Always the Rival (Never the Bride Book 7)

by Emily E K Murdoch

  “No – no, I want you close,” he managed. “Touch me, Priscilla. Do what you want with me.”

  She was hardly an expert in the ways of love, and Priscilla swallowed as she looked at his body. Muscles tightened in places she had not even realized muscles could be, hair spread down his chest and toward…

  Her fingers reached out, and as she touched the taut skin of his manhood, Charles twisted, gasping, but no words came out.

  A strange sense of mischief fell across Priscilla. She could feel the desire pooling in her body, and somehow it grew as she watched the effect she had.

  “I-I want to kiss you,” she said.

  Charles still had his eyes shut, but he nodded. “Do whatever you want.”

  Priscilla licked her lips. This was not something she was sure about, but the instinct was strong. Pushing herself a little further down the bed, she lowered her mouth slowly and placed a wet kiss on the tip of his manhood.

  “Ah!” Charles’s eyes shot open, and he sat up.

  Priscilla moved backward, apologies already falling from her lips. “I am sorry, forgive me, Charles – I thought –”

  “Please do that again.”

  She blinked and saw the haze of sensual delight in his face. “You…you want me to do it again?”

  “For the love of God, yes,” Charles whispered. “You surprised me, that is all. I thought…please, keep doing that. I will get on my knees and beg you.”

  A small part of Priscilla wanted to make him do just that, but heat was pooling between her legs, and the thought of him kissing her in that place almost made her cry out. If her imagination was anything like the truth…

  He had lain back down. “Please.”

  Priscilla swallowed. Lowering herself down again, she used a quivering hand to guide his manhood back to her mouth. After just a few kisses, seeing the reaction of his twitching legs, she grew bolder. Licking her lips once more, she took him into her mouth.

  “Priscilla!”

  Unable to reply, she sucked slowly on his skin. His hand moved, touching her hair lightly, and then slowly pushed her head down.

  After just a minute of this, a hand pulled at her shoulder.

  “No more,” croaked Charles, and there was a hazed smile across his face as she looked up, concerned. “If you keep doing that, you’ll get no joy yourself. Now.”

  He was up before she realized what was happening, pushing her back. He was smiling, and this was not the smile she had ever seen on Charles’s face before. This was wicked.

  “Now it’s your turn.”

  She opened her mouth to ask what he could possibly mean, but then she cried out, “Charles!”

  He had urged her legs apart and gently kissed her warm place.

  “Charles,” she whimpered, hardly knowing what to do with herself as his tongue ventured a little deeper inside her. “Oh, Charles, yes!”

  There was something building in her, building in a way she did not understand, but she wanted it, more of it, more of him.

  One of her hands moved jerkily toward him, and she arched her back and closed her eyes, unable to take in any more sensations as she felt his head gently nuzzle into her.

  The wave was coming, and she was going to crest soon. “Charles!”

  Her whole body exploded, intense bliss pouring through her body as her legs jerked, unable to stay still. And still, he teased her, kissing her, licking her, holding her hips down so she could not escape him – as though she would ever want to.

  Eventually, she knew not how long, the sensual pleasure slowed, and her body became still. She opened her eyes, barely able to breathe.

  Charles looked up. “I could do that to you all day.”

  Priscilla smiled. “And by God, I would let you. Now, come here.”

  There was still an ache in her that was unsatisfied, but again instinct told her what that was. As Charles moved forward between her legs, she clung to him as he kissed her.

  “I want you,” she murmured, “I want you inside me.”

  Charles kissed her neck. “I know.”

  For a terrible moment, he left her alone on the bed, but he returned almost immediately, gently rolling something down his manhood. A preservative, of course. They could not risk any lingering evidence of this night.

  Then his hand moved from her face as she felt him guide his manhood and slowly, slowly, he entered her.

  She had expected pain. Was that not what her mother had warned her about, had told her was an inevitable part of the process?

