Blixford moved his mount closer to hers, his eyes intensely dark, smoldering even. “I’m one step away from abandoning ducal propriety and tossing my duchess in a pasture. Are you shocked?”
“No doubt I should be, but I’d be lying were I to say I was.” Her gaze lingered at his lips. “Would you kiss me, husband?”
She’d barely spoken the words before she was hauled from her mount and seated before him, enveloped within his arms, her mouth assaulted by his. For a man of strict decorum, her duke was insanely passionate. His hands fell to her waist and he lifted her easily, commanding her to swing her leg over. She did so, and was straddled there, backward, her legs over his and her entire torso pressed against his as he kissed her again, their tongues twisted together, his prominent nose firmly against her cheek. He dropped one arm and it didn’t become evident that he’d unfastened his breeches and shoved her skirts further up until she felt him there, close to her center. “Blix, how can we manage? We’re atop a horse.”
He kept his gaze upon hers while his hands lifted her once again and settled her down upon him, impaling her with his long, hard length. “Place your boots on top of mine,” he whispered, his voice raw. “It will give you leverage. It appears you’ll be required to do most of the work. I hope you don’t mind?”
“Hard work . . . is its own reward.” She followed his instruction, intrigued by the headiness of their distance from the ground, with the movement of the mare beneath them as she grazed, unconcerned by what took place upon her back. He kept his hands about her waist as she began to move, pushing up, then relaxing back onto him. Their positions lent a delicious feel to their joining, his solid, hot shaft sliding against her most exquisitely sensitive spot with every move of her body.
He kissed her again and she slowed a bit, drinking him in, enticed by the look in his eyes. She couldn’t be certain, but she thought he was somehow different, less lighthearted than he’d been yesterday, much more intensely determined to take her. As if he were driven to it. Perhaps he was. She couldn’t deny an answering need, as if everything depended on their coupling, immediately.
One of the horses whinnied and she glanced aside.
Pendragon was covering Grendel, yet again, this time turned in such a way to afford a clear view of his mighty, stiffened penis as he stroked the mare and sought release of his seed.
Jane refocused on Blixford, noting he had not looked again, but was watching her from beneath lids heavy with deliberate desire.
“You’re increasingly very tight round me, Jane. I fear your voyeuristic arousal may be my undoing. Please . . . don’t delay.”
“Do you mean to say—”
“Jane, please.”
She rocked her body, moving her hips rhythmically, never taking her gaze from his. Slowly, surely, she built her desire until she exploded with deep pleasure, her head falling back and a sharp cry bursting from her throat. While her body reverberated with the after-effects of her release, she returned her gaze to his and was astonished by his expression. He looked at her as though he thought her simply wonderful. Suddenly, his shaft jumped within her, crowding her womb, and she immediately felt the warmth of him, saw his eyes close before he slumped forward to rest his chin upon her shoulder. “Good God, Jane, you must think me mad to take you atop a horse in an open pasture.” He paused. “Only think of the danger if this mare bolted. Perhaps I am mad.”
“Nonsense, Blixford. We are merely responding to nature. It’s your nature to pursue me, and it’s my nature to find the sight of horses coupling somewhat exciting, although I have to confess I never thought so before today. You may have ruined me to breeding horses, because it will surely be disruptive and inconvenient if I become aroused every time I see a stallion cover a mare. I hope I don’t respond in this way with sheep. Doubtful, I’d think, because really, sheep are less than elegant creatures. Horses, on the other hand, are truly lovely and graceful.”
He raised up and slid his arms about her, holding her close to his breast. “Ah, Jane, ever sensible. I’ve not shocked you then?”
“Not at all, for surely you comprehend I enjoyed it as much as you?”
“I gathered that, yes.” He sat up and nudged the mare close to the gelding before he lifted Jane and replaced her in the saddle. While she gathered the reins and adjusted her skirts, he fastened his breeches. “I’m starving. We’ll have our run and return to the house for breakfast. Afterward, we’ll visit Crofton and he’ll give us an update on his progress.”
