving his cock through the fragile resistance of her maidenhead and burying him deeply within her.
She expelled a soft strangling sound that could have been a protest against the unexpected pain, but that part was over.
“You are mine,” he said harshly. It was not the poetic words she deserved but he was beyond words. Need and instinct welled up within him. Her silken sheath resisted his slow retreat and the exquisite sensation threatened to send him over the edge as he thrust fully, grinding his hips against hers. He was a man who prided himself on his control and his ability to prolong his lover’s pleasure. With Imogene, he felt as if it was his first time as well. He did not dwell on the meaning, but he was determined to give her a glimpse of the pleasure ahead of them. He slipped his hand between their bodies, blindly seeking the small knot of flesh hidden beneath her intimate folds. She started as his fingers caressed and circled the sensitive nubbin as the hard length of him stroked her from within. The fleshy sac hanging beneath his cock was firm to the touch and primed for his impending release.
Imogene bit her lip. “I feel—I feel … you need to stop,” she said as an unfamiliar tension invaded her body.
Tristan kissed her lower lip, which she was abusing. “You do not really mean it. In fact, you want me to quicken my pace.” He was pushing his control to the very edge, but if Imogene was with him, he would happily fall.
“No … wait!” she pleaded, panic coloring her voice. “W-what are you—” She held her breath and her entire body tensed as she tried to make sense of the unfamiliar flutters of her first release. “Ooph!” she said as she released the air in her lungs.
Tristan wrapped one arm around her as the other sought her hip. Sweat burned his eyes and the steady hammering of his hips faltered and then slowed as the delicate muscles of her sheath rippled and squeezed the full length of his cock. A spark of common sense flickered in his brain and he began to withdraw, but Imogene pressed herself against him. He could not fight both her and his needs. With a strangled growl, he dragged her hips flush against his and surrendered to the release he could not hold back. His teeth snapped together as the force of his seed bursting from the head of his cock was unlike anything he had experienced.
A wave of exhaustion swiftly followed and he collapsed with his cheek resting against her shoulder. Their limbs entwined, neither one of them spoke. If he had not been crushing her into the mattress, he would have been content to fall asleep in her arms.
Tristan clasped her to him and rolled until she reclined on top of him. His cock had softened within her, but he was reluctant to break their connection. He brushed strands of hair from her face, and offered her a tender smile.
“You are a dangerous woman, Lady Imogene,” he teased, feeling too good to regret his loss of control.
“Is that something good or something bad?” she asked, unable to conceal her vulnerability from him.
“Oh, darling, it is something very good,” he drawled, too sated to do little more than place his hand at the back of her neck to draw her close for another bone-melting kiss. “If this was not your first time, I would dedicate the rest of the night proving it to you.”
His cock twitched within her, obviously offering its opinion of his suggestion. It was with some regret that he eased out of her. She winced at his withdrawal, confirming his suspicions.
“What do you intend to do with me?” she asked, her dark blue eyes gleaming like polished stones in the candlelight.
Tristan shifted and tucked her body against his side. She cuddled against him and used his chest as a pillow. She still wore her linen shift. The next time he took her, she would be wearing only him. The carnal thought did nothing to cool his cock’s enthusiasm. To conceal the evidence of his arousal, he reached over and pulled a sheet over them.
“Do with you?” he echoed, realizing he had not answered her question. “If you do not mind, I would like to stay like this for a while.”
Imogene sighed. “I would like that.”
His arms tightened around her waist as he considered the consequences of what they had done. He had won the wager. Another spring, a different woman in his arms, he might have pulled out of her, dressed, and sent her home while he sought out Norgrave to gloat about his victory.
With his free hand, he pinched the space between his eyebrows. Merde. When had he become such a ruthless bastard? If he were honest, the more intriguing question was why he had no intention of treating Imogene so callously.
The victory he often craved had been found in coaxing her first release from her virginal body. In the roar of his release as his cock filled her with his seed. The bliss he was feeling just holding her.
Tristan could not share the truth with Norgrave.
The wager had given him an excuse to approach Imogene and he was reluctant to see it end. As long as his friend believed there was a chance Imogene could be seduced, he would continue to court her. He and Norgrave were at an impasse. Tristan was even more determined to protect her from the marquess’s advances, and anyone else who dared to pursue her.
A fierce feeling of possessiveness rose within him. He had never felt this way about any of his lovers, and it worried him because keeping her had never been part of his plan.
