The Harlow Hoyden

by Lynn Messina

  They left Windbourne and the coachman in Rivington’s study and took their leave, driving back to the hotel quickly and silently. As to be expected, the host at the Dover Inn looked at them in askance at their lack of baggage. Before Emma had a chance to, Trent made up some story about incompetent servants and luggage that was two towns behind. The host was well pleased to show the duke and his lovely wife to his finest room, the commodore suite.

  “Please ask one of the servants to bring up some brandy. And my wife will need a fresh change of clothing,” the duke said, inspecting the room. It was large and had a dressing area, which would serve well enough as a second bedroom. “And some extra blankets; the air has a definite chill.”

  “Of course, your grace, of course. My daughter is just the size of your lovely wife. I will bring you some of her finest dresses. She will be very happy to help the duchess.” He smiled at Emma, who blushed. She was not a duchess and could not like being called one. “Would your graces like a tub of hot water to be brought up as well?”

  Emma would have loved nothing better than to soak in a tub, but the thought of bathing with the duke nearby threw her thoughts into a frenzy. She was about to decline when the duke answered.

  “An excellent idea,” he said, before closing the door. He turned to Emma, whose face was now an unnatural shade of red. “Do not look so. I will take myself off and give you some privacy. The room downstairs seemed like a decent place to have a drink.”

  “And what of you, sir? Shall I go downstairs to let you bathe?” she asked in all seriousness. It sounded like a logical plan to her.

  The duke smiled and demurred. “That is not necessary. I trust you to respect my modesty.”

  “And I trust you,” she answered.

  “How odd,” he said, his voice suddenly deep and husky, “for I do not trust myself.”

  At these words, Emma heart jumped. The memory of his breathtaking kiss was still on her lips, and she felt the color rise again in her cheeks. She had to turn her head away because she could not stand to gaze into his eyes any longer. The expression in them was intense and fierce, and she could well understand his attraction for the women of the ton. If he stared at them all like that, then his claim to be a libertine was true. No woman could resist such a searing look. “It will be good to change clothes. I have been wearing this dress since yesterday morning and cannot wait to burn it in the fire, it is so dirty. There’s even a splatter of blood on it somewhere.”

  Trent knew why she turned away and was glad for it. He had been through an awesome spectrum of emotions in the last forty-eight hours, and his grip on his control was tenuous at best. He had spoken the truth earlier. Were Emma to take a bath in his presence he would not be able to stop himself. He would strip off his clothes and be in the tub with her before she had even taken the soap in hand. But that must wait until after the wedding. He wouldn’t disgrace now, nor show her so little respect, not when she was the person he respected most in the world.

  A knock on the door announced the servants. They brought brandy and a pile of clothes and buckets of water to fill the tub. When they were done arranging it all, the duke excused himself to go have a drink alone.

  “I shan’t be long,” said Emma, reluctant to see him go, though she understood the necessity. “Perhaps only thirty minutes.”

  “Don’t rush on my account,” he told her before shutting the door behind him.

  Emma undid the buttons on her dress, which was a challenge since they were in the back. Then she slid it off her shoulders and took off her underthings. The dress smelled, but she resisted the urge to throw it right into the fire. First she would make sure that the landlord’s daughter was really her size.

  She stepped into the bath. The water was hot and wonderful, and for several minutes Emma rested her head against the edge, luxuriating in the feel. She was even tempted to close her eyes, but fear of falling asleep and being discovered by the duke kept them open. Picking up the pink rose-scented soap, she began scrubbing her arms and legs. After she washed her face, she ran the washcloth over her neck and noticed for the first time the soreness. It made sense, of course, considering how close Windbourne had come to choking the life out of her, but she was still surprised and wondered if there would be bruises there. If so, she could only wear high-necked gowns until they healed. Even the Harlow Hoyden wasn’t bold enough to go walking down Piccadilly with disfiguring welts on her neck.

