How to Dance With a Duke

by Manda Collins

  Propping his head up on his right arm, Lucas watched as she stretched as far as she could to reach under the door.

  “Almost there,” she said, biting her lip. “Almost there…”

  Lucas smiled in spite of the almost physical pain of being so close to her without being able to touch her. The look of concentration on her face was so intent. He thought she was more beautiful than he’d ever seen her.

  “Got it!” she cried, removing her hand from under the door.

  Scrambling to remove himself from his hovering position, Lucas was too late, and instead of being the one to step back, he found himself in the novel position of having a woman thrust herself into his arms as Cecily flipped over onto her back and moved into a sitting position within the circle of an awkward embrace.

  “Oh,” she said, the soft whisper of her exhalation touching his face like a caress.

  The key forgotten in the surge of desire that coursed through him, Lucas saw her eyes darken as her gaze dropped to his mouth. He snuffed the candle, leaned forward, and took her mouth in a searing and possessive kiss.

  * * *

  When Lucas kissed her, the lights went out.

  Or so it seemed to Cecily, who was overwhelmed by both. Though they had kissed before, there was an intensity to Lucas’s embrace now—due, perhaps, to the darkness—that both excited and frightened her. For all of her vaunted independence and defiance of her father, Cecily was ultimately rather sheltered. In the past fortnight she had experienced her first waltz and her first kiss with any sort of passion in it. And now she was to experience her first seduction. She did not intend to miss a moment of it.

  His mouth traveled from her lips to her ear, to an incredibly sensitive point just at the crook of her neck. The hot caress of his tongue there had her reflexively arching into him, her breath escaping in a moan of pleasure. On her knees, Cecily lifted herself higher, exposing the bare patch of skin just above her breastbone to his lips, her fingers impatiently working to unknot the cravat at her throat.

  “Easy,” Lucas murmured against her, the rumble of his deep voice reverberating through her. His busy hands worked to untuck her overlarge shirt, and caressed up her sides as he lifted it above her head, baring her upper body to his plundering mouth.

  Shielded from view by the darkness, Cecily reveled in the freedom it afforded her. No longer required to play the role of scholar or wallflower or debutante, she was here, in this room, with this man, simply a woman, with a woman’s need for a man’s caress.

  His strong hands grasped her by the hips even as his mouth sought and found the peak of her breast, sucking it to hardness as he settled her legs to straddle his lap. She felt the press of his erection against her most sensitive place, and instinctively rocked once, twice against him.

  Lucas muttered an oath against her as he lifted his mouth to hers again, his hands working the placket of her breeches even as hers fumbled with his. In one swift movement, he lifted her slightly and whisked them down to her knees and coaxed her knees upward to take them off entirely. While he was undoing her breeches, she had been undoing his. He bit back a tortured groan as he felt her tentative hand on him. What was it about this woman that drove him to lose control? He had escaped his legendary sense of duty exactly two times in his life, and both had been with this woman. But even as he moved to the precipice of dishonor again, he could not help himself.

  “This will be over far too quickly if you go on like that,” he said, his voice rough. “Let’s try this instead,” he continued, taking her mouth again as he caressed her hip and thigh. Then, gently but firmly, he stroked his index finger over the moist heat at her center.

  The shudder that jolted through her brought her breasts up against his chest, and her pelvis thrust her sweet spot against his hard length. So much for alternative plans, he thought wryly, even as he touched her core again, this time slipping his finger inside her. Her sharp intake of breath spurred him on, and on the second stroke he thrust two fingers, then three, as she rode his hand in desperation.

  “I want…” she exhaled. “I want…”

  “What?” he demanded, his voice foreign to his own ears. “What do you need, sweet Cecily? What is it you need?”

  She rocked against his hand, moving closer to her release, he knew, because he felt the grasp of her inner muscles on his wet fingers.

  “More,” she panted. “Just. More.”

  Her breathless words were to his desire like brandy spilled on flames, the intensity of his need for her threatening to consume him in fiery heat. Lucas knew she would regret it if he gave her everything she demanded. As a virgin she could have no concept of what she asked of him. It would mean marriage at best, a ruined reputation at worst. Neither was a course he thought she’d accept easily.

  But when he only continued to thrust his fingers into her, Cecily took matters into her own hands. Literally. When he felt her close her fingers around the erection he’d been trying so valiantly to save her from, he gave a startled hiss.

  “Cecily,” he said between gritted teeth, “you don’t know what you’re doing.”

  Not letting go of him, she leaned up to kiss him, still rocking against his fingers. “I want you, Lucas,” she exhaled. “I know there is more. I’ve seen pictures. Artifacts. Please.”

  For a brief moment, he managed to hold back, but the combination of the darknesss, her touch, her smell, all of it obliterated his defenses, and almost without thought, he reached for the fall of his breeches and finished undoing the buttons, setting his aching cock free.

  The feel of her moist opening against the tip of his erection and her soft thighs cradling his own was enough to make him doubt his ability to stop if she balked. Still, he would try his damnedest if she changed her mind. “This might hurt,” he whispered against her throat, praying she wouldn’t.

  “Want you,” she sighed, rocking against him, obliterating anything besides a desperate need to be inside her from his mind.