  But she felt no pain. Perhaps her body was still aching with pleasure, and perhaps he had prepared her in some way. Priscilla did not know. She barely cared. All she wanted was to kiss him, to be kissed by him.

  “You are not hurt?” Charles’s voice sounded concerned.

  Priscilla shook her head. “Just love me.”

  He needed no further invitation. One hand teasing a nipple, the other cupping her face, Charles kissed her as he gently removed himself – almost – from her, and then plunged back inside her.

  “Oh!” Priscilla could never have guessed such a simple motion could create such joy. “Again, again, Charles – and harder!”

  And he was, pounding into her, teasing her with some shallow movements before pushing into her so smoothly that Priscilla hardly knew what to do with herself. The wave was building again, as though it had barely left her, and as she looked up, she saw the gentleman she was going to spend the rest of her life with.

  “We will do this every day,” she panted. “Oh, Charles, yes!”

  “I love you,” he said. “Priscilla, look at me – look at me.”

  Her eyes caught him, and something shifted in him.

  “Yes!”

  The frantic pace of his thrusts increased again, and Priscilla allowed the cresting wave of pleasure to overwhelm her with no thought of who could hear her.

  “Yes, yes, yes!”

  “Priscilla!”

  His shouts joined hers as he shuddered and thrust into her a final few times.

  Then he collapsed onto her. Priscilla brought him close, reveling in the shaking of their chests, in tune, completely aligned. After a few minutes attempting to catch their breath, Charles gently pulled himself away.

  No wonder ladies and gentlemen enjoyed making love! The scant descriptions she had heard, the small murmurs she had overheard, none of them encapsulated the sensation of being one, truly one with the person you loved.

  Charles was lying beside her, this was it, this was how she wanted to spend the rest of her life.

  She curled into him and relished the sensation of his arms around her.

  “So,” she said, her brain hardly working, “when are we going to tell her?”

  Charles laughed. “You want to tell my mother about this?”

  “No!” Priscilla laughed, for the idea was so ridiculous. “No, I meant Frances. Miss Lloyd.”

  His laughter disappeared almost at once, as the name of his fiancée was spoken between them. The silence continued a little longer than she found comfortable, but when he did speak, it was in a low and reassuring voice.

  “I will sort it all out in the morning, don’t you worry.”

  Priscilla lifted her head and saw the truth in his eyes. She kissed him, her tongue teasing his until she claimed it entirely, and then snuggled back into his arms.

  “I love you, Charles,” she said, sleep starting to claim her.

  He probably replied. Priscilla did not know. Within a few minutes, she had fallen asleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  Charles’s eyes were bleary and full of sleep when they finally opened. Then they shot open.

  Blue walls. Blue wallpaper? That did not make sense; he had chosen a dark green for the new hangings in his bedchamber only last year. Where in God’s name…

  Sitting up quickly, he became aware he was naked as he clutched a sheet to him, looking around with tired eyes. His heart started to thump. This was going to be like that wild weekend in
Paris all over again…

  But as his eyes adjusted to the morning light and his mind woke, his heart rate slowed. He was not, as he had been that night three or four years ago, in a hotel master’s storeroom due to losing the key to his room.

  No, he was home. Only five bedchambers along from his own. The Blue Room.

  Charles looked down and saw the tangled sheets across the bed, the blanket having slipped to the floor at some point in the night. He glanced beside him. The pillow had the indentation of another, and there were some long dark hairs teased across the linen.

  The memories of the night before rushed back. Priscilla, arriving at the door, absolutely drenched. Priscilla, shown upstairs to this guest room. Priscilla, holding her sodden gown just above her breasts. Priscilla…

  Charles smiled as he leaned back into the pillows. Priscilla, utterly at his mercy, crying out his name.

  “We will do this every day. Oh, Charles, yes!”

  She must have slipped away in the early hours, knowing it would have created awkward questions if she was seen emerging from this room, along with the master of the house.

