by Lisa Torquay
He stood up, hands propped on the desk. “To the devil with suitable!”
She placed her hands on the desk too. “You cannot postpone it forever!”
“I can and I will!” Damn, but it was difficult to stand up to her when he wanted her so uncontrollably
“In that case, I exhort you to fulfil your duties as a duke.” Their gazes clashed firm and stubborn.
“You have no place exhorting me to anything. I am the duke!” His tone came huskier than it should.
“But I do! I am your step-aunt and the dowager duchess.”
What answer could he have for that? Put that way, it seemed perfectly sensible. He didn’t feel sensible though. Not in the least. “I don’t care what you think.” He said instead.
At that, her spine straightened ramrod, her chin lifted higher. “Alright, then. I will accept Lord Cunningham’s eventual proposal, so that you’ll have no excuse to forgo your duties!”
A cannon ball exploded in his guts. He surrounded the desk and posted himself five inches from her. “You will marry no one!” His silky voice low and full of command. “You are mine!”
Her eyes dilated, her breath caught and a telling flush invaded her flawless face. “I am not!”
They stared long at each other, iron wills. “No?” His arm laced her by her slender waist. “This is not what your body tells me every night!” His mouth ravened hers.
She resisted, or tried to. She kept her lips locked, her hand on his broad chest to repel him. He didn’t give up though. Softening his grip, his tongue begged for entrance, licking, caressing, probing. His other hand circled the nape of her neck, keeping her close. He felt her faltering, but she didn’t give in. The fire in his blood intensified. His teeth started nibbling her lush lips, tempting, persuading, entrapping. The flames became unbearable bringing him to a painfully hard erection. At his insistence, she moaned and opened for him. He plundered her with a hunger enhanced by this seduction. Their mouths devoured each other as if the night hadn’t been enough. It’d never be.
Her hands dived in his sleek dark hair, as she leaned all her body on his. He was the one who moaned then. He sat her on the desk, stood between her legs, and leaned closer until his straining erection met her femininity through the bunched dress. Her legs closed at his waist in the same moment he tugged at her neckline, baring her delectable breasts. His mouth caught one as he lay her on the desk.
Both incandesced with uncontrolled desire, they embraced one another voraciously, bodies fervent, impatient. Discussion forgotten. It didn’t matter the broad daylight; it didn’t matter the study door could be opened at any time; it didn’t matter their clandestine liaison. Their desire mattered. Their craving mattered. The relief from that agony mattered. This urgency took them by assault, they found themselves helpless, at passion’s mercy. They never realised how much their hearts and souls went with their bodies. This whole insane thing was not only about desire, it engulfed all they were as well.
His breeches almost burst with his want. When his fingers touched her centre, they found her wet, swollen, ready. Fumbling, he unbuttoned himself and tore her drawers. She pulled him with her legs, making their bodies join in a ravishing slide, full of pleasure and yearning. He had to try to delay his voracity or he’d make a fool of himself. So he took her breast in his mouth. Her body arched and she responded with such frenzy he almost got unmanned. They moved seeking, gasping, clinging. She exploded, squeezing him, sobbing. He moved once or twice, coming sinfully undone, emptying himself until he had nothing left. His head fell on her neck, panting. She held him with all her body, uneven breath.
This could not go on, Selene thought as she clung to Philip and him to her. The least interaction ignited them helplessly. If they quarrelled, they aroused each other. Being in the same room didn’t help either. During the night they held each other so tightly, never to let go. A need that gnawed and renewed itself endlessly. She could not get enough of him, it seemed. She felt like she had been caught in a sea storm and rolled underwater, trying to surface and get some air. She didn’t know how to voice her misgivings though. Inexperienced with men or such…entanglements, she found herself at a loss what to do.
She stirred, making Philip raise to look at her. Still joined, their bodies resisted separating. “I need to recompose.” She blurted. “Anyone could come in.”