  “Then have me,” he said, pressing up against her, feeling the tight grasp of her envelop the sensitive head of his prick. He bit back an oath at the sensation of her inner walls swallowing him inch by slow inch.

  Cecily drew in a ragged breath at the brief flash of pain as his hardness broke through the barrier of her innocence. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by need. She raised herself to her knees and lowered herself onto his achingly hard shaft, taking a bit more each time she lifted and came down again. The fullness was like nothing she’d ever known—she simply knew that she had to keep going or die trying. Any worries over the loss of her virginity were lost in the sensations of the moment, the demands of her awakened sensuality.

  “You are killing me,” Lucas said, his hands lightly holding on to her hips as she rocked down onto him, taking a bit more of him before lifting off to begin again.

  Her only response was a gasp as her body took him in, her stomach fluttering as she brought him closer and closer inside her.

  As he finally felt himself fully seated within her, Lucas bit back a groan. He had never felt anything more blissful in his life. Lifting her bottom to raise her, reveling in the sweet friction of her soft, wet grasp around him, he held still for several moments, letting her adjust to the intrusion.

  Then, instincts taking over, they both began to move. Lucas thrusting up, Cecily pressing down, their bodies sliding together in a dance more ancient than even the artifacts there in the room with them.

  “Oh,” Cecily cried out, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she fought against the sensations flooding through her.

  “Let go, Cecily,” he ordered, nipping her chin with his teeth, pulling her sharply onto his cock. “Let yourself feel it. Let your body tell you what to do. Trust yourself.”

  Cecily shook her head, not understanding or not wanting to, she only knew that this feeling inside her was excruciating and exquisite at the same time. She was afraid of it. Afraid of what it might do to her. She felt as if she would explode int
o a million tiny pieces. That there would be nothing left of her if she let this force, whatever it was, course through her.

  “Cecily.” Lucas’s voice was strained, as if he were in pain. “Don’t fight it, just follow it. You won’t be alone. I’ll be with you. Trust me.”

  And in that moment, she did trust him. Whatever they were to each other. Wherever this led, she trusted him. And with a gasp she clasped her inner muscles one last time, and then simply let go.

  She was flooded by a wave of euphoria the likes of which she had never imagined. Her hands grasped Lucas close to her, and she felt the heat of his breath against her shoulder, her breast, and felt him thrust into her again and again, and moved without thought or feeling against him in a frenzy of need, all the while aware and not aware of her body. Herself. Until it all peaked in an explosion of light and feeling and sensation. Like the fireworks at Vauxhall and every exhilaration imaginable wrapped together into one blissful net, to capture both of them together like this. As close as two people were capable of being.

  And then she was floating. Falling. Her body felt heavy, even as Lucas continued to thrust up and into her. And then he was kissing her. And murmuring against her mouth, just before he cried out and gave one last hard thrust. And she felt something warm flooding her. Inside, as he slowed his movements. Stilled. Gasped against her neck and whispered soothing words again.

  “So sweet,” he said. “So good.”

  Her mind and body filled with an overwhelming lassitude, she allowed herself to rest there in his arms. Allowed him to gently lower her to the floor. The darkness once again enveloping them, after the bright blazing light of their lovemaking.

  Lucas drowsed for a few moments before he felt Cecily stirring against him, her movements inspiring thoughts of repeat performances. But the panic in her voice snapped him out of his postcoital sense of well-being.

  “Lucas,” she hissed, pushing her hands against his chest and sitting up. “We’re still locked in.”

  With a sigh, and a quick kiss, he lifted her off him and wordlessly handed her his handkerchief, which she took with a soft, “Oh. Thank you.”

  They would have much to discuss tomorrow, he knew, but right now, they needed to get out of this damned place before someone found them and ruined Cecily’s reputation. More so than a hasty marriage to him would do in a few days’ time.

  He buttoned the fall of his breeches as he listened to the sound of her setting her clothing to rights. His eyes having long ago adjusted to the darkness, he stood and made his way to the doorway. Though they’d started out just inside the doorway, they’d managed to move quite a bit away from it in the heat of the moment.

  Lucas grinned into the darkness.

  Knowing her passionate approach to life in general, he had not been at all surprised to find that Cecily was equally demanding as a lover. Though she’d been an innocent, her knowledge of what she wanted was never once in question. She had nearly slain him with her artless caresses. Touches that had aroused him more than Europe’s most experienced courtesan’s could. If one were to judge the future success of their match based solely on tonight’s experience, then they would most certainly have a most excellent marriage.

  “We have to get out of here,” she said, moving to stand beside him. There was that demanding nature again, he thought wryly.

  “Easy,” he said, laying a reassuring hand on the small of her back, and trying the door again. To his surprise, the doorknob turned easily. What the hell?

  “It’s unlocked,” he said in disbelief, his mind searching for an explanation.

  “What?” she demanded, moving past him to try the door for herself.

  She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

  “Wait,” he said in an undertone. “He might still be out there.”

  Immediately, she stepped back into the room. They were both silent for a time as they strained to hear any hint of movement or sound in the building. But there was nothing save for the hiss of their own breathing.

