But padding on bare feet to the sitting room, he saw it was empty. When no one answered his sharp rap on the door to Cecily’s sitting room, he turned the knob and stepped inside. Already the room smelled of his wife and roses, and he smiled at the change. He wondered idly what other alterations her presence in his household would bring.
A light beamed from beneath the door of her dressing room and he crossed and silently turned the handle. The sight of his new wife, resting languidly in the deep bath his predecessor had installed, snatched the breath from him.
Her delicately arched feet resting on the tub’s edge, her eyes closed in utter relaxation, Cecily was Aphrodite come to life. Allowing his gaze free rein, he drank in the sight of her—his eyes caressing the pale, perfect skin of her long legs, lingering for a moment at the dark profusion of curls at the juncture of her thighs, skirting up to the dusky nipples that pebbled just above the surface of the water, resting at last on the dusky lashes that fanned out against her cheeks.
No goddess had ever been more enticing, and Lucas was struck suddenly by the knowledge that this sight, Cecily in all her glory, belonged to him now.
Only to him.
It was at once humbling and invigorating. He made a silent vow that as long as there was breath in his body he would do whatever it took to ensure that she never had reason to regret their hasty marriage. That he would prove himself worthy of her.
Still silent, he stepped carefully until he sank down on his haunches behind her head and leaned forward to kiss her ear.
Startled, she dropped her feet into the bath with a splash.
“Are you in the habit of sneaking up on ladies in their baths?” she asked, reflexively covering her breasts with her folded arms, scowling up at him. “Because I warn you now that I will not countenance it.”
He listened to her scold without succumbing to the urge to laugh.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said without a hint of contrition, moving his lips from her ear to her neck. “Have you ever been told how magnificently lovely you are?”
She leaned back, suspicion shining in her eyes. “Not in so many words, no,” she said. “Ugly ducklings do not normally find themselves recipients of compliments.”
This last was said with a hint of resentment that she seemed immediately to regret, for she added, “Not that it matters, of course. Empty flattery is something ladies like Amelia Snowe thrive on. I have no need of such folderol.”
They were the words of a woman who for too long had been subjected to the cutting remarks of the ton’s less pleasant denizens. And, he suspected, hid a great deal of self-doubt. Cecily might be assured in her cerebral acumen, but as a woman she was as unschooled as a newborn foal trying to find its balance.
He felt a surge of protectiveness for this beautiful, prickly woman he’d married. Turning her head with a gentle hand beneath her chin, he looked into her eyes, speaking softly, earnestly. “Believe me when I tell you that you are exquisite. I do not flatter. I do not fawn. I will tell you the truth. Always.”
He kissed her, allowing his mouth to linger as she relaxed into him, opening herself to the caress. Pulling back, when she would have looked away, he held her chin and looked directly into her eyes.
“I will tell you a secret,” he said. “It is difficult for a man to hide his reaction to a beautiful woman.”
A furrow appeared between her brows. “What do you mean?”
He let go of her chin and took her hand, guiding it down to brush against the evidence of his reaction to her particular form of ugliness. “This is what you do to me,” he said, his voice growing rough. “And though you will never have reason to test the theory, I daresay I am not alone in my appreciation of your charms.”
Twin flags of color rose in her cheeks, even as she opened her hand to cup his erection, curiosity overcoming missishness.
“Careful,” he hissed, lifting her hand away from the front of his breeches and lifting her palm to kiss it. “You may explore me as much as you wish later. For now I should like not to disgrace myself on our wedding night. So I respectfully request that you refrain from your explorations until afterward.”
A wrinkle of puzzlement appeared between her brows.
“How long afterward?” she demanded. “Tomorrow? I thought gentlemen were able to do this sort of thing again and again.”
“They are … that is to say, we are … or rather, I…” Lucas resisted the urge to run his hands through his hair. “Perhaps we should save this chat for later, once we have…” He paused, allowing the unsaid words to linger.
“But…” Cecily sat up straighter in the tub, and once again his gaze was drawn to her bosom. Through a haze of lust, he heard her ask diffidently, “Did we not already…? That is to say, have we not…?”
With effort, he stood, thankful for the cover his banyan provided. “Yes, we have already … er, consummated the marriage,” he said, “but I am…” He wondered how best to phrase it, and cursed the heat he felt rising in his cheeks. “Somewhat eager and do not wish to rush my fences.”
Cecily nodded, as if such conversations were an everyday occurrence. “I see,” she said, staring down into the bathwater, seeming to take a sudden interest in her left knee. “However, I … I rather liked it when you … um … rushed things in the Egyptian Club.”
At his strangled sound she swung her gaze upward. “What? Have I said something wrong?”
“No, my dear,” he assured her, wishing like mad that this conversation would end before one of them expired from embarrassment. But he thought it best if they spoke frankly about the issue, given that they had a whole lifetime of such conversations ahead of them, and the more they discussed, the less embarrassing they would seem.
“It is just that … well, there is a sort of code that demands that a gentleman waits to rush things until after the lady has already…”
He circled his hand in the air, employing the universal sign of unspoken conclusions.