He continued looking at her, an enigmatic expression in his remarkable clove eyes. Finally, he planted a kiss on her upturned nose and helped her to the floor. The movement led their bodies to separate, making her feel cold and lost. Strands of loose hair fell on her face and she pulled it back with a tense movement. His stare followed her every move attentive. It fell on her uncovered breasts, lingering. Hastily, she covered them, not without noticing the effect it had on his still exposed manhood. Embarrassed, she looked the other way, feeling hot all over again.
He noticed, naturally. “Maybe we should continue this delicious…afternoon in my bed.”
Didn’t the man have any sense of shame in him? She wondered, as reaction to his suggestion coursed her body.
“It’s broad daylight, Philip. What were we thinking?” She smoothed her skirts.
He chuckled so sensuously, she nearly lost her mind. Again. “We weren’t thinking that much, were we now.”
“That’s the problem.” She made a futile attempt to put her mass of hair in a decent order. “It’s necessary to put some distance between us.”
“Never.” Silky and calm. He knew she wasn’t capable of doing it. Not when he looked at her so brazenly. “We tried, remember? We didn’t get very far.”
She’d have to take all the pins from her hair to do it anew. It tumbled around her shoulders. His gaze took it all. “It’s imperative we make an effort.” She leaned on the desk.
His hand went to her rich brown hair. He rolled it delicately around his hand, bringing it to his nose to smell it. His eyes closed with pleasure. He still hadn’t straightened himself. Now he showed an undeniable…state.
“Would you please recompose yourself?” She closed her eyes tight, so as not to be tempted.
“Perhaps you’d like to help me in the process.” He had a sizzling naughty look in his face.
A wave of heat cut through her womb. Was the blasted man insatiable? “Oh for pity’s sake!” She took hold of her hair.
He leaned on her, his manhood resting on her belly. “I don’t know what it is with you.” His hand cupped her chin. “I can’t seem to have enough.”
She finished rearranging her hair, his heavy hot flesh on her belly enticing her to unbearable levels. “I-I have to go.”
“You won’t help me then.” Cynically, his hand grazed down her neck, causing her skin to prickle.
“Regrettably not.” And left before she acted on her regrets.
A few days later, Jenkins came to Selene bearing a tray with a card on it. Lady Pendleton and Lady Emily. Now this looked like a marriage mart strategy, Selene thought uncharitably. She couldn’t say she placed herself against such things. She exhorted the blasted man not a week ago. She told the butler to take them to the pink drawing room and arrange for tea.
Selene checked her appearance on the hall mirror and headed to the pink room. A certain feeling of awkwardness underlined her way. She didn’t exactly feel guilty about the way she…spent her nights. She didn’t have a husband anymore, no betrothed, or beau for all that mattered. She regarded herself as a free woman in possession of her decisions. Despite the fact that Philip had duties to the dukedom, he had no strings as well. They weren’t doing anything really wrong. She couldn’t bring herself to think that. Society would regard it as such, though. A widow and her deceased husband’s nephew living in what they’d call sin. It wouldn’t count she had been forced to marry; it wouldn’t count that she’d been sacrificed in favour of her brother; it wouldn’t count that her life had gone to waste. Her feelings, her situation, her dilemma would receive no compassion. If ever disclosed, she’d be the weake
r side and would lose all.
Plastering an uncomfortable smile on her face, she opened the door and prepared to receive her unexpected visitors. Lady Pendleton dressed a fussy dress that only emphasised her matron appearance. Lady Emily seemed little more than a mouse in a creamy muslin dress, bonny, timid and unremarkable. Both ladies stood as she entered. There could be no doubt Lady Pendleton had come to pry. After Lady Cunningham’s visit, she knew the ton would be speculating. As the dowager duchess, she had the right to live in that house. She could do nothing about the fact that her step-nephew happened to be as young and unmarried as she herself. A tight situation to be sure. Add to it their torrid liaison, secrets in the make.
“Lady Pendleton, what a charming surprise!” She held the older lady’s hand. “And you, Lady Emily, so fresh and young!” She held the girl’s hand too.
