The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series)

by Stephanie Feagan

  “Ah, it’s a temptation you can’t resist, and I know why.” He spun her about and began undoing her buttons. “Shocking, Lucy, but you’ve no chemise, and no stays. Whatever were you thinking when you dressed for dinner?”

  “Possibly the same thing you thought when you failed to don drawers beneath your satin gown. Scandalous, naughty Mrs. Sherry.”

  “I admit to rather enjoying the sensation of satin against my nakedness. Hedonistic, I suppose.” When her gown dropped to her waist, his hands captured her breasts and he stood just behind her, looking over her shoulder, watching his long fingers caress and massage until her dark nipples were hard and pointed. “Lovely Lucy, I’ve never been quite so intrigued with a woman’s breasts. Yours are extraordinary. Exotic.” He nibbled her ear, licked her lobe, sending shivers along her back, all the while continuing his particular attention to her bosom. “Did you know,” he whispered in a low, husky voice, “a man can make love to a woman’s breasts?”

  Her entire pelvis exploded with desire so strong, she knew it would take but one touch to reach climax. She closed her eyes. It was too much, the gentle but firm pressure of his hands, his words, the sight of his strong fingers upon her. She couldn’t watch another moment without going off. “I . . . suspected.”

  “Did you, Lucy? In your lonely bed, did you caress these perfect breasts and imagine the length of a man, nestled within your cleavage?”

  “Will you be shocked if I admit I did?”

  He chuckled low in his throat. “Nothing of you could shock me. I know who you are, understand the delightfully erotic thoughts that bump about in your beautiful head. I’m enchanted and fascinated with you.” He turned her a bit, until she faced the fire –and the chair. “I’ve a fair idea of how you imagine it will be, but enlighten me anyway, in case I’ve got it wrong.”

  “You will sit, and I will be in your lap.”

  “Will you face me, or the fire?”

  “I’d like to try both ways.”

  He made a sound that was close to a growl as he shoved her dress down until it pooled around her feet. “Then you shall, but I suggest you face the fire to begin.”

  “Oh?” she asked as he bent to remove her slippers and garters. “Is there a reason?”

  With his warm fingers against her legs, he replied, “Facing me, I’ll be compelled to kiss you, and kiss your breasts, and you’ll be compelled to look between us, where we are joined, and you’ll climax long before you have the chance to turn round the other way.” He stood and led her to the chair, where he sat and grinned up at her. “I’ve this lovely, open, needful lap, my lady. Won’t you have a seat?”

  Turning her back to him, she moved between his thighs and slowly sat upon him, savoring the feel of him as he slid inside. His long fingers grasped her about the waist and steadied her, held some of her weight, making it easier to move upon him, up and down. But she quickly tired of it, because she couldn’t see him, couldn’t touch him as she wanted to. Abruptly, she pulled away and stood.

  “Was it something I said?” He was twinkling at her again, obviously funning her. He’d not said a word. Amazing. The man was simply amazing.

  “I can’t see your face that way, and it occurs to me that watching your face is terribly important.” She bent one knee to the chair, then the other, straddling him, moving forward until she was there, just above him.

  As she began to crouch lower, he met her gaze. “You wish to look, I know, so do so. Look now, my love. That’s it, bow your head and watch.”

  Oh, but it was astonishing, erotic, arousing, incredible. He was so very large, and hard and hot and hers. She heard the sound of her body accepting his, felt every bit of him as she slowly slid down, saw him disappear into her curls. Jerking her head up, she moved closer and kissed him, hard, desperately, rocking her hips, thrusting her pelvis so that he moved in and out of her without any effort on his part. As she’d suspected, the position of him sitting and her in his lap brought his cock into perfectly aligned contact with her most sensitive spot, and her rocking hips built her desire hotter and higher.

  Sherbourne watched her, his lids heavy, his eyes blazing with lust, one hand at her waist and the other fondling her breasts, which moved in tandem with her gyrating hips. “You’ve simply no idea how lovely you are, Lucy. The very earth.”