  Emma washed her hair, climbed out of bath and put on the nightgown supplied by the landlord. Aside from being three inches too short, it fit. He had also been kind enough to provide a dressing gown, and she put that on as well. When the duke returned some forty-five minutes later, she was sitting at the mirror brushing her wet hair.

  The duke stood in the doorway for a few seconds, transfixed by the sight of her. In the blue cotton nightgown with her hair glimmering in the firelight, she was irresistible. He walked over to her and took the brush out of her hand. “May I?” he asked, although he did not wait for a response. The need to touch her was overwhelming, and if he had to settle for this innocent maidlike task, then so be it. He would take what he could get.

  “It’s full of knots,” she said softly, watching him in the mirror.

  “I’ll be gentle.”

  “Yes, I know you will.”

  At that, the duke raised his eyes and met hers in the mirror. His expression was as intense as earlier, but she kept her gaze steady, refusing to turn away. “I’m afraid you are in for a rude surprise, your grace,” she said, floundering for a topic. “By now the water is cold.”

  “I assure you, cold water will not bother me in the least.”

  Something in his voice made her flush, and she could not maintain eye contact anymore. She shifted her position and took the brush from his hands. “How inconsiderate of me. No doubt you would like to bathe now. I will climb into bed and keep my eyes trained on the wall. How does that sound?”

  The thought of Emma climbing into a bed whilst he was in the room sounded like heaven to him, but he tried to keep his voice level as he answered. “I thought perhaps you would like some brandy before going to sleep. I can bathe later.”

  “Pooh,” dismissed Miss Harlow, “I’m wide awake and we can drink the brandy together after your bath. You won’t take long, will you, sir?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Good.” Emma stood up and walked over to the bed. The linens were fresh and soft, and she almost purred in satisfaction as she lay down on them. With her back toward him she said, “This bed is divine. Last night’s bed was awful. Oh, do you mind if I talk?”

  The duke was in the process of removing his shirt when she asked this question. Although bathing with her in the room would be easier if he could close his eyes and forget her presence, he would not deny himself the pleasure of her company. “No, I don’t mind.”

  “Good. Anyway, last night’s bed was awful. The linens were coarse and whatever detergent they use smells like a stagnant pond. And the bed was lumpy. Philip said he slept all right, but I don’t know how he could on such a lumpy matters.”

  Trent halted his movement and tried to control the sudden rage that overtook him. How dare that insolent puppy sleep in the same bed with Emma! Even though he was raised in the wilds of Yorkshire, he should know such behavior was not proper. Not proper and not forgivable, at least not as far as the duke was concerned. “You shared a bed with Philip?” He tried to keep his voice neutral.

  Emma laughed and the duke could well imagine the dimples. “Of course not. Philip was the perfect gentleman and gave me first choice in the picking of beds. I tried them both out and chose the one with the least amount of lumps.”

  He let out the breath he had been holding and stepped into the tub, his back toward Emma. The water had chilled, but it was nothing to make a face at and it went only a small way in cooling his libido. He was not surprised, of course. He wanted her as he had never wanted another woman before and was even now imagining
all the things he’d love to do to her. The softness of her hair, the sweetness of her scent, the gentleness of her voice—all these things conspired to drive him mad. If he were a wise man, he would never have gotten himself into this mess in the first place. Only a man crazy with desire took a bath with a temptress five feet away. And only a crazy man would share a room with her, pretending to be man and wife. He should have gotten two room, damn the proprieties. So what if it looked suspicious? As soon as he was done with his bath he would return to the taproom, where he would pass many long hours, returning only when he was sure she was asleep.

  “I suppose tomorrow night we will have to stay at the Hungry Lion,” she said, continuing her discussion. “I didn’t have a chance to form much of an impression, since my visit was so short. That’s where Vinnie and Philip are?”

  Trent did not answer.

  Emma repeated the question and waited. “I say, you haven’t drowned over there, have you?”

  “What?” said Trent, realizing belatedly that Emma spoke. “Uh, no.”