“Your Grace, you do us such an honour receiving us.” Lady Pendleton replied.
“I must say I feel honoured, my lady.” Selene replied appropriately. “Please, do sit down.”
They all sat in the luxurious settees. Lady Emily looked around as if hoping Philip would come in at any moment. Little chance of that.
“Is Lord Crompton doing fine, Your Grace?” The girl attempted a tad precipitately.
“He definitely is, Lady Emily.” Selene replied, a bland smile on her lips. “He’s in Parliament, as you must know.” A footman arrived with the tea. “The works are intense before Easter holidays, I hear.
“I told her that!” Came Lady Pendleton. “But she is so distracted these days!”
Perhaps Lady Emily thought herself in love with Philip, Selene conjectured. The girl looked at him starry-eyed each time they met. What if Selene had been in her place. Their age difference wasn’t big, a couple of years at most. Would she, Selene, fall in love with the duke if she’d been a well-born debutante? He’d certainly make an impression on her, she admitted. To tell the truth, he did make an impression on her on that long ago ball, when they first met. But Selene had to suppress that wave of feeling, as she hadn’t been a debutante anymore. She pitied the little mouse. Philip was not a man you fell in love with and remained uninjured. His mere disdain could break hearts. She felt happy she didn’t find herself in love with him. The discomfort in the bottom of her heart meant nothing at all.
The three of them continued chatting amenities as the footman served tea and scones.
“Do you intend to marry again, Your Grace?” There now, they’d come to the real purpose of the visit.
“Not in the near future, my lady.” She made a sip of tea pass her tightened throat. “I will naturally retire to the country, in case Lord Crompton decides to marry.” The most diplomatic reply she could muster.
“Oh, indeed.” The matron smiled openly, seeming satisfied. “You could organise house parties to bring society to you, no doubt.”
“No doubt, your ladyship.” She’d be licking her wounds, more like it.
The older lady nibbled her scone. “You have a wonderful cook, Your Grace. The scones are delicious.”
“Thank you so much, my lady.”
At that precise moment, Philip chose to come into the room. As he stepped in, Lady Emily’s eyes lit so brightly, her mousy countenance almost disappeared, giving place to an illuminated face.
“My ladies.” He greeted and bowed. The ladies curtsied.
Selene avoided his clove eyes like the plague. If they exchanged stares, she’d certainly give herself away. His presence caused her to stir and images of the night popped in her mind, making her blush. Lucky that both Pendletons had their attention on him.
“Oh, Your Grace,” Lady Pendleton purred. “It is a great delight to be in your presence, isn’t it, Emily?”
The girl blushed to an almost purple colour and nodded awkwardly, her lit mousy eyes would not divert from him, though.
“My ladies, if you don’t mind, I have to go and give some directions to cook.” She’d leave the stage for him. Maybe he’d realise how right Emily would be as a duchess. “I hope you don’t mind keeping company to the good ladies, Your Grace.” An intense anger dominated his eyes. She pretended not to notice and walked to the door. Leaving the drawing room would seem like she facilitated things for Emily. No one would be able to accuse her of standing in the way. She curtsied and left, not before noticing Lady Pendleton’s approval.
What the hell was the woman doing? Philip wondered hotly. Leaving him in the clasp of the matron and her insipid daughter! Throwing him at the debutante! He could not be discourteous, which made him sit there through one of the most boring tea of his life. He would strangle that pretty neck of hers! After kissing and nibbling it, naturally.
He kept the conversation mostly around the weather, making the ladies think he was the most boring man in England.
She had been gone for half an hour and he wondered how much more he would have to endure, when she reappeared, smiling blandly. Oh, but the blasted woman wouldn’t lose for waiting till tonight! He’d make sure of that!
“Your Grace, you’re requested in the study.” Finally! He thought. He smiled falsely at her, bowed to the ladies and left.
“What was that in the drawing room this afternoon?” Philip asked as he entered her room late that night.