She trotted along beside him to the farthest north end of the pasture where they passed through another gate and out onto a narrow lane. He pointed to the east. “That way lies the road to the village. Perhaps one day this week we’ll go there for luncheon and visit some of the shops.”
“I’d like that.”
He pointed to the west. “This direction leads to the lane we traveled yesterday. It’s a nice distance for a run, I believe.” He glanced at her. “I’d prefer to forego a race this time, and merely enjoy a run, if that’s acceptable to you.”
She grinned at him and allowed the gelding to prance a bit. “Admit it, Blix, you’re determined to remain the victor as long as possible.”
His superior look and raised brow were all the answer she needed.
“Very well, we’ll wait for Grendel and Pendragon to end their courtship and come back to us before we race again.”
“Have you considered she might not be so anxious to beat him next time out?”
“On the contrary, after he’s bested her in yon pasture numerous times, I imagine she’ll be ready to trounce him soundly.”
Blixford moved closer. “Is this how you see it, Jane? Are we males merely besting females when we convince them to lay with us?”
“What a novel thought. It bears considering. Generally, females are not forthcoming of their own volition, but insist they be wooed. It’s his instinct to impregnate her, and her instinct to seek superior seed, which would belong to the male best able to win her, whether through fighting other males, sheer persistence, or in the case of humans, the man she most admires. Once won, she then expects to be coaxed and wooed into submission. Because he is driven to it, he does whatever is necessary to have her. What do you think?”
His brows raised slightly. “I think I never before realized how much I hold in common with a horse.” His eyes traveled the length of her before returning to her face. “’Tis true, it would seem, that I’m driven to have you, Jane. It’s not my nature to be this amorous, but I find myself wanting you constantly.”
“Whatever do you mean, it’s not your nature? You’ve been misled, sir, for at your core you are a deeply sensual and passionate man. One need only watch you eat to ascertain the truth to it.”
“I beg your pardon? How have we gone from sexual instincts to dining?”
“You carefully avoid certain foods, I suspect because the texture is not pleasing to your tongue. I noticed you bypassed Cook’s yams and focused upon the steak and trifle. Every bite you take is enjoyed and relished, much as every sip of wine is fully appreciated.” She settled the gelding and came up beside him. “While I lay between sleep and awake, I’m aware of you there, stroking my skin, unconsciously, because you enjoy the feel of it against the tips of your fingers. As to carnal instinct, perhaps you’ve never encountered your equal and this is why you assume yourself only prone to amorous urges when climbing into bed with a willing female. I am not merely willing, but enthusiastic. As I said, I find you fascinating.”
“Am I not required to woo and coax you then?”
She laughed. “Of course you are, and do so, quite well, obviously. Only consider my anxiety, less than four and twenty hours ago, and now I have just made love to you atop a horse.” She eyed him appreciatively. He really was quite handsome, Roman nose and all. “You are remarkable, Blixford, though you seem unaware.”
His smile was wry. “I suspect you’ve a skewed opinion of me, Jane. For whatever reason, you see only my finer qualities
, while blind to my lesser ones.”
“Oh, pish! What lesser qualities? Granted, you’re judgmental, crotchety at times, haughty, arrogant, and determined to keep others at a distance, but so what? Who among us isn’t attached to less than sterling characteristics? To my mind, it’s the man whose excellent qualities far outweigh the others that is worthy of my admiration. You are patient, kind hearted, exceedingly handsome, masculine and fearless, and tremendously loyal. You’re also very adept at kissing.”
“Crotchety? Am I?”
“Definitely. Although to be fair, I believe it’s a condition pervasive amongst males. When they are tired or hungry, they become crotchety. Feed them, give them a rest, and they’re back to their jolly selves again.”
That earned a laugh. “I begin to see the benefits of marrying a woman with six brothers. You’re astute in the ways of males.”
“Very much so.” She pointed toward the lane. “Shall we proceed, Blixford? I’m fair starving as well, and before long, I may be the one who becomes crotchety.”
