He nodded. “Hold on to me, dearling. It’ll be rough sailing at first, but once you get your sea legs, it’ll be better than you expect.”
“I certainly hope so,” she said archly, making him laugh.
Then he plunged hard. Her eyes shot open and she gripped his arms. But the pain was really only a pinch and it didn’t last long. It wasn’t even as bad as Maman had described.
He stayed motionless, kissing and caressing her until she stopped gripping his arms. “All right?”
She swallowed, then nodded.
That’s when the real lovemaking began. As his mouth dragged hot, sweet caresses down her neck, he slid in and out of her in long, slow strokes that seemed at first awkward, then interesting, then rather warming.
It was the most deliciously intimate experience.
His smoldering gaze on her made it even more so, although looking away didn’t change that, for she could still hear his sharp breaths, still smell the faint scent of eau de cologne beneath the musk of pure male beast . . . still feel the hard thrusts of him inside her that quickened and grew more enjoyable by the moment.
He was panting now, and so was she. Some instinct made her arch up against him, and a promise of pleasure shuddered through her that made her do it again and again.
“Ah . . . dearling . . . yes . . . like that,” he rasped against her throat.
She’d thought nothing could equal having his mouth arouse her, but having him inside and around her, making her ache and yearn, was even more enchanting. His flesh teased a storm up from below that rapidly grew into a tempest and then into a whirlwind that tossed away every barrier between them.
And as his thundering thrusts quickened and she dragged her fingers down his back, as his labored breaths twined with hers and their bodies moved in tandem, they became one being, dancing in the whirlwind until they vaulted into a glorious sky.
They hung there together for one splendid moment as she felt him spill himself inside her. Then they tumbled to earth and he collapsed on top of her.
Tangled with him, spent and warm and content, she felt like she could lie forever in his arms.
As she held him close, pleasure still quaking through her body, he whispered, “Ah, my dangerous temptress . . . You slay me.”
If anyone had done any slaying, it was him. He’d slain her resistance to him, to her desire to be independent, alone. Yet he’d also slain her bad memories, her insecurities . . . her fears. For that, she’d always be grateful.
Now it was her turn to slay his fears and bad memories. She wanted him for her own, and the only way to have him was to banish the past and teach him to embrace the future. But she wasn’t sure how to go about it. Max wasn’t like any man she’d ever met.
With a ragged sigh, he rolled off her, pulled her close so that they lay together spoon fashion, then nuzzled her neck. Her languid contentment returned. At least he cared. She knew that much for certain.
“You always smell so good,” he murmured.
She laid her arm over the one he’d draped casually around her waist. “So do you.”
“Not at present, I fear. I do hope your brother has a tub somewhere.”
She turned her face up to him and grinned. “Missing your dukely comforts, are you?”
“A few of them,” he admitted, smiling down at her and brushing a kiss to her lips. Then he cast the room a quick glance. “This is quite comfortable, though. Not nearly what I would have expected of a bachelor’s lodgings.”
“We are indebted to Vidocq for that,” she murmured.
“Is Vidocq responsible for the décor as well?” he asked in a teasing tone.
The duke was actually teasing her? She was making progress already, and without even trying. “You can blame that on me. Lavender is my favorite color.”
He propped his head up on one elbow as he gazed about him more slowly. “I would never have guessed,” he said dryly. “But I wasn’t actually commenting on the wallpaper or the embroidery everywhere. It’s the African carvings nestled among the flounces on your dressing table, the ivory tusk propped against your ormolu clock, and the ebony dagger atop your flower-embellished chest of drawers that provide a somewhat exotic note.”
She laughed. “Oh, those came from Papa. He always brought something back from his trips for me. And of course I have to display them all.” She regarded her treasures wistfully. “They’re a reminder that one day I hope to gather some foreign treasures of my own.”
His gaze grew thoughtful. “To me, they’re a reminder that you’re a study in contradictions.”
Turning to face him fully, she ran her hand over the heavily stubbled cheek that represented his own contradiction—the rigid, proper duke with two days’ growth of beard. “Tristan says my room looks like a princess’s castle that a pirate has invaded.”
“Does that make me the pirate?”
“Certainly not. It makes you the prince who has come to slay him.”
Though he was certainly built like a pirate—muscular and masterfully put together. The very idea of his going mad seemed ludicrous, when he lay there supremely healthy and hearty, looking like some dashing, notorious corsair with a lust for princesses.
“Of course, you’ll look more like a prince after you’ve had a bath and a shave and a change of clothes.”
“You don’t need anything to look like a princess.” He ran his fingers through her hair. When she smiled, he added, “Or a duchess.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Max—”
“You know that we have to marry. Today, if possible, but certainly as soon as we return to England.”
For a moment she exulted in his offer, which was more than Papa had ever given Maman. Oh, and how she wanted to accept! To be his wife—she couldn’t imagine anything more wonderful.
If it was a real marriage. But she could tell from the way he’d said it that it wouldn’t be a real marriage. “No,” she answered. “We don’t.”
He searched her face. “Don’t you want to marry me?”
