by Olivia Drake
When had he come to be so important to her?
A hopeless longing enveloped her as she watched him move through the gloomy bedchamber. He took the candle from the table and touched the flame to a branch of tapers. Then he picked up the poker and stirred the dying embers on the hearth, adding more coals from the hob until a cheery blaze danced in the fireplace.
Hugging Minx, Blythe wished instead to feel James’s arms surrounding her. As much as she liked the dog, she felt a great need for human warmth—his warmth. James was everything she admired in a man—kind, witty, strong, honorable, courageous. And he made her laugh, though she didn’t feel much like laughing at the moment.
But the vast gulf of rank separated them. A footman and a lady. It simply could never be. Still, she would rather have James here with her than any high-born gentleman.
He replaced the poker and turned to face Blythe. “I took her out to the garden just now,” he said, nodding at Minx. “So she ought to be good for the night.”
“Oh … thank you. She can sleep here with me.”
“Lucky dog.”
James’s devilish gaze shifted to the bed, then back to her. The half-smile on his lips caused a pulse of heat inside Blythe. She had spoken without thinking, but now she imagined the two of them lying together under the covers, kissing and touching.…
To hide her hunger, she walked away to make a nest out of a spare blanket at the foot of the bed. She placed Minx there, and the pup turned around several times, then plopped down with a contented sigh, resting her chin on her paws.
“What breed do you suppose she is?” Blythe asked.
James came to stand beside her. His faint scent drifted to her, something exciting and spicy combined with the freshness of the outdoors. “Part spaniel, from the long ears. But her small size and coloring would suggest a terrier of some sort.”
“I’d have to concur.” Blythe continued to idly pet the dog as she glanced at him. “That’s two you’ve given me, all in one day.”
“Two?”
“My new pets, Minx and Princess Amora,” she said, nodding at the finch’s cage, now covered for the night. “My sisters and I always kept animals in India, but we weren’t allowed here in England. Mama said we were too old for childish pursuits.”
Blythe knew she was chattering to keep things light. Or perhaps because she didn’t know quite how to broach the topic on her mind. How would James react to the news? Would he be displeased or indifferent? What would he advise her to do?
“It’s hardly childish to keep a pet,” he said. “I’m sure your mother merely wanted you to concentrate on catching a noble husband.”
His blunt statement hit at the heart of Blythe’s dilemma. For many months she had looked forward with great anticipation to the future. While shopping for her wardrobe and practicing her dance steps, she’d been eager to be courted by the cream of London society. But now, because of what she’d heard tonight, a plague of doubts had infected her.
James studied her a moment. Then he reached for her hand and led her to a chaise by the fire. “Sit,” he commanded. “You look as though you’re about to swoon.”
Blythe wilted onto the edge of the cushion. She stared down at her laced fingers in her lap. She wanted to talk—yet she didn’t.
He gently tipped up her chin. “You had better tell me what’s disturbing you. Did something happen at the party?”
She nodded slowly. Would James understand her quandary? She herself hardly understood the seismic shift in her emotions.
“It was a bit of gossip I overheard,” she said. “During one of the interludes between the dance sets, there was a group of ladies whispering. They were saying that the Duke of Savoy has crushing debts from gambling.”
A stillness came over James’s face. His expression turned hard and cold. “I should have known,” he said flatly. “At the card party, I noticed he had the look of a devoted gamester.”
“How so?”
“It was the way he handled the cards, the avid expression on his face. And his inability to pay heed even to a beautiful woman like you sitting beside him. It reminded me of my father.”
Blythe stared at James in confusion. “Your father was a gambler? But … you never told me he was a gentleman.”
James lowered his lashes slightly, lending mystery to his dark eyes. “It isn’t only the haute ton who make wagers. The common class are quite fond of squandering their coin, as well. The coachmen and footmen were playing dice tonight on the street, though I didn’t join them.”