  She was beginning to gasp, knew she was close, wanted to slow down, to wait, to prolong their time together, and perhaps she might have, but Sherbourne deliberately sent her off.

  He looked.

  And spoke to her not as a gentleman, but as a man –a lusty, aroused man. It had always been a particularly favorite fantasy, that a lover would become so caught up, he would forget himself as a gentleman and she as a lady and speak as a man to a woman.

  His gaze was upon hers, until it worked its way down, to her breasts, to her belly, and finally to where they were joined, to where she covered the essence of him, drawing away, pushing back, again and again and again. He murmured, “Come for me now, Luce. Let me see you take me in, all of me, down to my bollocks.” His eyes didn’t move from where they coupled. “Your cunny is so slick, hot, tight and beautiful, sliding along my cock, and it’s all you can do to hold back. Don’t wait any longer. Do it now, love, come for me and let me see.”

  His language, his eyes, his gruff voice, his focus on what they did, all served to send her off, and she was powerless to stop herself. With a suddenness that took her breath, her body was awash in wave after wave of heat and pleasure. Her back bowed inward, thrusting her breasts forward. His lips closed around one nipple and she did cry out, her climax prolonged, extended, exhausting.

  She was still shaking, still coming, when he whispered, “Put your arms round my neck.”

  She complied and squeaked in surprise when he began to rise from the chair.

  “Slide your legs about my hips.”

  He was still inside of her, still incomplete, still tremendously erect. “Where are we going?”

  His grin was wolfish, she’d swear. “My turn, Lucy.” He moved toward the bed, still a part of her, effortlessly carrying her while she clung to him like a burr. He laid her down, with her bottom almost off the edge of the mattress, and straightened, forcing her arms to let go of his neck. She started to move her legs, but he whispered, “No,” and she kept them wrapped about his hips. He stood there, just stood there, for the longest while, his hands kneading her breasts, massaging firm circles, then softly rubbing her nipples before rolling their peaks between his fingers. And all the time, he was still within her body, unmoving, yet pulsing with the flow of his blood, thick and heated. “So beautiful, so sensual . . . needful. So . . . mine.”

  He pulled back, then thrust so hard, she moved up on the bed. He did it again. And again. And all the while, his hands were on her breasts, his gaze upon his hands. He began to speak in a low, rough voice. “There are but two things a man cannot live without. The first is faith. Faith in his God, faith in himself, faith in love. Do you know what the second is, Lucy?”

  Mutely, she shook her head, uncertain where he was going with this, but absolutely positive she was about to climax, yet again. Impossible! But there it was. His attention to her breasts, his violent thrusts, the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice, throbbing with need and passion, all contributed to the incredible exhilaration of climbing to a second orgasm.

  He didn’t increase the rhythm, didn’t alter his thrusts in any way, but continued to pound into her, hard and steady, until she was moved very far up on the bed. He grasped her waist and pulled her back, then hauled her up, almost to a sit, and held her there, his gaze intent upon hers while he worked magic within her body. “The other is this, in all its forms, and no man alive, young or old, can live long without it.” A fine sheen of perspiration covered his face, his chest, his arms. “I’m waiting for you, Lucy, to have what I need, what I crave. Give over now and come for me again.”

  Staring into the blue of his eyes, those amazing eyes that could twinkl
e and laugh, or blaze with scorching lust, she wetted her lips and whispered, “Make me.”

  Something flared in his eyes that might have frightened her if it hadn’t excited her so much. His hands tightened about her waist and she was in the air, snatched against his hard body. Instinctively, her arms went round his neck and her legs tightened about him. His hands moved to her hips and took control, alternately pushing and pulling her against him, then holding her steady while he thrust into her. He groaned, then growled, then kissed her deeply.

  She ran her tongue across his lips before she moved her mouth to his jaw, to his throat. Her teeth nipped at his skin, slick and hot above his pulse. She opened her mouth and tasted him, licked him, her breath moving hot upon his flesh while his cock pumped faster, harder, pounding against her womb as he grew longer, his body tensed and poised for release.

  “Now, Lucy. Come for me . . . now!”

