My Duke Until Dawn (The Duke's Secret, #6)
Page 7
Truthfully, she’d never even spoken to a man quite like Royland before either. The feel of his body pressed close to hers? It was doing things to her that she’d only ever imagined.
At this particular moment, she was deeply grateful her wits had not flown and she could recall the steps. Because his presence was positively sinful, awakening her in a way she’d only ever read about in novels.
Yes, it was true, he was arrogant.
But he was also strangely kind and seemed truly interested in her. There was something about him which seemed to surround her and fill her up at the same time.
It wasn’t a presence that would overtake her, no. It was a presence that seemed to encourage her to be her best self, to be her wittiest, to be her most interesting, and she adored it.
How could she like such a man? He had judged Persephone terribly. . . And yet, he was so likable in so many other ways.
The way he spoke of his parents had warmed her heart. For, she had never known her mother and knew her father suffered for it.
The truth was, she quite liked being with the Duke of Royland, infuriating, fascinating, beautiful man that he was. . .
Something about him made her feel strangely complete.
Oh, how she loved the feel of her fingers twined with his.
And the touch of his strong hand pressed lightly to her back, guiding her about the room, was the most sinful thing she’d ever known. The scent of him, deep bergamot and cinnamon, seduced her too.
Would he taste of those spices?
Yes, she wished she could lean forward and draw that in, even deeper into her senses. To taste him.
Somehow, despite her scandalous thoughts, she managed not to act the fool.
Some would advise her to bat eyelashes and say inane things to please him.
But it was impossible. She could do such a thing no more than she could walk upon the moon.
And with every blunt thing she had said, he seemed to only like her more. The realization pleased her deeply.
So, she had continued in her honesty.
Until, at last, it was he who began to say things that were shocking.
Well, not shocking to her, really. But she knew it would shock society. The deep love his parents had had, and the things he had said about sacrifice and courage for love and marriage.
She had thought that he, like most of society, would simply pursue a woman who was wealthy and overbred to wed. It did not seem to be true. Of course, he didn’t seem to be looking for a wife at all.
But, this was a man that she could be friends with.
A man that she could. . .
Oh, devil take it, she couldn’t just simply be his friend. He was far too beautiful for that. She wanted him to kiss her, and to kiss him back, passionately. Would he, though? Could she arrange it?
Would it be such a very terrible thing? She was supposed to be getting married, and the dowager duchess had warned her most firmly about the trouble that she could get into. Yet here was an opportunity she knew she would never have again.
And so as the music came to a close, she found herself meeting his gaze without hesitation.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said sincerely, not wishing to let him go. “That was a most excellent waltz. And my first, if I must confess.”
“Your first waltz?” He asked, amazed.
She nodded. “Yes, with a gentleman.”
“My goodness,” he teased, his voice a low rumble. “Your first dance was a duke. What a feat.”
A laugh bubbled out of her at his good humor. “You do have a very high opinion of yourself, Your Grace.”
“It’s true,” he agreed. “I do, actually. I was raised to have it, and I’ve never been able to shake it, so I keep it and I enjoy it.”
She groaned. “Oh, dear. You need someone to keep you on your toes so that you’re not absolutely unbearable.”
“Am I,” he queried, his voice a caress, “so very unbearable?”
“Yes, I think you are,” she replied, her heart beating far too rapidly. “And we’re about to garner a good deal of consideration, for we have been standing here for a good many seconds and the music has ended.”
A slow smiled turned his lips. “Then, I must take you off the floor though I do not wish to part with your company.”
“Nor I yours,” she heard herself say. She nearly yelped at her own rashness. But then she knew. . . She knew she had to be bold. “And I think that I should like to take a bit of air in the garden.”
He clearly hesitated, and emotions she could not identify danced over his face. “Is that truly what you wish?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “I would like it very much. Supper shall not begin for at least another thirty minutes. Don’t you think it would be an excellent idea?”
He stared down at her, his gaze hot.
“Yes,” he said, “I think it would be an excellent idea.”
She nodded, her heart leaping at the risk she was about to take, but she knew she couldn’t turn back. Not now. Not for anything.
“Let us go, then,” she declared, ready to choose a very different path than the one she had set out upon this night.
Chapter 6
Penelope slipped out onto the balcony.
A slight breeze played over them, teasing her curled hair and her flowing skirts.
It was full of the late spring scent of hyacinths.
She breathed it in, delighted at its glorious aroma. Finally, summer would be here, and soon, they would be able to be outside all of the time, reveling in the glories of that particular season.
At this moment, she felt awe at the beauty of it all.
She swallowed as she walked farther into the garden, deeply aware of the man within inches of her.
It was remarkable how this had happened. Goodness, he was a powerful presence. So strong, so powerful.
It was mad what she was doing, but when else might she have a chance to do something so rash with someone so remarkable?
Never.
That’s when.
And she was not going to throw the chance away.