  His smile broadened, his legs stretching out, feeling the ache of a good romping.

  If he had known yesterday that the next time he awoke, it would have been after making love to Priscilla…

  He had done it. He had chosen his heart rather than his head, leaving responsibilities by the wayside. Love and not duty had ruled him in the end, despite his better feelings, and Priscilla knew that. She knew he had chosen her over all others.

  Over Miss Lloyd.

  He sighed as he watched motes of dust dance in the growing daylight. Priscilla. She was everything he wanted and more. The way her eyelashes had fluttered when he had touched her.

  He had never felt that power before – and never felt more helpless than when she was touching him.

  “God in his heaven, but if you keep doing that, you’ll get no joy yourself.”

  She had trusted him completely, given herself to him in a way he never knew ladies could. Abandoning all control, they discovered pleasure together, giving and receiving without restraint.

  Charles closed his eyes, glorifying in his memories. He had waited, unlike most of his peers. He could not move for hearing about Braedon’s exploits, or the ladies Westray had seduced.

  But he, Charles, had waited. He had known it would be worth it, eventually, and it was. Their lovemaking was a hundred times more special, knowing that he had shared that innocence with Priscilla.

  His smile started to fade.

  Priscilla. He had seduced Priscilla. No official proposal had been offered – how could it? He was still engaged to be married to Miss Lloyd.

  He had never considered himself a paragon of virtue; there had been too much late-night drinking at Cambridge for that, too many adventures on the Continent.

  Taking Priscilla’s innocence, while offering nothing in return…did that make him a cad? Worse, a scoundrel?

  He swallowed, opening his eyes to stare at the fading blue wallpaper. Priscilla was in a category all of her own, something far more important than anything. Anyone.

  Charles bit his lip. Was it possible…had he ruined everything between them? What if there was a child – God’s teeth, a child of the Orrinshire house born out of wedlock. Priscilla’s child. His child.

  Would it be possible to look her in the face in public, knowing every inch of her body, the way her mouth quivered when she felt pleasure, knowing how she tasted?

  His heart, moments ago so buoyant, started to sink. He had always prided himself in his morals.

  His ascendance had come a little early, that was true, and he had been forced to grow up very quickly. But was he the hero of his own life story…or was he the villain?

  Unable to sit still any longer, he rose, picking up his breeches and shirt from the floor, and sat on the side of the bed.

  He had engaged himself to one lady and seduced another. He was planning a wedding with the first and whispering that he could cancel all those plans with the second. One woman hardly knew him but trusted him to keep to his word. The other knew him better than he knew himself and held that same trust.

  Charles’s head fell into his hands.

  No, it was worse than that. He had taken advantage of a friend, a friend who was in love with him. Taken advantage of her while she was a guest in his home.

  He had betrayed the confidence of Miss Lloyd when she had heard naught but good reports of him.

  And perhaps worst of all, and certainly what he would pay for the longest: he was about to make his mother very unhappy.

  Charles allowed himself to fall back into the soft eiderdown of the mattress. How many gentlemen would laugh to be in his position! One beautiful and wealthy woman engaged to him, one beautiful and sparkling woman in his bed.

  So why did it all taste bitter?

  For all that being a duke was supposed to be so fine, with his power and prestige, he was rarely able to exert his own wishes.

  Arranged marriage! That was where all of this had started to go so horrendously wrong. Why had he not been strong and firm in his belief that an arranged marriage was not for him?

  He should have said no from the start. Damn his ancestors, damn their traditions, and damn arranged marriages. Then, at least, he would almost certainly not have found himself in this mess.

  No matter how he felt about Priscilla, about Miss Lloyd, about the whole damned situation – he could not just lie here all morning. He had duties, even now.

  And the last thing he needed was for Hodges or Bridges to find him in here. There would be far more questions than he could answer.