  She might have cried out, but she’d never know, because he captured her mouth with his at the same time his big body stiffened, every muscle tightening, and she felt him jerk and twitch deep inside, the contractions of her body greedily absorbing his essence.

  ***

  Just after dawn, Jane met Benjamin, the stable master, and each of the grooms. She asked a few questions to ascertain their knowledge of horses and was well satisfied with each of the friendly, hardy lads. She was shocked at the damage Pendragon had done to the stall, expressing her dismay by exclaiming, “Blixford, I believe your stallion is half mad.”

  The grooms chuckled and moved away to begin their morning tasks.

  Blixford tapped one shining black boot with the head of his crop and said evenly, “He’s descended from Arabian stock, Jane.”

  Eyeing the splintered boards, she was in awe. “Are Arabians half mad?”

  “Doubtful, but perhaps the line retains something of their wild nature.” He waved toward the other stalls. “If you’ll choose another mount, we may take our ride. There are only five available, being that Beckinsale House is the smallest of my estates. I never have visitors here, so the livestock are exercised by Benjamin and the grooms. The others here are the coach horses.”

  She went along the block and peered into each stall, settling on a brown bay gelding at the far end. A neatly painted wooden plaque upon the stall door told her his name was Morpheous. The horse didn’t appear to live up to his name. Far from sleepy, he was feisty and full of spirit, poking his nose toward her and sniffing before he backed up and tossed his head.

  He was saddled without delay, and before long, she was clattering out of the stable yard with Blixford at her side, himself seated on a roan mare.

  They rode north, through a wooded area that eventually opened to a large pasture. “Did you spend your previous honeymoons at Beckinsale House?”

  “No,” he said simply and conclusively, his tone clearly indicating he didn’t like the question.

  She couldn’t help her curiosity, however, so she asked the next logical question. “If not here, then where?”

  “All three of my previous brides were immediately settled into Eastchase Hall.” His sigh spoke volumes, as though he knew she would continue to question him, regardless of his dislike of the subject. “I brought you here because I suspected you would like it, and I suppose in some respects I’m a superstitious sort. I thought to change the course in hopes the outcome would be different.” He lifted his thumb and indicated the south, behind them. “This is also where I house my crossbreeding program. I believe you’ll enjoy meeting Crofton, who oversees. He has a fascination with the possibilities presented by crossbreeding sheep that is equal to yours.”

  “Blixford, how marvelous! Thank you!”

  He cast a look her way. “You are enjoying yourself?”

  “Very much so.” She looked ahead, toward the pasture. “Is this where Benjamin moved Grendel and Pendragon?”

  “It is. Do you suppose they’ll dislike our interruption?”

  Jane laughed. “Doubtful. Unlike humans, horses don’t mind an audience.”

  “I assume you’d have cause to know this?”

  She jerked a startled look toward him. “Sherbourne has long maintained a breeding stable at Hornsby Grange. Surely you’re aware? One of his won at Ascot only two years ago.”

  “Yes, I’m aware, but I’m surprised your father would allow you anywhere near the process of breeding horses. It’s not typically an endeavor for unmarried young ladies.”

  She gave it some thought before she nodded. “I suppose not. My father is somewhat unorthodox, isn’t he? He laments he didn’t remarry after my mother’s death, that my rearing in a houseful of males must surely have been to my detriment. Perhaps he’s correct, but what’s the point revisiting history? He didn’t remarry and I grew up within a crowd of boisterous, decidedly masculine males, most of whom frequently forgot I was female. I daresay it wasn’t until I matured into a feminine form and Sherbourne insisted I don a dress that they realized I was not, in fact, a boy.”

  “Do you mean to say you dressed in breeches as a child?”

  “Will you be shocked if I confess that I did?”

  “And rode astride, I’d warrant.” He sighed at her nod. “I find myself less inclined to be shocked at anything you do, Jane.” Suddenly, he widened his eyes and asked, “Is that how you traveled to Scotland without incident? Did you dress as a man?”

