No Dukes Allowed

by Grace Burrowes

  “This,” he rasped hotly against her mouth as he pressed his hips forward into hers. The hard bulge jutting into her lower belly was unmistakable, and she shivered at the tantalizing contact and all the pleasures it implied. “I crave this, with you.”

  He bent his knees slightly, low enough that when he pressed into her as he rose up, the hard ridge of his erection slid enticingly into the valley between her thighs. The skilled motion caught the top of her crevice and the little nub buried within, grazing across it just hard enough to send an electric tingle spinning through her.

  She wasn’t an innocent. She knew what his hard body was capable of doing to hers, and she yearned for it. She tightened her arms around his neck, holding her breath in anticipation of another, harder stroke. Her sex clenched tightly even as it longed to be invaded.

  But the next stroke didn’t come, and her eyes fluttered open in confusion.

  As she stared up at him, she realized why he’d hesitated. This moment had to be a meeting of souls and hearts, a meeting of true lovers… a meeting halfway. And it was her turn to express how much she wanted this. How much she wanted him, now and for the rest of her life.

  She reached a shaking hand down to tug up her skirt, feeling no shame in what she was asking. She grasped his hand and placed it on her inner thigh, mere inches from the hot ache he’d flamed inside her.

  “I want your touch.” She slowly slid his hand up her leg until it reached her intimate folds, then she guided him in long, slow strokes as she rubbed his palm against her.

  Oh, sheer heaven! She couldn’t keep from quivering against his fingers in wanton invitation. Only a fleeting embarrassment swept through her that her wetness slicked his hand, so great was her need for him.

  “I’ve longed for this since the first time I laid eyes on you. I wanted your hands on me, exploring, pleasing… My love.” She leaned up to place a kiss of permission against his throat. “Touch me.”

  With a groan, he stroked his hand against her, stealing her breath away and leaving her sagging against the door. All of her yearned for an even greater pleasure, for the release her body begged from his, and she stepped her legs farther apart to claim it.

  His finger slipped inside her, and she shivered at the delicious sensation. But his intimate strokes only grew the ache, not quenched it. With a cry of frustration, she thrust her hips forward to meet each stroke of his hand.

  But even that wasn’t enough. Desperate for release, she wrapped her leg around his, spreading herself even wider. When a second finger filled her, she rolled back her head as the pleasure gripped her. All the tiny muscles inside her clenched down hard around him, greedily drawing him deeper to satiate the unbearable hunger—

  With a single flick of his thumb, she broke with a gasping shudder and buried her face in his shoulder to stifle her cry. But he held her close with his arm around her waist as he continued to stroke into her to prolong her climax and give her as much pleasure as possible.

  Bliss overtook her, and she fell bonelessly into his arms.

  “I craved the pleasure of you, Belinda,” he murmured against her temple as he slowly peeled off her dress and left her in only her stockings. “Every ounce of your love. Every moment with you.”

  Then he lifted her into his arms and carried her to a chaise longue. She luxuriated in the feel of the velvet beneath her as she leaned against the sloping back, but not nearly as much as she relished his stare as he stood at her feet and gazed hungrily down at her, removing his cravat and loosening the buttons on his waistcoat. Then he dropped to his knees and rapaciously crawled up the length of velvet cushion toward her, every tigerlike move boldly proclaiming what he intended.

  With a sigh of surrender, she closed her eyes and spread her legs. A heartbeat later, his mouth claimed her.

  The kiss stole her breath away. Her intimate flesh was already sensitized from his fingers, and this new pleasure nearly undid her. She could scarcely bear the way his lips and tongue plundered her—no, he was worshipping her, and it was the most erotic, most exquisite sensation she’d ever experienced.

  “I craved you.” His hot breath tickled against her. “The pure deliciousness of your heart. The sweetness of the sparkling girl I fell in love with.”

  Then he placed a single kiss so reverently against her that she couldn’t stop a soft sob from escaping her lips.

  Yet regret swelled inside her. She wasn’t that innocent girl any longer. Fate had given that innocence to another man, and she would never be able to share that special intimacy with Maxwell now.

  Except…

  Her heart pounded furiously as the idea struck. She couldn’t give him her innocence, but she could give herself to him in a way she’d never given herself to any man before.

  She pushed at his shoulder to shift him away as she slipped out from beneath him.

  A confused expression clouded his face, but he let her go, only for that look to change to one of predacious hunger when she lowered herself to her knees at the edge of the low-rising chaise and draped herself across the velvet cushion on her belly.

  “And I craved this with you,” she breathed out as she turned her head to look at him. With her hips perched at the edge of the cushion, her bottom rose into the air in decadent enticement, and she spread her knees, offering herself to be taken.

  “Please, Maxwell,” she begged. “I’ve waited so long for you, for this moment… please. Let me give myself to you, just like this.”

  All of him shook fiercely with desire and emotion as he slid himself over behind her. “Are you certain?”

  The sweetness of his hesitation nearly broke her. She nodded and rested her head on her folded arms. “But I’ve never before…”

  Her breathless words were so soft that she wasn’t sure he’d heard, until he leaned up to place a tender kiss between her shoulder blades. As his large hand caressed a slow and possessive circle over her bare back, she knew that he understood what she was offering. That he was experiencing this special moment as magically as she.