  When he was sure no one else was in the building, Lucas took her hand and led her into the hallway and quietly up the stairs and out the way they had come in.

  They were in the carriage bound for the Hurston town house before she voiced the very question that had been plaguing him since they’d found the door unlocked.

  “Do you think he…”—she stumbled over the words—“listened?”

  From his position beside her, Lucas wondered that as well. Aloud he said simply, “Surely not.” But as he tightened his arm around Cecily, he reflected that he wasn’t convinced.

  Just another in a long line of grievances he had against this bastard, he reflected.

  “I’ll call on you tomorrow,” he told Cecily when they arrived at the mews behind her father’s house. “Get some sleep.”

  But when he reached his own bed, sleep was not so easy to come by.

  Twelve

  The next morning, Lucas was disappointed to find his mother and Clarissa tucked into the small sitting room the ladies had chosen to use in lieu of the enormous drawing room where the previous duke and duchess had entertained their afternoon guests.

  He’d arrived home sometime after two in the morning, having seen Cecily safely into Hurston House through the terrace door she’d left unlocked. They had both been quiet on the journey there, and they had parted with an awkward exchange of curtsy and bow.

  Now, however, in the cold light of dawn, he knew what he had to do. And before he could make the trip across Mayfair to do the thing, he would first need to inform his mother and sister-in-law.

  “Ah, Lucas,” his mother greeted him, looking up from her needlepoint frame. “This is an unexpected surprise. I thought you went riding in the park most mornings.”

  He stepped forward and kissed his mother on the cheek, and exchanged an awkward nod with Clarissa, who had kept away from him since their last discussion about Will’s disappearance.

  “You are looking haggard,” she noted somewhat waspishly, looking up briefly from her own needlework. “I suppose the pleasures of London have been keeping you up late.”

  Lucas ignored her, and sat awkwardly in a wing chair opposite.

  “I have come for a particular reason,” he told them both, hoping against hope that they would not ask any impertinent questions.

  When both women looked up in surprise, he stood up again, preferring to pace as he spoke rather than sit in the direct line of their inquisitive eyes.

  “I wanted to let you both know that I will be asking Miss Cecily Hurston to marry me today.”

  The silence that followed was so profound that Lucas heard only his own heart beating in his ears. Then, the quiet was shattered by Clarissa’s angry hiss.

  “How could you?” she demanded, leaping up from the sofa and stalking toward him. “The daughter of your own brother’s murderer? All this time you have professed to care about learning the truth of what happened to William, but it has been nothing more than a lie. Your father would be ashamed.”

  “I will thank you not to assume, Clarissa, what my late husband would have thought of these circumstances,” Winifred snapped. “You have let your worry about Will turn you sour, I fear. Lucas has every right to marry whomever he chooses and if this Miss Hurston is the woman he chooses, then there is nothing you or I can say about the matter.”

  On a broken sob, Clarissa stormed from the room.

  Her words were supportive, but Lucas suspected his mother was less than pleased with his news as well. Still, he was thankful for her defense.

  “What do you really think?” he asked her, sitting next to her on the sofa.

  “I meant what I said,” his mother told him, grasping his hand in hers, as if he were a small boy again needing her comfort. “Besides, you do not need my permission.”

  “No,” he agreed. “But I’m afraid there’s more to it than simply marriage.”

  At her frown, he said, feeling oddly sheepish, “The wedding will need t
o be … soon.”

  “Oh, Lucas,” she said with disappointment. “I had hoped that you at least would have a love match like your father and I did.”

  “There is every possibility that I will,” he said, surprised to find he was speaking the truth. “We are well suited, I think. More so than Will and Clarissa, at any rate.”

  “That would not take much,” she returned dryly. “And do you believe that Miss Hurston’s father is blameless in your brother’s disappearance?”

  “I do not know,” he said. “We have found nothing that says he is and nothing that says he isn’t. But regardless, Mama, we will marry, so if it does turn out that Lord Hurston is to blame, then there will be talk. More talk than there has been already.”

  “I do not pay attention to gossip,” she said with a frown, her eyes fierce with loyalty. “You know that. What matters to me is your happiness.”

  Rising, he leaned down to kiss her cheek.

  “Thank you for understanding,” he said. “I believe you will like Cecily once you meet her. She is an independent lady, to be sure, but she also has a very generous heart. Like someone else I know.”

  And with that bit of flattery, he left her.

  * * *

  Lucas arrived at Hurston House in Grosvenor Square impeccably dressed and determined. He requested an audience with Lady Violet Hurston, and was shown promptly into the lady’s sitting room within moments of his arrival.

  “What brings you here, Winterson?” asked Lady Violet, gesturing him toward the chair across from her own perch on a chintz-covered settee. An embroidery frame was arranged neatly beside her seat, and he did not miss her glance toward it, as if she were eager to get back to her project.

  “My lady,” he said baldly, “I have come on a matter of some delicacy.” He cleared his throat, suddenly more nervous than he could remember being in years. “About Miss Hurston.”

  One delicate brow rose in query. “Oh, indeed. Do go on.” Her voice was calm, but Winterston detected a hint of steel in her tone.