It was true. She was supposed to find the right man, the man who she would marry and who would make sure that she had a safe life.
After all, that is what she had discussed with the dowager duchess this very afternoon, but now when she was being forced to put it into practice, she realized it was not what she wished at all.
Far from it.
And she was standing on a precipice. A place where, with one more step, she might leap into scandal.
To her shock, she wasn’t afraid. . .
Quite the opposite; she was excited.
Her aunt had been a bolter, someone who made a poor marriage choice and then ran off with her lover to Europe.
Said aunt then had had a series of love affairs.
That wildness was in Penelope’s veins, and tonight, she felt the power of it. And she was also certain she could not deny it. She had lived with far too much freedom too long to give it up now.
While she knew her aunt had suffered, losing the custody of her daughter, she had chosen independence. And that boldness had inspired both Percy and Penelope to live differently.
Percy had become the woman she was because of her mother, and really, Penelope too. Penelope was beginning to be certain that she could not give all that up.
Not for safety.
Not for a bland life that would stretch until her dying day.
Especially when tempted with someone as delicious as the Duke of Royland.
They slipped over the stone balcony to the winding steps that curved below.
There was a beautiful fountain at the bottom of the garden. The sound of it filled the air. Its beautiful falling water made the loveliest sound as it mixed with the myriad guests inside the townhouse.
Once they reached the other side of the fountain, they quietly made their way into a sheltering stone archway that was covered in climbing, purple flowers.
“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my entire life.” She curved her face into his palm before she managed to tease breathlessly, “Except for when I called you an arrogant bounder.”
He laughed. A low, sensual sound as he tilted her head back slightly, his thumb caressing her lower lip. “You didn’t exactly call me an arrogant bounder.”
She could scarcely take the desire which lit through her body. “You didn’t realize that’s what I was saying.”
“I realized your meaning, Penelope,” he whispered, “and I admired you for it. Actually, I liked you for it. I like you for doing this.”
“Do you?” she breathed. She took one of his hands with hers, determined to be a part of this and not just a recipient of his experience. “Don’t you think I’m mad?”
“Oh, yes,” he said, pulling her closer until her breasts skimmed his chest. “Absolutely, marvelously mad, and now that you have me here, dear lady, what is it that you wish to do with me?”
“Did you simply wish conversation?” He slid his fingers into her coiled locks. “For if that is what you wish, I shall oblige, but it was a terrible risk to take for just a bit of chat.”
“Chat is never something simple,” she countered as she tilted her head so that she might better gaze upon him. . . and contemplate his mouth. “Chat is always very serious and very revealing.”
“Damnation, Penelope, must you be so singular?”
Though his voice was as rough as gravel, she heard his compliment.
“Why, thank you, Your Grace. I must. And so must you, which is why I’ve asked you here.”
He smiled at that before he groaned. Groaned with both dismay and a clear desire. “I am particularly good at what I think you wish me to do.”
She laughed again. “You are an arrogant bounder.”
“I’m a bounder,” he concurred. He slid his free hand to her hip. “But I’m not arrogant. Not in this. I promise you that. And if you are disappointed afterwards, you may lodge a complaint, and I shall listen with great interest and strive mightily to improve.”
“With me?” she asked, astonished at how shocking she was proving to be.
“If you wish it,” he acquiesced. “But perhaps you won’t wish it again.”
She bit her lower lip then all but dared, “I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”
“So true,” he agreed, drawing her forward until she was clasped tightly to him.
The heat of his hard body warmed hers.
Any last reason, advising her to turn on her heel and run, vanished.
Rather, her whole being—not just her body—felt pulled to him like the tide towards the shore.
It was ludicrous.
What she was doing was total madness, and yet she could not stop herself.
’Twas as if all logic had abandoned her and she was operating purely upon emotion, intuition, and instinct.
Quite clearly, this was supposed to happen. She was absolutely certain of it. It was why they had met in such a wild circumstance in the park.
And so, she would yield to it.
It was why they had sparked so quickly against each other. His hand slid up her back. “You’re an extremely beautiful young lady, Penelope, and not because of your features.”
“No?” she asked softly, allowing herself to place her hands upon his shoulders.
“No.” He skimmed his lips over her cheek. “They are very nice features.”
Then, he skimmed his lips across the other cheek. “But they are not the source of your beauty.”
She scoffed, even as her mind began to riot. “Not terribly flattering, Your Grace.”
“Is it not?” he said. “I’ve known many very pretty women, Penelope. Most of them are self-centered and unkind, with little that shines about them. You, on the other hand? You are a sparkling jewel that would out-shine any other woman within your vicinity.”
“Now, you are flattering,” she said, even as she could barely keep herself from demanding he kiss her this instant. Was he delaying with purpose? If so, it was agonizing. Perfectly agonizing.
“I don’t flatter,” he informed.
And with that, he bent and captured her mouth in a searing kiss.