  She closed her eyes in anticipation as she felt him rise up on his knees behind her and reach between them to unfasten the fall of his breeches. A tremor shivered through her when he slowly slid his erection between her thighs and against her folds. He grew slippery from her wetness. Each smooth glide across the length of her cleft made her quiver with need, each push forward brought his tip to tease at the aching nub buried within.

  A whimper of need strangled in her throat. She writhed against the edge of the chaise, less to ease the fire inside her than to tempt him into giving her the release she craved… his body inside hers, making love to her. “Maxwell, please!”

  This time when he slid forward, he changed the angle of his hips and pushed inside her. Her body expanded around his, and she moaned with pleasure as he moved deeper, sinking into her until his pelvis pressed against her buttocks, until he was sheathed completely in her tight warmth. She inhaled a ragged breath, wanting to engrave upon her mind the exquisite sensation of having him inside her, filling her completely. When he clasped her hips and began to stroke—oh, it was simply heaven!

  She’d dreamed for years about Max making love to her, but nothing in all those fantasies compared to this. Because this was so much more than physical pleasure. This was a meeting of hearts and souls, an exchange of the strength and resilience that underpinned the affection they shared.

  This was pure love. And it undid her.

  Her hands gripped tightly onto the cushion as she welcomed his hard thrusts that brought him as deep inside her as possible, filling her body with his and inundating her senses with the raw masculinity of him—the scent of port and tobacco, the rough friction of his breeches rubbing against the backs of her thighs, the hardness of his muscles as he strained into her.

  With a plaintive moan, she pushed back to meet each oncoming thrust with one of her own, until he shoved his hand between her belly and the edge of the chaise to search for the aching, swollen nub burie
d there. His finger delved down, stroking against it hard and fast, relentlessly—

  “Maxwell!” The choking cry tore from her as her hips bucked up against him and her thighs spasmed.

  She shattered, a shivering and shaking climax that sent ripples of bliss pouring through her.

  “I love you!” She arched into him as she tossed back her head and let her release claim her. “I love you so much!”

  He grabbed her hips, holding her tightly to him as he gave a final thrust deep inside her. She gasped at the desperate sensation of vulnerability that pierced her, only to shatter a second time when she heard the low groan of his own release, when she felt him jerk inside her and spill himself. Her greedy body drank him in, quivering around him as he strained to empty every drop of himself inside her—giving her every bit of his heart and soul.

  Whispering her name, he collapsed on top of her. His body folded over hers, enveloping her beneath him as his strong arms went around her and gathered her close, his cheek resting against her bare back. As if he never wanted to let go.

  Sheer happiness blossomed inside her. There would be more battles between them, more conflict over the hospital and the academy in the days to come. But at that moment, held safe in his arms, she knew he loved her.

  Chapter Six

  * * *

  Max sat sprawled across the chaise longue and watched Belinda dress, certain he’d never been happier in his life.

  She loved him. He could barely fathom it. But she was also giving him the opportunity to prove that he deserved her. In that, he’d never let her down again.

  He pushed himself to his feet and leisurely approached her to button up her dress. But he couldn’t help slipping his arms around her waist and bringing her back against him. He placed a lingering kiss to her nape and smiled against her flesh when he felt her tremble.

  “If you keep that up,” she warned as she straightened her bodice and smoothed down her skirt, “we might very well end up right back on the chaise.”

  He groaned at the temptation. “While I would love nothing more”—he took another kiss before stepping back—“we need to return to the party before we’re missed.”

  She laughed, her eyes gleaming at him in the mirror over the fireplace as she fixed her hair. “Not at one of King George’s dinners.” She reached up to pin her hair into place. “Before this evening is over, half the guests will be finding their own unused rooms.”

  “Is that what Pomperly hoped with you?” Oddly enough, he felt not one prick of jealousy.

  “Most likely.” She twisted a stubborn curl into place and pinned it securely. “But it would have been a very cold day in Brighton before I fell for his entreaties.”

  “You fell for mine.”

  She smiled like the cat that got into the cream. “Because yours are irresistible.”

  In reply, he lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss to her palm. Goose bumps sprang up along her arms. Like magic.

  “If you keep that up,” she repeated, her voice suddenly husky, “we won’t need the chaise.”

  When she cast a meaningful glance at the rug in front of the fireplace, all kinds of deliciously wicked thoughts spun through his mind.

  If she kept saying things like that, he might very well have her naked again before she could speak his name. Reluctantly, he released her hand and stepped away.

  “The next time I make love to you,” he promised, “will be in a soft bed with all the silks, velvets, and down you deserve.”

  Turning back toward the mirror as her cheeks pinked, she tried to hide the effect that his comment had on her by focusing on the last hairpin. But she couldn’t hide her breathlessness as she asked as casually as she could muster in mid-blush, “So there’s going to be a next time?”

  “That depends.” His heart stuttered. He was afraid of her answer. “Do you want there to be?”