More than life. “Only if you forget about your conditions. The ones that say I must not care too deeply for you. That I must leave you to suffer alone in your final days. That I must abandon you when the situation grows too hard.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. Then, muttering an oath under his breath, he fumbled for his drawers, which lay tangled in the coverlet, and left the bed. “I’m sorry, but those conditions aren’t negotiable.”
Despair gripped her as he dragged his drawers on over his exceedingly firm behind. “Then I won’t marry you,” she said softly. “I will not be a wife by halves. Not to anyone, but especially not to you.”
He stood a moment with his back to her, saying nothing. Then he turned to her with a determined look. “You don’t understand.”
“I do. You want to control your future.” She sat up and pulled the coverlet over her breasts, tucking it under her arms. “But you also want to control mine. And I won’t be controlled.”
He stared at her, then jerked his head to indicate where her blood stained the sheet beneath her. “You have no choice. I’ve ruined you.”
“At my bidding. I’m certainly not going to punish you for it by making you adhere to some rule of conduct that even my own mother flouted.”
“It would not be a punishment, damn you!” he said, and the fire in his face briefly gave her hope. Then he turned his back on her again to hunt for his clothes. “And it’s the only choice we have. Unlike your father, I believe in behaving honorably. I mean to take care of you now that I—”
“Only if you let me take care of you in return,” she said softly. “I hold you blameless in this, Max. I know that a wife like me was not in your plans.”
“Plans change,” he bit out.
A lump stuck in her throat. “You have enough things changing in your life right now. This is no time for hasty decisions.”
“You mean, you don’t want to marry me if I turn out not to be the duke after all,” he
said peevishly.
The sheer ludicrousness of that made her laugh. “You know perfectly well I don’t care if you’re the duke. But there is nothing we can do about it at the moment, anyway. It’s not as if we can marry today—we’re not even French citizens.”
“Trust me,” he snapped, “I could get it arranged.”
He probably could, too. “Ah, but then the press would find out and be gossiping about you marrying some nobody, and they’d start digging for information, and everything you were worried about in the first place when you refused to travel with me would come to pass.”
When he swore under his breath, she added, “We’re better off remaining incognito at the moment. I don’t think we should act on anything until we find out what’s going on with your brother and mine.” A thought suddenly occurred to her, and her stomach clenched. “Besides, you might not want to marry me after we learn the truth about that.”
His expression softened. “Whatever your brother is up to has nothing to do with our future together. Not for me, anyway. That much you can be sure of.”
That gratified her enormously. Perhaps they might still have a chance together. One day. “All the same, we should wait to make a decision until your life and future are settled.” Until she could be sure that his feelings ran deeper than mere passion. That he was willing to be together in sickness and in health, till death they did part. She wouldn’t accept anything less from him.
And love? What about love?
Her throat tightened as she skittered away from that thought. Love was too much to ask for. If she pined for that from him, if she let herself fall in love with him, there really was a good chance he would break her heart.
Unfortunately, her heart didn’t seem inclined to listen to her cautions. It was already half in love with him.
It was prompting her to hold her hand out to him. “I’m weary of talking,” she whispered, wanting to forget, if only briefly, the complications of their present situation. “Come back to bed. Vidocq won’t return until evening, so we have a few hours together. We should make the best of it.”
She wanted to lose herself in him once more.
Heat flared in his face, and his eyes trailed a path of fire down her body. Then he steadied his shoulders and snapped his gaze back to hers. “Until you agree to marry me, we aren’t doing this again.”
Shock rapidly gave way to irritation. “Are you trying to blackmail me into doing as you wish, Your Grace?” she said tightly. “Because I assure you that while I enjoyed what we did together, I’m not so desperate for male attention that I will agree to any demand of yours in order to get it.”
“It’s not blackmail.” He crossed his arms over his chest. His still bare, still magnificent chest. “But every time we make love, we risk conceiving a child, and I won’t let you bring a bastard into this world to be mocked and ridiculed.”
She gaped at him, her heart dropping into her stomach. “Of all the insulting . . .” Her anger flaring high, she leaped from the bed, dragging the coverlet with her. “How could you think I’d ever let my child suffer the cruelties of being a bastard?”
He gazed steadily at her. “You refuse to marry me. What else am I to think?”
She strode up to poke her finger in his chest. “If I do find myself with child, I assure you that I will marry you. I’m not so foolish as that!”
When a sudden satisfaction glinted in his eyes, awareness dawned. Devil take her temper! She’d just told him exactly what he wanted to know—that he had a way to make her marry him.
“In that case,” he drawled, catching her hand and trying to pull her to him, “let’s go back to bed.”
She snatched her hand free. “Oh, no you don’t. You are not going to swive me silly in an attempt to get me with child.” Turning on her heel, she marched over to the closet and found a wrapper she’d left behind for whenever she visited. “I believe you’re right, Max. We shouldn’t do this again.” At least not until he realized that the only marriage worth having was a real one.
Changing the coverlet out for the wrapper, she shot him an airy look. “Now I think I’ll go call for a bath. Might as well put to good use the time we must spend waiting for Vidocq.”