The disdain in his voice told her more than words ever could. He loathed gambling because he had seen for himself the destruction it could wreak. “What happened to him—your father?”
“He lost everything and he drank to forget the troubles he’d brought on himself. He died facedown in a ditch when I was sixteen.”
With her emotions already raw, the story put her on the verge of tears. Here she was, wrapped up in her own troubles, without a care for his. How had she never thought to ask James more about his past?
She cupped his cheek in her palm. “I’m so very sorry. What of your mother?”
“I never knew her. She died when I was very young.” James took her hand from his face and rubbed his thumb over the back. “But never mind me. We were speaking of you. It’s now becoming clear why Savoy seemed a bit more attentive toward you during the ride in Hyde Park.”
“Yes,” Blythe said, vowing to learn more about James at another time when she didn’t face such a pressing problem herself. “Apparently, the duke is drawn to the considerable size of my dowry.”
“As you are drawn to his title.”
She blushed to hear it stated so frankly. But he couldn’t know she had naïvely assumed the duke would fall in love with her if only she tried hard enough. She had hoped for affection and warmth from a man who cared only about gambling. “It’s true, ever since we came to England, I’ve dreamed of becoming a premier hostess of the ton. But it wasn’t just for myself. I also hoped to improve my parents’ standing in society.”
His mouth tightened. “Is it not enough that your sisters have married a viscount and an earl?”
“A duke is the highest-ranked peer. For me to wed His Grace would be the pinnacle of success for Mama and Papa. No one would ever again dare to malign them for being commoners.”
“Yet I must wonder. Is this marriage really your ambition—or that of your parents?”
Blythe was taken aback by the question. Had she fallen into doing their wishes? Yes, she had wanted to please her father, who seldom asked anything of her. But she could not hold her parents entirely to blame, either. She herself had wished to make a grand alliance, to have the wedding of the season. At least until she’d met James. Now, a lavish life at the apex of society seemed shallow and empty, devoid of love.
“It was my ambition,” she stated, unwilling to malign her parents in his eyes. “Yet … I never imagined marrying a lord who only wants my money to pay off his gaming debts. I-I had always assumed the duke was an honorable, upright man like Papa.”
Of course, there had been that little incident when she’d noticed Savoy and his daughter sending secret signals to each other at the card party. At the time, his cheating had not seemed terribly significant to Blythe, since it had only been a casual game among friends. But now she saw it as a serious character flaw.
James sat in rigid silence for a moment. His face appeared set in stone, and she had the odd impression of dark emotions roiling in him. “It would be a mistake to bind yourself to a gambler. You had better think long and hard about what your life with him would be like.”
Fraught with tension, she plucked at the skirt of her dressing gown. “I haven’t told you everything, James. On the ride home tonight, Papa said that the duke had spoken to him. His Grace has requested an interview with him tomorrow afternoon. And Papa has granted it.”
“Tomorrow!” James shot to his feet. He removed his wig and tossed it onto a chair, th
en ran his fingers through his dark hair. In obvious agitation, he walked back and forth in front of the fireplace before swinging to face her. “So. Savoy will ask for your hand in marriage. You don’t suppose his daughter will try to stop him?”
Blythe shook her head. “I should have mentioned … Lady Davina was in the group of women I overheard. She said … that it appeared her father would have to marry the rich heiress, after all.”
That rich guttersnipe had been Davina’s actual words, though Blythe didn’t want to repeat the phrase. Name-calling said more about the speaker than the subject. She knew that, yet she had been humiliated nonetheless.
“You’ve attained your heart’s desire, then,” James said, fixing her with an intent stare. “You will not be needing me to play Prince Nicolai any longer.”
Her heart lurched. She could not imagine her life without the excitement of planning their next adventure together. Panic nipped at the edge of her composure, and she took a shaky breath to steady herself. “Oh, James, it’s all happening much too quickly. I don’t feel prepared to make any decision.”