“Lead on, Duchess. Evidently, I’m compelled to follow, much like poor, besotted Pendragon. Male power is all an illusion, for it must surely be females who hold the trump card.”
“Do you see? This is what I adore about you, Blixford. You realize your weaknesses and play them to your favor. What an intelligent man you are!” With that, she urged the gelding into a canter, and after a short while, nudged him into a run.
Chapter 11
She adored him.
Well.
That was intriguing, was it not? Unlikely and unexpected, but intriguing all the same.
Oh, he was not prone to humility, and was, undoubtedly, grievously arrogant. He was a duke, lower in rank only to a royal, the last of an ancient line of illustrious ancestral dukes. He was well read, well educated, and capable of reviving a bankrupt, failing ducal title into four thriving estates and a London townhouse equipped with all modern conveniences. His manners and tastes were impeccable, he was well respected in the political arena, and he was an excellent horseman and hunter.
Nevertheless, he was well aware of his shortcomings, some of them insurmountable and wholly unpleasant. Unlovable. He couldn’t forget his first three wives. They didn’t adore him. They feared him in the beginning, were intimidated by him in the end. Even Annabel, whom he’d held in great regard and mild affection, had never looked at him in even the smallest manner of adoration. She came to respect him and they enjoyed a friendly marriage, but she’d no doubt thought him cold, arrogant, and tiresomely proper.
Sometimes he really was a stick.
Except when in a pasture with his last duchess, observing the mating rituals of horses. Great God, he’d dragged her off her mount to make love to her right there in his saddle. Any number of men might have happened by, but he’d not thought of anything but her, of her soft, hot center, convinced he’d lose his mind if he didn’t take her, right then. Immediately.
Any of his first three brides would have expired in a faint. Upon revival, they’d have called him a horrid animal. A beast of no fine sensibilities. They’d be correct.
Jane thought he was remarkable. Fascinating. Deeply passionate and sensual.
Michael admitted his response to her was much like a trained hound who responds to pocket treats and his master’s praise. He’d never been lauded and hailed remarkable by anyone, least of all a woman. The cynic in him wanted to pass it off as her attempt to smooth the way for a trouble-free marriage, to stroke and pet him until he became malleable to whatever she wanted.
He couldn’t believe that. If Jane wanted something, she would never resort to manipulation to get it. She would stand up, demand it, and if given no adequate reason why she might not have it, she would go and get it anyway. Whether it was refusal to marry an arrogant, cruel duke, or provide for a cast off mistress and her bastard child, Jane would have her way.
Possibly her best characteristic was her blunt, unapologetic honesty. In one moment, she might rip him up for implying she would bear him children because of duty, and extol his intelligence the next, but she was never anything but sincere. He rather thought he’d know instantly if she lied, or attempted to bamboozle him. Her gaze would not be so direct and bold.
He enjoyed their run, as he enjoyed breakfast and her ability to eat heartily without false feminine apology, but what truly made the morning excellent was her response to his crossbreds. She and Crofton hit it off immediately, falling into an easy conversation about the ins and outs of sheep breeding that would fly over most heads. He himself occasionally had a difficult time following them. Jane waved her hands about, scowled severely at times, appeared deep in concentration at others. Overriding everything, however, was her sheer delight in his program. She would glance at Michael every so often and grin cheekily, conveying her happiness. At one point, she said enthusiastically, “Isn’t this amazing? You are sure to be famous, Blixford, along with Mr. Crofton. Not to mention, rich beyond all imagination. When you finally take the crossbreds to market, oh, my, they will fetch a fortune. You’ll be the envy of every sheep farmer in England and Scotland. In all the world.”
He eventually dragged her away, enabling Crofton to get back to his work, promising she could return in the morning. He took her back to the house, then left to visit his tenants, but he’d gone only half the distance to the first of them when he turned about and went back, remembering he’d promised to show her the fields.