“Already…?” Then, understanding dawned in Cecily’s eyes. “Oh! You are afraid that you will disappoint me. Well, let me be the first to tell you that you have nothing to fear on that score.”
Dammit! He felt the blush creep into his cheeks again. But her next words had him staring openmouthed at her like a surprised trout.
“I mean, I really have nothing to compare your performance to,” she went on guilelessly. “You could be utterly unimpressive on that score and I’d be none the wiser.”
“Yes, well, we should perhaps have supper now,” Lucas said quickly, suddenly eager to change the subject. “I’ll ring for your maid.”
“I gave her the evening off,” Cecily said, however. “I thought perhaps you could help me.”
The gleam in her eye told him that she knew exactly what she was doing. And when she gripped the sides of the tub and stood, rivulets of water gleaming as they slid over her luscious curves, he lost the ability to breathe.
Again.
At this rate, he’d lose all lung function before the evening ended. Though on a positive note, he’d certainly die happy.
Cecily waited with apprehension for Lucas to say something, anything, in response to her boldness. She had no idea what had come over her. While she’d always been comfortable in her scholarly pursuits, she was a bit more reserved when it came to matters of her appearance.
She knew of course that she was hardly an antidote, no matter what Amelia Snowe said. Though she had never been particularly successful in social settings, she had been courted by one or two gentlemen, including the faithless David. If Lucas’s test were to be employed there, she was indeed capable of alluring men. Still, her years with the spinsters and wallflowers had left her with a bruised notion of her own attractiveness. And as a result it was with some trepidation that she stood boldly before her husband now, conscious of every tiny defect, every blemish, every mark that might make her less than beautiful in his eyes.
“You are…” she heard him say, not daring to look up and s
ee the disappointment in his eyes, “exquisite.”
“There is no need to lie,” she said faintly, though his words were like balm to her wounded amour propre. “I know I am not beautiful.”
She felt him move toward her, aware of a shift in the air as much as anything else. It was odd how she could sense him entering a room, drawing near to her. Almost as if they were bound together with some invisible force, like the pull between two magnets of opposing poles.
“I do not lie, Cecily,” he said, tilting his head to make sure she met his gaze. “You are exquisite. Beautiful even if it comes to that. I fear you have been too long without a compliment and have lost the knack for receiving them.”
He dipped his head to take her mouth with his, his lips feathering hers with a touch as light as down. “Repeat after me,” he whispered, leaning back to watch her. “Thank you, Lucas.”
She raised her gaze to his, noting the tiny flecks of green that circled around the dark centers of his eyes, fighting the urge to look away from the understanding she saw there.
“Th-thank you, Lucas,” she repeated, suddenly shy in the face of his open admiration.
Smiling, he ran his hands down her arms to take both her hands in his.
“There, now,” he said, “that wasn’t so bad, was it? I must warn you, you must get used to this sort of thing. For I mean to pay you a goodly number of compliments.”
Cecily only nodded, unsure what the best response to that announcement would be. She was unused to being the focus of such intense scrutiny, and if truth be told it was somewhat unsettling. Still, she supposed having one’s husband find one attractive was better than being completely ignored.
She was spared further time for reflection when Lucas leaned in again and took her mouth in a much more thorough kiss. Turning her, he pulled her still dripping body to press against his, the sensation of his hard muscles against her soft curves filling her with an ache she longed to assuage.
His tongue swept into her mouth, conquering, claiming, and for a brief moment she was lost to the sheer pleasure of the feelings he incited in her. Unable to remain passive for long, however, she ran her own tongue against the length of his and soon they sparred, their mouth fused together in a wicked dance. Accepting his thrusting tongue, she sucked gently, gasping when she felt his hand sweep up her side and palm her breast, her nipple aching as it cried out for the attention of his fingers.
She almost cried out her frustration as she felt him draw away, then inhaled sharply as he grasped her behind the knees and swept her up into his arms, carrying her dripping through the dressing room door and into his darkened bedroom beyond.
The bedclothes were still mussed from their nap earlier, but Lucas paid no heed, depositing her onto the sheet, and drawing the rest of the covers back down to the foot of the bed.
He untied the sash of his banyan, and shrugged out of it, his haste at once flattering and frustrating her.
“Wait,” she said, lifting a staying hand to his chest. “I want to see you.”
She knew of course, from drawings and some of the more salacious books that her father kept in his library, what an unclothed man looked like, but with the exception of that one night in the club, she had never been at liberty to gaze on a flesh-and-blood specimen. And, if truth were told, for all her boldness, she was feeling a little bit overwhelmed by the pace of their lovemaking thus far. She had gone from lounging alone in the bath, to naked and trembling in the nuptial bower in a rather brief span of time.
“Please,” she added, allowing her fingers to gently caress the crisp dark hair that covered his chest.
For a flash she saw what looked like pain in his gaze, but then with a brisk nod, he brought his knee back off the mattress and stood before her, his arms open to the sides as if he were a merchant selling a particularly enticing side of beef.