  The duke sounded so strange that Emma forgot herself for a second and turned around. Her eyes met his smooth, tanned back and her mouth went dry. She knew she should turn back—after all, the duke had trusted her and she was now betraying that trust—but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Her mind sent out commands, but her limbs would not respond. All she could do was stare at his beautiful body. Those muscles in the shoulders that she had run her hands over, so that was how they looked. She had seen drawings and sculptures of unclothed men, but none of them had looked like this.

  She must have made a noise because the duke turned around, concerned. To her surprise, she wasn’t embarrassed to be caught behaving so improperly.

  “Emma,” he said, his voice an agonized, strangled whisper.

  She could see the desire blazing in his eyes, and she could no more halt her next actions than she could stop her next breath. She rolled off the bed and walked slowly over to the bathtub. Then she lowered herself into the duke’s lap, wrapped her arms around his neck and brought his head down for a kiss. The kiss was hot, and Emma scarce felt the temperature of the water. She was burning up with a fever she had never before felt. Her body demanded things she could not name, but she could tell from the look in the duke’s eyes when she pulled back that he knew very much what she wanted.

  “We mustn’t,” he whispered as he pulled the dressing gown from her shoulders. “We really mustn’t.”

  He tossed the soggy robe onto the floor near the fire, and it landed with a quiet thud. Emma laughed, feeling happier than ever before in her life. “Oh, but we must, your grace. We really, really must.” She laid kisses along his chest, soaking in the pleasure of having him there and knowing they would be not be interrupted. They were not in a carriage that would pull up to her town house at any minute.

  “Alex,” he said, his voice low and husky. Her tongue was driving him wild, and he could scarcely complete the thought. “I told you to call me Alex.”

  Emma did not acknowledge his command but continued to explore his magnificent body at her leisure. She adjusted her position, sending water over the side of the tub, and ran her fingers over his stomach.

  The duke knew that everything she was experiencing was new for her, and he tried to keep a tight rein on his passion in order to let her explore freely. But the provocation she offered was too much, and after a few long moments of her fingers caressing his manhood he could stand it no more. He pulled her toward him and brought his head down to hers with force, capturing her lips in a rapturous kiss. The thin cotton that separated her skin from his was unbearable to him and he undid the three buttons in the back with deft hands. Since the fabric was wet, it would not slide it easily over Emma’s head, and Trent chose the only recourse that would remove the unwanted barrier quickly and efficient. He tore it in half. The offending garment joined the robe on the floor.

  It was the first time the duke had seen Emma’s body in the light, and he let out a haggard sigh at the breathtaking sight of her creamy white, beautiful breasts. With the lightest touch, he ran his hands over them, thanking God that this precious, wonderful woman was his tonight and always. He heard her laugh softly. He raised his head. “Do I amuse you, Emma?” he asked, his tone light and teasing.

  “That was a borrowed gown, Alex. I am loath to imagine what the landlord will think when he sees it,” she explained, wishing he hadn’t distracted her with his wicked touch. She had never before seen a man naked—let along a naked man aroused—and she was very curious about every part of him. His manhood had been so smooth.

  “Then the landlord will never see it.” He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and laid a soft kiss on her forehead. “I will tell him my darling wife could not bear to part with it and reimburse him for the cost.”

  Emma smiled, though these sweet words also saddened her. There were things other than the nightgown that she could not bear to part with. But she would not think of that now. Tonight was for her, for him, for them, for the chance to experience something perfect and wild that would never happen again. She kissed him gently on the lips and felt him respond ardently.

  “I cannot do what I want in this tub,” Trent said between long, luxurious kisses.

  “All right,” she said, her voice a soft whisper and she climbed out. Feeling his eyes on her bare back, she suddenly felt awkward in her nakedness and grabbed a towel that was folded on a chair. She held it up. “Come, I will dry you off.”

  Trent stood in the tub, pausing a moment to let the water run off his body before stepping on to the wooden floor. He waited expectantly for Emma to dry him off, but after a minute she still had not moved. “The towel, my dear?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said, pulling herself out of a trancelike state. The sight of his body—those powerful thighs, those glistening shoulders, that muscled stomach—had stolen her thoughts, and she could do nothing more than stare like a schoolgirl. She had not known that his clothes had hidden such treasures. She applied the towel vigorously to his shoulder, then his torso, buttocks and legs. “You are beautiful, Alex.”