She started for the door, but hesitated as she thought of something. Returning to the bed, she jerked off the bloodstained sheet and tossed it into the fireplace. Max watched in silence as she started a fire on top of it.
But as she fanned the flames, he said, “Getting rid of the evidence, are you?”
Sparing a glare for him, she gathered up her clothes. “The servants believe we’re married, remember?”
That infuriating eyebrow of his quirked up. “That’s not what worries you. You’re worried they might tell Vidocq what happened, and he might tell your brothers about it, which would send them straight to me.” His voice turned cocky. “And you know damned well that if they confront me, I won’t hesitate to tell them I’m not the one balking at marriage.”
Ooh, he was so sure of himself! And so abominably right.
Refusing even to dignify his remarks with a hot retort, she hurried toward the door. She had to get away from him before she did something reckless, like . . . like shove the arrogant, annoying arse off a balcony!
Or accept his offer of marriage, infernal conditions and all.
Tears stung her eyes. Curse him—Max was the only man she knew who could turn what should have been the most romantic moment in the world into a calculated business proposition.
But as she started to leave, he added in a low voice behind her, “I warn you, dearling. I don’t play fair either when it comes to getting what I want.”
A thrill shot through her. All right, so perhaps his proposition hadn’t been entirely cold-blooded. But that didn’t make it any better. Or any more acceptable.
Fighting for calm, she faced him. Despite his rumpled hair and unshaven chin and lack of decent attire, he still looked every inch a duke. He still wore the air of supreme self-confidence that both tantalized and maddened her.
And his eyes gleamed with resolve. “I’m not giving up easily, Lisette.”
She stared him down. “Neither am I.”
Then she fled.
16
WITH HIS HEART in his throat, Maximilian watched Lisette leave. Holy God, he’d handled that badly. What the hell was wrong with him? Even a duke couldn’t command a woman to marry him. Women didn’t appreciate that sort of disregard for their feelings.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. Unfortunately, something about the dark and sultry Lisette shattered his self-control every time and made him behave like an oblivious fool.
She’d probably expected sweet words and promises of love and a long life of connubial bliss. Not logic and reason and a blunt statement like You know that we have to marry.
But damn it, logic and reason were all he could offer her. A long life of connubial bliss was highly unlikely. Though love, perhaps . . .
Gritting his teeth, he began to dress. He was not in love with Lisette, damn it! He couldn’t be that foolish. Being in love made men do things like give up control entirely to the women they loved. He wasn’t going to do that, no matter how much he’d enjoyed having Lisette in his bed.
He paused with his shirt in his hand. He really had enjoyed it. And not just the part where they’d made love, either—the way she’d tempted and provoked him into bedding her, then given herself to him with such unbearable sweetness.
That had been memorable, but it was the part afterward that he would never forget. Lying there so companionably with her, having her gaze up at him with a melting tenderness in her face . . . even having her refuse his offer of marriage.
Despite everything she’d said about marriage being a prison for women, he’d half expected her to play on his sense of honor and demand that he wed her. Any other virginal female would have done so, especially when the person who’d taken her innocence was as eligible a bachelor as he.
But not Lisette, oh no.
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You know perfectly well I don’t care if you’re the duke.
And she’d laughed! She wanted him for himself, not for his title or wealth. She wanted him in spite of the truth about his family’s curse.
A lump caught in his throat. Only Lisette would look past the gossip to the man. Not the Duke of Lyons, but Maximilian Cale. Or Max, as she so jocularly called him.
That, too, was something he wasn’t used to. She dared to tease him. No woman had ever done that, not even his friends’ sisters and wives. They were all too intimidated by the cold and aloof duke.
But Lisette treated him like an equal. It was bloody intoxicating. It made him want her as his duchess so badly, he would slay dragons to have her.
He groaned. That in itself should serve as a warning that he must proceed with caution. He had to marry her, of course—he wasn’t about to let her suffer the consequences of her ruination—but he would have to make sure that she did so under his terms. She would have to understand and accept the peculiarities of his situation.
The problem was she felt too deeply, wanted too much. She had to learn not to do that if they were to have an acceptable marriage.
And yet.
Mon coeur. She’d called him “my heart.”
His pulse quickened. Just the memory of the words, spoken with such affection, stirred the feelings he’d struggled for so many years to imprison within his heart’s fortress. Like the wild rose she was, she was growing over the walls, into the cracks, breaking the stone—
No, damn it! He was not letting her destroy his walls. That way lay pain and suffering. Hadn’t he had enough of that in his life?
He would make her his wife. He would do his duty by her, and he would enjoy it, but that was all he would allow himself. Love . . . No, love was not part of it. Couldn’t be part of it, not if he wanted to protect her in the end.
Glancing around at the room that was so visibly hers, he swore and headed out the door. For now he had to put the enchanting Lisette from his mind long enough to shore up his defenses. Perhaps some time spent searching Bonnaud’s study would do that.
The Duke's Men [1] What the Duke Desires Page 20