Determined to stifle her propensity to blush, Cecily instead leaned forward, comfortable in her own nudity now that she was not the only unclothed person in the room. Though she made a valiant effort to look at the rest of him—and from what she glimpsed the rest of him was very handsome indeed—her eyes were drawn to the ridge of flesh that tilted proudly before him, straining toward his flat stomach.
From the arrow of dark hair that drew the eye downward, to the sharp slashes of his hipbones that pointed inward, it was as if he’d been designed with the sole intention of advertising the splendidness of his male member. To Cecily’s mind it was rather a shame that he was forced to hide such an impressive specimen under clothing. Though she could understand that perhaps it might get in the way during day-to-day activities.
When he coughed, she realized that she’d been staring silently for some time.
Striving for nonchalance, she nodded sagely. “Very well.”
“That is all you have to say?” he asked, one brow arched. “You do not perhaps wish to tell me more?”
Unable to lift her eyes from crotch level, she watched in fascination as it twitched under her gaze. “Oh! I … that is…” She struggled to come up with suitable words. Perhaps he wished a compliment?
“Your … er … appendage is very elegant, Your Grace.”
There.
She tore her eyes from his middle and met his gaze. Which twinkled with mirth.
“Elegant?” he demanded. “I have had my cock called many things by many…” His ears reddened as if he realized that his words were leading him toward danger.
Now it was her turn to raise a brow.
“That is to say,” he rumbled, climbing back up onto the bed, bracing his back against the headboard. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“You are welcome,” Cecily responded, feeling suddenly shy again. “Thank you for letting me look.”
Lucas shook his head, sliding his hand down her arm from shoulder to fingertips. “Cecily, I have had the oddest sorts of conversations since I met you,” he said, pulling her to straddle him, then taking both her hands in his and kissing her full on the mouth.
“I am merely thanking you,” she muttered as he caressed her jaw with his lips, making his way up to a particularly sensitive spot below her ear. She dipped down to caress his chest with her breasts and was pleased to hear his sharp intake of breath, her own breath catching at the pull of sensation that the friction created between her breasts and that ache between her legs. “Never let it be said that I am not polite.”
Lucas fought for control as he luxuriated in the feel of her nipples against his chest, mentally cursed himself for allowing her gaze. Her eyes on his cock had been as arousing as if she had taken him in hand. And what he had planned as a slow seduction was rapidly taking on a momentum he was powerless to stop.
What was it about her that made him lose every last semblance of gentlemanly grace and revert to some sort of ravening beast? From the moment he spied her outside the Egyptian Club he’d been drawn to her like a compass to true north. And now that he had her, he would make damn sure she never wanted for anything again.
“Good manners are always important.” He kissed his way down her neck to her bosom, worshipping first one, then the other with his mouth.
She moaned, and wriggled against him, the inadvertent friction between her bottom and his arousal causing beads of perspiration to break out on his forehead.
With a muttered curse, he flipped her neatly onto her back and drew her hands above her head with one hand.
“I want you to hold on to this,” he said, placing her hands on the ornate headboard and bracing himself above her.
“But wh—” she started to ask, but he silenced her with a hard kiss.
“Next time,” he said briskly, looking into her puzzled eyes, “I promise you may do whatever you like, but for now, I want to give you pleasure.”
She frowned. “But what about you?”
He blew out a long sigh. “The thing is, gentlemen enjoy this sort of thing no matter what. It takes very little effort on your part for me to climax. It’s just the way we were made.�
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Cecily bit her lip. “So, I should do nothing?”
Dammit. He was making a mull of it.
“Not at all.” He kissed her neck to soothe her obvious discomfort. “You must do what comes naturally, whatever that may be. But what I’m trying to say, and failing at miserably, is that because I have the easier time of it, I wish to make sure that you enjoy yourself thoroughly. And—”
“Winterson,” she interrupted. “Lucas.”
He leaned back to see her smiling indulgently at him.
“Just do what comes naturally.” She brought one arm down to rub a caressing hand along his jawline. “I feel sure I’ll enjoy things no matter what you do.”
He closed his eyes. Perhaps he was being overly conscientious.
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, then.” He ran his hand lightly over the concave plane of her stomach. “I suppose we might try it your way for a bit.”
He dipped one finger into the molten heat at her core, was surprised to find her already wet with wanting. “Watch me,” he whispered into her ear, taking the lobe between his teeth. “Watch me stroke you here, ready you for our joining.”
Cecily looked down to see his long, nimble fingers against her mound, bit back a moan as sight and sensation joined to create a wave of need within her. She felt the press of his manhood against her belly, and instinct urged her to move her hips, to open herself to him.
He drew his forefinger away from her, her own moisture glistening on his hand in the candlelight. “See how your body responds to mine,” he whispered, settling himself between her thighs, running one hand down the outside of her leg, to bend it at the knee.
“Lucas,” she hissed as he teased her opening with the head of his erection. “Please.” She wanted, no, needed him there. Inside her, thrusting into her like he had on the floor of the club.
At her use of his given name, something in him seemed to shatter, and Cecily felt the muscles of his back tense beneath her hands that sought only to press him more fully into her.
How to Dance With a Duke Page 22