  Laughing at the idea, she shook her head. “Heavens, no.” Pointing at her full breasts, she stated the obvious. “No amount of men’s clothing can hide my bosom, and I would not be so foolish to try.”

  “How then did you travel all that way without being accosted, as surely any lady traveling alone would be?”

  “Are you certain you wish to know?”

  “I will expire of curiosity if you don’t tell me.” They reached a gate and he opened it from horseback, held it so she could pass through, then closed it and resumed his position by her side.

  She looked ahead, spying Grendel and Pendragon in the far reaches of the pasture. They were grazing together beneath a soaring oak. Evidently, the deed had been done, at least once, and they enjoyed a respite before he covered her again. She was glad and relieved to see Grendel appeared quite content. “It would perhaps be of benefit if I could demonstrate, but I left my costume in a trunk at Sherbourne’s townhouse.” Turning her head, she met his gaze. “With the assistance of my maid, I fashioned a false belly. I took three of her gowns and let them out in order to accommodate the false belly. When I stopped to rest each night, I quietly explained to the innkeeper that I was but a poor Scottish widow, en route to my home in the highlands to be delivered of my child in the bosom of my family. I explained the horse as a gift, given to my dead husband for his sterling service in the army.”

  Blixford was clearly fascinated. “Did you assume an accent?”

  “Oh, but of course.” She demonstrated and was pleased when he smiled. “It wasn’t difficult and anyone who might have considered accosting me was surely put off by my pregnant state. I stopped at the border and waited for one of my brothers to catch up to me, as I knew they surely would. Once Julian arrived, I returned to being Lady Jane Lennox and he accompanied me to Castle MacDougal. I didn’t dispose of my costume, however, and found cause to employ it again upon my return to London. It’s how I was able to follow you for two days without discovery.”

  “Impossible. I’d have seen your face and recognized you.”

  “You don’t look at servants, Blixford, unless, of course, they’re your own. As a servant with child, walking along the street, I was invisible to you.”

  He was quiet for a while before he said, “Deuced clever of you, Jane.”

  “Thank you.” She nodded toward the horses. “It would appear they’ve achieved a measure of harmony.”

  His gaze remained on her when he replied, “It would appear so because, I daresay, they have.”

  A bit flustered by his obvious double entendre, she cleared her throat and inhaled the fres
h morning air. “I find myself anxious to run, Blixford.”

  “I’d ask that you wait until we reach the lane. This pasture is filled with rabbit holes and stones. It’s never been cultivated.”

  “Very well.”

  They rode on in an awkward silence until they were halfway across. It was then that Pendragon resumed his amorous intentions and began circling Grendel. He lifted his head and curled his lips, as all stallions do when in the act of courtship. Jane always found it funny, and wondered if a mare was actually impressed, or if she found it funny as well.

  Grendel, evidently, did not find him funny, but annoying, kicking out at him when he circled her rump. She snapped at his withers as he passed and he skittered away before he curled his lips again. She raised her tail as if in welcome, but moved away from him. Pendragon followed and she allowed him to catch her scent and rub his neck across her back before she slowed to a stop and spread her hind legs, bracing herself for his tremendous weight.

  Jane knew she should look away, that watching them in Blixford’s company would surely be terribly embarrassing, but she absolutely could not. She was indeed a naughty woman, but his stallion covering her mare took on erotic overtones that had nothing to do with the perfectly natural fundamentals of horse breeding. She had only to recall the night before, of Blixford mounting her from behind, and her center heated with strong desire. They were human, but still animals, with all the same instincts of Pendragon and his mare. It appealed to her elemental nature, and set her feminine soul to yearning.

  Without conscious thought, they slowed their mounts to a stop, each of them staring across the pasture with rapt attention. At some point, Blixford murmured, “Really not the thing to watch, is it?”

  “No.”

  “Why is it, then, that I’m unable to stop?”

  “I’ve no idea, but it’s quite impossible.”

  At last, Pendragon dropped to all fours and the excess of his seed spilled from the mare. He lifted his head and whinnied his triumph before he moved to her side. She turned to look and their noses met, ears flicking, coats twitching.