She sat by the vanity, brushing her long brown hair, mesmerizing him. Her lady’s maid had been dismissed after helping her undress, as usual. She dressed her nightgown under her lacy robe.
She didn’t stop the combing. “The girl is infatuated with you.”
His brows pleated vexed. “What do I have to do with that?” He felt very little interested in feelings from debutantes fresh from the schoolroom.
“I thought to give her the opportunity to know you better.” She smoothed her rich brown hair, looking directly at him. The fire in the fireplace lit her tempting figure and cast a reddish light to her hair.
“You thought wrong!” His eyes strolled over her appreciatively.
He neared her, took the comb from her hand, placing it on the vanity. One of his arms went under her legs and the other to her back. He lifted, carried her to bed and pinned her to the fluffy mattress with his taut body. He separated her robe lapels, spreading open-mouthed kisses on her throat. She sighed, closing her eyes and arching her throat to give him more access.
“I’ll never marry the chit!” He nibbled her shoulder. “Forget it!”
That’s what she did as he threw her in the fires of passion, where coherent thoughts were foreigners.
Chapter 15
They’d received the invitation for another ball a few evenings later. The dowager Duchess of Winterton’s ball listed among the most important of this time of year and all the elite would be present. The ballroom glittered with hundreds of candles and well-dressed throngs of people.
Today, Selene decided to dare a little and dressed a Boudreaux coloured dress of a shade almost red, since half-mourning allowed for dark colours. The open neckline made her skin glow and brought out the rich brown of her hair. The strands had been piled up in curls and ringlets framed her delicate face.
As the doorman announced Selene and Philip, they entered and separated, each one going to greet their close friends. Selene headed to the line of chairs in the ballroom, where she’d certainly find hers. A man blocked her way. She lifted her eyes. Charles, her half-brother. What the darn? This wouldn’t be a place he’d be invited to. Their family mere gentry, not aristocracy.
“My dear sister.” He greeted, his breath exhaling alcohol.
“Charles.” She responded. “How did you get an invitation?”
He smiled wobbly. “I didn’t.” He caught her hand and bowed over it. “Travis invited me to come with him.”
Travis was one of his gambling friends. Heir to an Earldom, the mid-twenties nobleman could afford squandering his money.
“Fine.” She took back her hand. “Enjoy yourself.”
“That’s my intention, little sister.” A smug expression in his eyes.
Philip watched the exchange attentively from afar. The man spelt trouble and he’d keep an eye on Selene to make sure no harm came to her.
“Mayhap the speculations are not completely unfounded.” Darius beside him, commented, following Philip’s gaze.
Philip had lost notion of where he stood, his focus all on her. He had to be more careful with his comportment. “Her half-brother is here and he is bad news.”
“I never knew you to be so protective.” Darius turned to him and watched his reactions.
Nor did Philip, he thought bewildered. But he discovered a lot about himself where she was concerned. “She’s under my protection now, you know. It’s my duty.”
“Not a hard one, considering she’s one of the most beautiful women in the premises.” Darius wondered.
Philip turned his head and ogled his best friend in such a threatening, jealous way Darius’s expression became quizzical. “God, you’re in love with her!”
The observation fell like a meteor on Philip. In love? Him, the Duke of Crompton? “What nonsense are you about, Cumberbridge?” He called Darius by his Viscount name. He couldn’t be in love with the blasted woman! He just had this…rippling craving for her, just that!
“Well, if you are not in love with her, you’re very nearly falling for her, no doubt!” His friend said as the most obvious thing on earth.
“You’re the romantic here, Darius, not me.” Philip tried to divert the subject.
“Oh, I’d marry her happily!” His blonde, blue-eyed face with a dreamy smile.
Philip glared at him, shards darting from his clove eyes. About to punch his own friend, he fisted his hands in search of control. He couldn’t expose himself to scandal.
Darius’s smile faded. “You should see yourself now. The very possessive caveman!”
Philip tried to relax. “I am sorry.”