The kiss was soft at first, a bare touch as if he was tasting her, teasing her, seeing if she wished to change her mind, but then it grew deeper, more demanding.
And as if in answer, she parted her lips.
Their breaths mixed. Their tongues tangled. And she nearly gasped at the wildness of it all.
How had her mouth opened to him as if she had been completely bidden to do so?
She reveled in the feel of it.
Before she knew what was happening, she was grasping his shoulders, holding him tightly to her.
Their kiss deepened. Kiss for kiss. Breath for breath. Touch for touch.
She could barely withstand how magnificent their bodies, pressed against each other, felt.
As his passion clearly burned brighter, he lifted her towards him.
Her slippered toes skimmed the ground, and she tilted her head from side to side as he took her mouth deeper and deeper with each kiss.
As his powerful body enveloped hers, her back bowed. Overwhelming and all-consuming, she gave herself up to it.
In all her life, there was nothing to vie for this moment. She could think of nothing to match it.
Soon she could not think at all.
Soon there was no reason left to her mind as she was tossed into delicious oblivion.
His hands caressed down her arched back until he cradled her hips, tilting her body into his so that she might feel his hardness against her.
Then he was kissing her neck, tracing the skin as if it was the most irresistible delicacy in the world. She closed her eyes, let her head fall back, and enjoyed the sensation of his mouth devouring her body.
He kissed the swells of her breasts, his hands lowering farther and farther until at last they were pulling up swathes of fabric from her legs. His fingertips brushed her calves, her knees, then her thighs.
When he met the edge of her stockings, she shivered with anticipation. Scandalous as it was, she did not wish him to stop.
No, no, total madness that it was, she longed for him to continue. To usher her into the world of pleasure.
She knew what could happen in this. She was no fool, no uneducated miss.
She’d read a great many novels, and she’d read a great deal of biology, but it was he who suddenly stopped. She was ready for this. Of that, she was certain.
He tore himself from her, gasping for air.
His eyes were wide, like a man coming awake from a dream. “My God, what have you done to me?”
“What have I done to you?” she asked, her breath ragged. “What have you done to me that this is all I wish?”
“All you wish?” he queried, looking as if someone had brained him. “To throw yourself away on a moment’s pleasure?”
“Do you truly think I’d be throwing myself away?” she demanded, needing his honesty.
Suddenly, he shook his head, his gaze turning to one of horror now. “I can’t marry you.”
“Why not? Am I too poor?” she demanded, anger beginning to replace her desire. “Am I too uninteresting, too low in status?”
“You could never be uninteresting, my dear, but I do not wish to marry now. I do not wish to marry for some time, and I certainly can’t marry someone like you.”
“Someone like me?” she queried, her heart thundering against her chest. Why would he say such a cruel thing? “What the devil is wrong with me?”
“You’re. . .” He looked away. The spring air suddenly felt cold. “I could fall in love with you in a moment, Penelope.”
“Then fall in love with me,” she urged, not understanding how such a wonderful thing could twist so quickly into something harsh.
> “I cannot,” he growled. “I cannot do such a thing.”
She refused to give up so easily, now that she had been awakened to him. Taking his hand in hers, she insisted, “Why ever not?”
“Because. Please don’t ask,” he said as he held her hand tightly. Almost too tightly. “I have seen the way that love can go, and I cannot risk such a thing. I cannot risk being so swept up into a love that deep. I could ruin your life, you know,” he bit out.
“You, ruin my life?” She gestured between them. “You mean through our kiss?”
“No,” he said. “There are other things, worse things, that can ruin a young lady’s life. You could marry me, and it could be the very worst thing that could ever happen to you.”
“You mean like my aunt?” she asked, her throat tightening.
“Yes,” he growled. “She married the wrong man, and look what became of her.”
“She seems quite happy now,” Penelope countered, trying to understand him.
“Yes, but not with her husband,” he said, his voice hard, his gaze unyielding now. “And I promise you cannot run away from a duke, Penelope. It is impossible. If you were to marry a duke, you would be his prisoner forever.”
“My goodness,” she tried to say lightly, but found she could not. The jest died on her lips, and she whispered instead, “You make marriage sound like a jail.”
“It can be,” he warned. “It can be an absolute prison sentence even if you love the person that you’re in prison with, and that is something that I cannot do to you. I want you to be happy. You must be happy, Penelope. That is very important. Far more important than anything I can give you.”
“And you can’t make me happy?” she asked, her voice broken even to her own ears.
“No,” he said, taking back his hand. He took a step back from her into the darkness of the garden. “I can’t.”
And with that, he left her.
Alone with her desires, her hopes. . . But most of all, her confusion.
For whatever he said, her heart. . . her traitorous heart was calling out for him, even as he strode farther and farther away.
Chapter 7
On a day like today, at Gentleman Jackson’s, Rafe would have happily fought every man in the club.
Unfortunately, most wouldn’t have lasted one round.