She was working up an inventory of the household with Hester, but seemed happy to accompany him. In fact, she thanked him a number of times, and exclaimed over the excellent state of the farms, of his obvious talent for management, and made comment of the tenants’ open admiration of him. She noticed every detail, from the state of the tenants’ cottages, all repaired, clean and sturdy, to the neat and orderly implement barn. He was astonished at her knowledge and answered her questions much as he would had they been asked by the steward, Mr. Pottinger. He had to remind himself she was his wife, that it was odd in the extreme, her interest and comprehension. She even made a few suggestions he found helpful.
At the end of rounds, which didn’t take more than the remainder of the morning because Beckinsale House was a very small estate, they took a picnic into the wilderness and walked almost an hour before he led her to the place he liked to imagine no one else knew of. It was not a stretch to believe, particularly because getting there required winding through a narrow, scarcely visible trail, cut between the encroaching vegetation. Eventually, they reached a tiny clearing, no larger than their bedchamber, enclosed completely by towering trees and thick undergrowth, its singular feature a huge boulder, hollowed out along one side, providing the illusion of a cave.
As he’d expected, Jane was enchanted. She spread their blanket beneath the boulder’s overhang and they ate their lunch with great relish, the long walk having built strong appetites. Afterward, he removed her clothing, released her hair from its long braid, and made slow, deliberate love to her with an audience of chirping birds. They slept a bit, then packed up the picnic and made their way to the lake. She was, of course, an apt pupil at rowing, laughing at her first, awkward attempts, then fiercely concentrating until she realized it was unnecessary to move half the lake with each stroke of her oars. Eventually, she gave over and declared her arms quite tired. He had removed his hat, coat and shirt, and she stared at him as he rowed, declaring him positively beautiful, there in the spring sunshine, his muscled arms shown to tremendous advantage. He set the oars, hauled her close and kissed her madly. They drifted for a while, until the sun was low in the west.
He docked the boat and they slowly made their way home.
They declined to dress for dinner and dined at one end of the table, well aware Clive was shocked, despite his jovial manner.
Bathing was equally as enjoyable as it had been the day before, as was bedtime. He moved down her body and took her with his mouth, almost laughing when she exclaimed, “You wicked man!” and then,
“Don’t stop!”
It was not until they were wrapped up together and drifting off to sleep that he remembered his plan to have her removed to another bedroom. But he was tired after an energetic day and resolved to do so on the morrow. He kissed her forehead and went to sleep.
The following days fell into a similar pattern, a comfortable routine of early morning runs, estate business after breakfast, long walks and leisurely boating in the afternoons, and in between, at random moments, they made love to each other. It was always the same, yet always different. Sometimes they went at it very slowly, drawing their lovemaking out into a long, languorous, immensely gratifying experience. Other times, it didn’t seem they could come together quickly enough, occasionally tearing garments in their haste to couple. Every night, after they turned in, he introduced her to something different and she slowly became attuned to him, as he was to her. He couldn’t shock her, it seemed. Jane was like a child in some ways, always game for a new experience and additional knowledge of an activity she enjoyed. And there was no doubt Jane enjoyed lovemaking a great deal. One thing remained constant, and that was their mutual satisfaction. She never failed to respond, never came away dissatisfied and unfulfilled. As for himself, he couldn’t appease his need for her, his mind constantly entertaining possibilities, his imagination filled with her.
Every night, with her in his bed, their arms and legs tangled together as they fell asleep, he remembered he’d intended to have her removed from his room. And every night, he was too tired to worry about it.
On Friday, he took her into the village and they lunched at the Honking Goose, after which they stopped in some of the shops and she purchased a few baubles, along with gifts for her father and brothers. She purchased an embroidered handkerchief for Lucy and a set of knitted baby boots for Miriam. He suspected her purchases were more in the vein of supporting the local villagers than any true interest in shopping. Everything was done in a bit of a rush, her impatience evident to him by the tapping of her boot, although she was warm and courteous to everyone. She held herself as a duchess ought, with just the right combination of kindness and aristocratic demeanor. He remembered worrying she would embarrass him and was ashamed to have thought it. Jane was magnificent.
The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series) Page 22