  He took the towel from her grip, threw it onto the floor and lifted her into his arms. Then he carried her to the bed and gently laid her down on cool sheets. “I am not the beautiful one here,” he said, perusing her body with his eyes.

  Emma felt exposed and fought the instinct to cover up. For one night only she would be the brazen hussy the whole world already thought her to be. When the duke suckled her breasts, she arched her back, bringing her body even closer to his, and when he laid intimate kisses along her thighs, she opened her legs to allow him better access.

  The duke carefully raised a finger to the most intimate part of her, and he heard Emma gasp in shock and pleasure. Delighted with her response, he ran a finger along the moist folds, until he found her sensitive nub. He rubbed it gently.

  “Alex,” she said, almost panting with the need that seemed to grow within her every second. “Alex.”

  “Shh, my love, it’s all right,” he assured her, increasing the pressure.

  Emma closed her eyes and focused on the pleasurable feelings. She knew she could trust Trent, and she moaned his name once again as she was overcome by wave after wave of sensation. For fleeting seconds she lost control of all her muscles. It was truly wonderful.

  She felt Trent’s lips on her neck, but she refused to open her eyes. “That was very good, your grace,” she said, unable not to tease him. “You have most skilled fingers.”

  “There’s more, Emma.” He kissed her ear and felt her tremble in response. “I will be gentle.”

  “Yes, I know you will,” she answered, her eyes still closed.

  The duke had never lain with any woman as innocent as Emma, and he was fearful of not being gentle enough. He positioned himself at the entrance of her womanhood and carefully slid inside. His movements were slow and deliberate and when he had pushed himself all the way in, he rested his weight on his elbows and loo
ked at Emma.

  “Open your eyes,” he said, trailing hot kisses down her cheek. “Open your eyes and look at me.”

  Emma complied.

  “Do you feel any pain?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer. He knew this initiation could not happen otherwise, but still he was loathe to hurt this precious creature in any way.

  “A small amount, Alex, but nothing worse than usual,” she answered honestly. “One does not get to be the Harlow Hoyden without a few scrapes and bruises.”

  He laughed softly and began to move within her, slowly at first. He tried to keep his weight on his elbows so as not to crush her with his body, but Emma had other ideas. She threw her arms around him and pulled him close.

  “I want to feel your body against mine, your grace,” she whispered in his ear. “You feel so wonderful.”

  “God, you feel wonderful, too.”

  The duke increased his pace, keeping his eyes on Emma’s face so that he could gage her every reaction. He had spoken the truth when he said she felt wonderful. Indeed, no woman had ever felt so good in his entire life, but he held on to his control. The experience must be perfect for Emma. Not just because she was to be his wife or because it was her first time but because he loved her and she must get as much pleasure out of his body as he did of hers. His pride would accept nothing less.

  He could tell from her heavy breathing that she was getting close, and when he felt her body tense in his arms, he let himself go, driving harder and harder into her soft body. His climax came fast, drenching him in a sea of sensation. It was overwhelming and all-consuming, and it wiped out everything that had come before it. There was and had always been only Emma. And from that moment on she would be all that he knew.

  The fire crackled as Emma watched the duke pour brandy into a snifter. “That’s enough,” she said, when he had filled the glass halfway. “I’m already intoxicated by you and do not need the nectar of brandy to help me along.”

  “Intoxicated by me?” he said, handing her the glass. She was sitting by the fire in a large armchair, her hair, still partially wet, flowing freely down her back. Since self-consciousness had gotten the best of her, Emma wore a sheet draped around her body. The duke thought she made a charming Roman and had said so as soon as she had donned the improvised garment. He himself felt no need to cover up his nakedness. He was in the garden of Eden and had no desire for clothes—at least at the moment. “I did not expect romantic drivel to drop from Miss Harlow’s lips.”