Tristan sensed the moment Imogene fell asleep, her breath tickling his chest. He silently willed himself to leave the bed. Remaining would lead to complications and hurt feelings.
Get up.
&nb
sp; Instead he turned his face toward hers and kissed her on the head. He was not leaving her. Not this evening at any rate. He closed his eyes and shared another first with Imogene.
His worries faded away as he drifted off to sleep with his lover at his side.
* * *
Imogene was wide awake on the drive home. She had slept for two hours before Tristan had awakened her by caressing her back. He had brushed aside her embarrassment by confessing that she had thoroughly exhausted him and he had slept as well. She had been half expecting him to continue their lovemaking, but he had surprised her once again by carrying a basin filled with tepid water to her bedside. Ignoring her protests, he washed away the evidence of his seed and her maidenhead. The cool water soothed the soreness between her legs, while it aroused and warmed her.
Imogene could tell Tristan was quite aware of her reaction, but he told her that he had been too rough with her and she needed time to heal. She yielded to his experience in such matters. His touch was impersonal as he helped her dress into her Columbine costume, and he became once again her Harlequin. No promises were uttered, and if she felt slighted by the oversight, it was her fault not his. She had come willingly to his bed. She refused to feel any regret about it.
It was self-preservation that had her sitting on the opposite cushioned seat of the coach, but Tristan had seen through her attempt to put distance between them. He deftly tugged her into his lap and he held her while she quietly wept. Imogene could not fathom why she was crying, but the duke did not seem to mind her tears. He cradled her in his arms and whispered words of comfort and tried to calm her.
Her eyes were dry once they had reached her residence.
“You will offer Norgrave our apologies for abandoning him, will you not?” Imogene said, striving for a cheerful note. She did not wish to ruin what they had shared.
“Norgrave will survive,” was Tristan’s dry response.
“Well, good evening, Your Grace. I—oomph—”
Tristan cut off her blithe dismissal by grabbing her and kissing her until she felt faint from the lack of air.
“That is better,” he said arrogantly. “Before you leave, I have something for you.”
Her forehead furrowed in puzzlement. “You do not have to—” If he presented all of his lovers with a token of his gratitude, she might be half tempted to hurl it in his face.
“Stop scowling at me.” He grinned at her as if he deduced her thoughts. “I do not offer this casually. Only one other person can claim such a gift, and you are prettier than Norgrave.”
He opened his hand and revealed the key in his palm.
“What is this?”
“The key unlocks the front door of my mother’s house,” he explained, his carefully blanked expression not revealing the importance of his gift. “It is yours to use as you please.”
Imogene accepted the key. She was gripping it so tightly, the key would likely leave an impression on the palm of her hand. “Thank you. I will not abuse the privilege.”
“I place no conditions on its use,” he said, offering her a crooked smile. “Though I would prefer to be waiting for you on the other side of the door.”
“I would like that very much, Your Grace,” she admitted, shyness creeping into her expression.
“Tristan,” he corrected. He kissed her on the nose. “I enjoy hearing you say my name, and you do not use it often enough.”
Her heart felt so light, she could almost believe she could fly. “I will endeavor to mend my ways.”
“Excellent.” He escorted her to the front door. “I look forward to instructing you in all things,” he whispered in her ear, causing her to shiver. He cupped her backside and gave her buttock a playful squeeze. “Now get inside before I lose my head and kidnap you. I rather liked having you in my bed.”
He sighed with regret and stepped away. Imogene turned away to hide her smile. Tristan had not uttered the words she longed to hear, but the key he had given her was a measure of his feelings for her.
In time, he would declare himself to her and her family.
Imogene entered the house, feeling as if her feet were barely touching the ground, secure in the knowledge that she could lay claim to the duke’s affection.
Chapter Twelve
Lord Norgrave’s boorish behavior at the tea gardens and her very personal decision to become Tristan’s lover had resulted in her avoiding the marquess for eight days before he realized that if he wanted to catch her alone, it would require a little trickery.
The moment arrived when Imogene had been invited to join Lady Ludsthorpe in her private box. Blackbern had made his apologies to her in advance because he had other plans for the evening. He did, however, warn her that his aunt would most likely question her since the news had reached her ears that her nephew was courting the Duke of Trevett’s daugher.