  Hodges may have guessed, of course. He was hardly a fool; no man could be and run a household as complex as Orrinspire Park and their other homes.

  Nonetheless, the last thing he needed to do was confirm the butler’s suspicion. His reputation was about to be ruined, his name notorious as someone who broke young ladies’ hearts and longstanding engagements.

  The last thing he needed to do was drag Priscilla’s reputation into the mire.

  It took but a few moments to pull on his breeches and collect up his other clothes, and as Charles opened the door to the corridor, he peeked his head out.

  There was no one there. Heaving a sigh of relief, he crept out and tiptoed along the passageway to his own bedchamber. He closed the door behind him and sighed. Now all he had to do was make the bed look slept in, and –

  “Ah, there you are, Your Grace.”

  Charles almost dropped the pile of clothes. “Bridges!”

  The valet must have been in his dressing room, and now he stood by the tall looking glass, holding three different cravats before him.

  “I thought I had missed you,” Bridges said smoothly. “Especially with you having made your own bed, but I see you were just momentarily absent.”

  Charles swallowed. He had underestimated his valet, it seemed. It was not the butler he needed to worry about.

  “Yes,” he said slowly. “I was momentarily absent, just wandering to…to come back.” Damn and blast! What foolishness – all he needed to do was keep his mouth shut and nod, but he had to speak! “And now I am ready to be dressed,” he said, a little more firmly. “What shirt do you have for me today?”

  “A new one,” the valet said smartly. “I ordered it on your account from John Weston, tailor to the Regent, while we were in town, with the certain knowledge you would approve. See how the stitching…”

  Charles allowed Bridges to prattle on about the clever way the stitches in the hem were hidden, placing his clothes from yesterday on the bed in a heap.

  The last time he had put on a shirt, he had not made love to Priscilla. Was that why everything seemed so different now? Why there seemed to be a sparkle to the air?

  The world was changed, and he was the only one who had noticed. Well, maybe Priscilla had. He would have to ask her when he next saw her.

  Charles swallowed. Th
e next time he saw her, he needed to have broken off his engagement with Miss Lloyd. It would be uncomfortable for both of them. The fault was his, for acquiescing to the damned thing in the first place.

  But breaking off his engagement had to start somewhere, and that somewhere was going to be painful: a difficult conversation with his mother.

  “ – and then it is done,” said Bridges, stepping back to view his work. “Yes, I think that cravat definitely with that waistcoat. Thank you, Your Grace. You are now ready.”

  Charles had been so lost in his thoughts that he had barely noticed that he had been dressed. His valet was now holding out his jacket with an air of patience.

  “Whenever you are ready, Your Grace.”

  Charles smiled briefly and allowed the man to complete the outfit. “Thank you, Bridges. Another triumph, I must say. The shirt, I mean.”

  Bridges beamed. “I knew you would be pleased, Your Grace. Shall I put in an order for another two?”

  “No,” Charles replied firmly. The last thing he wanted was a reputation as a dandy. “Not for now. Thank you, Bridges.”

  His valet bowed, and Charles turned to leave the room, taking a deep breath. Well, the conversation must occur. No time like today. His mother would be back after luncheon, giving him a few hours to consider his exact wording. This had to be right. He would not have a second chance to have this conversation.

  Which was why, as he entered the breakfast room, he almost swore aloud.

  “Chri – crivvens, Mama! I was not expecting you until later!”

  The dowager duchess dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and smiled. “Evidently. Good morning, Charles.”

  Charles almost bit his tongue. What in God’s name was she doing here?

  “Good morning, Mama,” he said, suitably chastised. He sat opposite his mother at the breakfast table before continuing, “I thought you were not returning from town until after luncheon.”

  “Hmm,” said Lady Audley, conveying in just one tone her distaste. “And so I had intended, but the rains came, and there really is nothing to do in London without prior engagement when it rains. So I instructed Macdonald to bring me back in the carriage, early. I thought you would have breakfasted already.”