It was every lady’s dream to marry a man as grand and important as a duke. When had her own aspirations changed?
Perhaps when she had first succumbed to her feelings and kissed James. Or perhaps when he’d donned the garb of Prince Nicolai and related that charming fairy tale. Or maybe when he had plunged into the gang of ruffians and rescued Minx for her.
James sat down beside Blythe again, so close their legs were pressed together. Taking her hand in his, he stroked his thumb over her palm. His dark gaze held her mesmerized. “Blythe, I can no longer keep silent. I must confess how very dear you’ve become to me. Dare I hope that your indecision might stem from your own feelings for me?”
A pulse of happiness melted her insides. She closed her eyes a moment, the better to savor it. Looking at him again, she cradled his cheek in her hand. “Yes. Oh, yes, James, I do have feelings for you. Very much so.”
Something akin to triumph glittered in his eyes. He lightly ran his finger over her lips. “Then perhaps you should follow your heart.”
His mouth came down on hers in a deep, searching kiss. A glorious sense of homecoming filled her as she slid her arms around him, pressing herself to the muscled wall of his chest. He clasped her tightly, as if he never wanted to let her go. The kiss went on and on, interspersed with caresses and murmurs, gradually becoming tinged with a kind of delicious desperation.
She could not get enough of him, the taste of his mouth, the roughness of his skin, the silkiness of his hair. Nothing existed but the two of them, enclosed in candlelit darkness. She’d had no idea that so much pleasure could come from the weight of his hands sliding over her body. He turned his attention to her bosom, where he cupped her breasts over the dressing gown.
“I want to see you, Blythe,” he murmured, his fingers moving down to the fastening of the garment. “Will you allow me?”
The notion of disrobing for him held a wicked allure. Her throat taut, she nodded.
He untied her belt, and she shrugged the loose gown off her shoulders so that it fell into a pool at her waist. As he gazed at her exposed breasts, she suffered a twinge of embarrassment and buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her wanton behavior had gone far beyond that of any decent young lady.
He tipped up her chin. “You are so very beautiful. There’s no need to feel shame, not with me. We were meant to be together like this.”
“I want to believe that. So very much.”
“Then do.”
Their lips joined in another soul-stirring kiss. His hands were on her bare skin, lightly kneading her, doing enthralling things to the tips of her breasts. A flush of excitement spread throughout her body, making her tingle all over. “Mm,” she sighed against his mouth, “I do love this.”
He awarded her a slightly strained smile. There was a heaviness to his breathing, as if he fought to control himself. “If ever I displease you, just say so. You have my word that I shall stop.”
“Oh, James, if you stop I’ll be most unhappy.”
Holding his face in her palms, she kissed him with renewed fervor while he continued to caress her. He slid his hands down inside the waist of her nightdress to clasp her bare bottom. Yet she hungered to be flesh to flesh with him. Unsteady with passion, she unbuttoned his coat and pushed it off his shoulders. He grasped his shirt at the hem and dragged it off over his head. The action caused a rippling of the muscles in his arms, and she marveled at the sight of him, the candlelight flickering on the broad expanse of his chest.
When he shifted his mouth to her throat, she arched her neck in unfettered enjoyment. He kissed a path downward to take the peak of her breast into his mouth. The pulse inside her became an insistent throbbing, and she moved against him in an effort to assuage it.
“Please,” she whispered.
He seemed to know precisely what she wanted, for he peeled away her nightdress, letting it slither to the floor. It felt natural for her to be naked in his arms, with him clad in only his breeches. Surely, as he’d said, they were destined to be together. James was truly a prince among men. Her prince.
The hush of night somehow enhanced their delight in each other. They inhabited their own private place of pleasure away from the rest of the world. His explorations became bolder and her entire being focused on the progress of his hand sliding up her bare thigh.
Abruptly he paused. His eyes glittered in the semidarkness. “I intend to make love to you, Blythe. Right here and now. If you’ve any objections, you had better say so at once.”