  Her gaze slid across the room to the chaise. She hesitated before answering, just long enough to lick her lips. “Very much.”

  His restraint broke. He closed the distance between them with a single step and had her back in his arms, his mouth ravishing hers, before she could finish her soft gasp of surprise. The sound changed into a throaty moan, and he drank it in, reveling in the happiness she sparked inside him. Never had he met another woman like her, and he never would again.

  When she arched her breasts against his chest, he groaned with frustration. “We can’t, love.”

  She twirled her fingers in his hair. “Oh, I think we can.”

  He laughed and wrapped his arms around her to pull her into a large hug. He nuzzled her hair. “We didn’t take precautions,” he reminded her gently, although not regretting making love to her. “We can’t take that risk again.”

  She stiffened in his arms, then slowly pulled back. “You don’t know? I thought everyone knew…” She turned away as she explained softly, “I’m barren.”

  He cupped her face in his hands, gently forcing her to look back at him. “Why do you say that?”

  A brave smile tugged at her lips in what she must have thought was the proper expression for grim acceptance. The same way experienced soldiers sometimes smiled before the inevitability of battle. “I must be, to have been married for so long and not gotten with child.”

  “It takes two to create a child. Perhaps Winchester couldn’t father children.”

  She gave a sad shake of her head. “I didn’t get with child tonight.” Then, slipping out of his arms to turn back to the mirror and finish the last adjustments to her hair, she forced out teasingly, “So you’ll have to find another way to get me to marry you.”

  When she reached for her discarded gloves, the shaking in her hand was unmistakable. So was the grief over not having children.

  “Then how about because we love each other?” he quietly proposed.

  She froze, the first glove halfway on her hand. Sudden tension filled the room, and a long, awkward silence passed between them before she busied herself again with tugging her glove the rest of the way on.

  “You don’t have to say that. Just because we…” She gestured with the gloved hand in the general direction of the chaise longue. “I don’t expect marriage.”

  “Too bad. Because I do.”

  She startled. The other silk glove slipped through her fingers and piled softly on the floor at her feet.

  He picked it up, then took her hand and slowly helped her into it. A satisfied warmth twined through him. Who knew that dressing a woman could be as erotic as undressing her?

  “You—” She forced out the words, moon-eyed, “You truly want to marry me?”

  “Always have.” He lifted her hand and kissed her gloved fingertips. “I was hoping you wanted the same.”

  “I do, but…” The soft whisper died on her lips.

  “The pensioners.” He knew her nearly as well as he knew himself.

  She nodded, her worry about the men darkening her eyes. He loved her all the more that she would so selflessly think of a group of old men in the middle of his marriage proposal.

  “I cannot marry you, Max,” she said achingly, as if the words pained her. “If we cannot find a way to save the hospital, then this will always be between us. I’ll never be able to look at you without thinking of them, how you were sent to remove them and how I couldn’t stop that.”

  Her words twisted inside him like a knife. The academy was still wedged between them, the tension surrounding it as thick as ever. “I’m not giving you up, Belinda. So we’re just going to have to find a way.”

  With a faint nod, she echoed quietly, “We’ll find a way.” But doubt furrowed her beautiful brow, and she said the words as if she didn’t fully believe them.

  Yet, for the first time, she spoke as if they were working together to find compromise rather than as adversaries. She was acknowledging the possibility of a future together. And he liked it. A great deal.

  “I’ve been thinking.” She tentatively bit her bottom lip. “The acad
emy needs to be opened too quickly for the War Office to construct new buildings, correct? Which is why you need the hospital.”

  “Correct.”

  “So the cadets cannot be moved to another building. But what if the pensioners could?” Her face shone with hope. “What if we found another building that could be turned into a home for them? That way, they could all stay together, right here in Brighton.”

  He took her hands in his and gave them a sympathetic squeeze as she eagerly waited for his reaction to what she was certain was a grand compromise but which in reality wouldn’t work. “The War Office would never agree to the expense of purchasing and maintaining a second property, not when there are other hospitals where the men could be sent.”

  Her slender shoulders sagged as her hopes were dashed. “Then what do we do?”

  “We find a solution.” He touched his lips to hers. “Together.”

  She nodded and stepped into his embrace.

  He rested his cheek against her hair and sighed out a silent breath. Thank God she didn’t ask how, because he didn’t have a bloody clue. But even as he held her encircled in his arms, he knew he would lose her if they didn’t.

  * * *

  As Belinda had predicted, no one paid any attention when they slipped into the saloon to rejoin the party, least of all His Majesty. He was too busy staring at Lady Roquefort’s bosom to care about anything at that point, except how to be rid of Lord Roquefort.

  They entered separately, of course, and fifteen minutes apart, for which Belinda was glad. It gave her time to calm her soaring heart and catch her breath before Maxwell could stride into the room and steal it away again.

  “Coffee, please.” She smiled at the footman as she stepped up to the buffet where tall, silver urns sat surrounded by delicate bone china cups and silver spoons edged with gold. All of it was monogrammed with the king’s initials.

  “I thought it best to tell you this in private,” a deep voice said quietly over her shoulder.