In between the play acts, she had expertly dodged the countess’s not-so-very-subtle inquiries about the duke and the other gentlemen who subjected themselves to her mother’s relentless scrutiny. Eventually, the older woman gave up and switched the conversation to the various snippets of gossip that she had overheard in the card room the previous evening.
It had been an usher who had approached her with the request that she follow him. She had initially thought Tristan had been able to join her and his aunt after all, so she apologized to Lady Ludsthorpe and followed the servant to the private sitting room.
Instead of Blackbern, Lord Norgrave was waiting for her.
Swallowing her disappointment she entered the small room to properly greet the marquess. “Good evening, my lord.” Imogene curtsied. “I was unaware that you were attending the play. Perhaps you would join me and Lady Ludsthorpe?” She took a breath and gave him an excuse to decline her invitation. “Unless you have other plans.”
“You appear disappointed, Imogene.” Norgrave took her hand and guided her to the narrow sofa. He sat down next to her. “Were you expecting Blackbern?”
“Since I am sitting in his aunt’s private box, it was a natural assumption,” she said, still feeling guilty that she had allowed Tristan to whisk her away from Ranelagh Gardens. “I thought the duke might be with you?”
The marquess offered her a sympathetic smile. “I regret I do not know his plans this evening. The man can be secretive at times. This usually occurs when he is besotted with a new mistress.”
Lord Norgrave’s aim was wickedly accurate when it came to mischief. The sharp stab to her heart was bloodless, and it took her a minute to remind herself that if the duke was secretive about a new mistress, it was because she was the lady in question.
“If you are correct, then I will have one less suitor to worry about,” Imogene said, slipping her hand free from his.
His brows furrowed in puzzlement. “You surprise me. I was concerned the news would be upsetting.”
“In many ways, it is a relief,” she confided. “My father is disappointed in my progress, and has threatened several times to pick a husband for me if I do not reduce my choices to several possible candidates.”
“It is a difficult decision.” Norgrave placed his hand over hers in a comforting gesture. His fingers tightened over hers. “When you present your candidates to your father, I would be honored if I was one of your final candidates.”
“Lord Norgrave.” Imogene blinked, unaware that he had harbored any real feelings beyond friendship for her. He had displayed more passion when it came to his rivalry with Blackbern. “Forgive me. I was told that you had little interest in marriage.”
His grip tightened painfully over hers. “Who told you that?” he demanded. “Your father?” Norgrave calmed at her quick nod. “My lovely lady, most fathers would discourage their daughters from seeking my affection. It is understandable. Blackbern and I have not always been discreet, I fear.”
She preferred not to discuss the duke’s former mistresses with Lord Norgrave.
“I have tarried too long. I should return to Lady Ludsthrope,�
� Imogene said, pulling her hand free as she stood. “I am not prepared to make a decision, but I will thoughtfully consider your offer.”
“I am not inviting you to dance, Imogene,” Norgrave said, not hiding his frustration. “I am asking you to be my countess.”
“I know,” she said, her thoughts drifting to Lady Charlotte. “I need more time.”
“Perhaps this will help.”
The marquess grasped her wrists and pulled her into his arms. He tasted of brandy and desperation as he kissed her so hard that she tasted blood.
“No,” she murmured against his lips.
He twisted her arm and dragged her down so they collapsed onto the sofa. Did he plan to seduce her with Lady Ludsthorpe just beyond the shut curtains?
Gathering her strength, Imogene shoved Lord Norgrave away from her. “I told you to stop. If you cannot respect my wishes, then I must regretfully decline your generous offer.”
Lord Norgrave staggered to his feet. “Forgive me, Imogene. It was not my intention to frighten you.”
Imogene nodded, edging toward the curtain. “I cannot be your countess, my lord. If you would open your heart, there is another who would happily accept.”
“Lady Charlotte.” He sneered. “Do not insult me further by telling me who I should marry. My apologies for interrupting your evening.”
Norgrave stalked away. Shaken by the encounter, Imogene sat down and covered her face with her hands.
* * *
Norgrave was so furious he could not recall leaving Imogene. One minute he was fighting the urge to throttle her for tossing Lady Charlotte at him as if the timid creature was a worthy substitute for the lady he desired, and the next he was standing in the middle of the street.
Before he could take a step forward, a coach thundered by him. His hesitation had saved his life. If he had taken one step, the wheels of that coach would have cut furrows into his back.
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