“I want this. I want you.”
Kissing his chest, Blythe needed no time to ponder. If nothing else, she would have this one night. She must not fool herself into believing James would ask her to marry him. For all she knew, he might not even want a wife. Seduction might be his sole purpose.
Her heart ached at the thought. And yet she felt no hesitation in giving herself to him. Beyond this moment in time, nothing held any significance. The future could wait until tomorrow.
He kissed her softly, his tongue entering her mouth. All the while, his fingers made teasing circles along her inner thighs. Then at last he was touching her there, in the spot that ached so exquisitely.
Blythe quivered from an onslaught of reckless pleasure. Acting on pure instinct, she parted her legs to allow him full access. Her breath came light and fast while he continued those maddening, swirling strokes. She felt like warm wax in his hands, ready to be shaped according to his will.
So this was the beauty of lovemaking. No wonder her sisters had been so concerned that she choose her husband wisely. In truth, she could not imagine allowing any other man to touch her so intimately.
James pressed her back against the pillows of the chaise. At the same time, he tore at the fastening of his breeches, shoved them down, and kicked free of the binding fabric. As he settled over her, the heated length of him lay against her thigh and a shiver of anticipation rippled through her.
James lifted his head slightly. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark in the shadows. “Afraid?”
She shook her head. “In India, there are shrines where women worship a stone statue of the lingam.” Reaching down, she glided her fingertips over him, marveling at the splendor of him. “For the first time I understand why.”
He was hot and hard, yet more silken than she’d imagined. Not that her girlish fantasies of him had ever ventured this far. Heavens, she just had not known.
He made a sound halfway between a groan and a chuckle. “That feels far too good,” he said, drawing her hand away. “I want this to last.”
So did Blythe. Had she the power to command the moon and stars, this night would go on forever. As they kissed and caressed, she reveled in their closeness. His fingers plied her again, arousing a beautiful torment inside her, making her pant and sigh with need.
When she thought she could bear no more, James pressed into her. A brief pain made her catch he
r breath; then she exhaled slowly, closing her eyes to savor the wonder of their joined bodies. When she looked at him again, she found him watching her with a dark intensity.
“You’re mine now,” he muttered. “Mine. Never forget that.”
Nothing in her life had prepared her for the sensation of him deeply embedded in her. They were truly one. An immense well of emotion overflowed in her, and she brushed her lips over his. “Oh, James. I love you so much.”
For an instant, he looked almost startled, then he bent his head to kiss her. He moved within her, commencing a deep and steady rhythm that thoroughly distracted her from any coherent thought. All the while, he stroked her breasts and caressed her elsewhere, murmuring sweet endearments.
Her head tipped back against the cushions of the chaise. She moaned, clutching at him as he quickened the pace. His body felt hot and slick with sweat, and she reveled in his strength. Her breath came in labored gasps until at last the tightly coiled tension in her broke in convulsive waves of pure bliss unlike anything she had ever known.
As she lay amazed and replete, James thrust ever more deeply into her. He uttered a harsh cry of rapture, and then the weight of his body settled on top of her, his breathing gradually slowing.
They lay for timeless moments entwined in idyllic exhaustion. As rational thought returned, Blythe realized with a pang that he had not returned her declaration of love. Had she chosen the wrong moment? No, chosen was the wrong word. The sentiment had poured from her heart without forethought. But perhaps James had been too caught up in physical enjoyment to voice his own feelings.
He raised himself slightly to gaze down at her. With a tender touch, he brushed back a strand of her hair and then ran his fingertip over her damp lips. “What a gift you’ve given me,” he said. “I’ve little to offer you in return.”
“The gift was mutually shared. I’ve no need for anything else.”
He picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles, while looking intently at her. “Will you allow me to give you the honor of my name? Will you marry me, Blythe, even though I’m merely a footman? Will you be my wife?”