The Unworthy Duke

by Charlotte Anne

  She hurriedly turned her head to stare out the window, but night had well and truly fallen and there wasn’t much to see other than darkness and spots of candlelight from other carriage lamps and house windows.

  Even with her face turned away, it was impossible to ignore the scent of him. He smelled of big open space in a crowded room, of heat in the middle of a frosty winter, of firelight in the middle of a stormy night. Of whisky and sex. A smell she wanted nothing more than to wrap herself in. To bathe in. To drink in.

  ‘Ye touched my cheek before half of London proper.’ His voice was low, his accent thick. It was like a secret he only shared with her. ‘Ye were claiming me for yer own.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t.’ She turned back to him. ‘I didn’t…’ But she had. It had been a touch of ownership, of belonging. A sign of solidarity before all the wolves and vipers of the ton, just as Calum claiming to be her fiancé to save her from Geoffrey had been a mark of intimacy, of belonging, of partnership.

  The driver took the corner sharply and Ellen was tossed against Calum. He pressed his advantage, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her onto his lap. ‘I’ve been keeping my own list of all the reasons why we shouldn’t marry, lass.’ His mouth was so close his words tickled her cheek. ‘But it’s quickly getting shorter and shorter as the days go on.’

  Something hard nudging against the side of her leg. He did nothing to disguise it.

  A rush of heat flooded her veins. Was that all it took? A glint in Calum’s eye and a hint of pleasure to come? Apparently so. Apparently so! She hadn’t been able to resist him since the first moment they’d first met.

  ‘Wait, you have a list?’ Her eyes widened, the meaning of his words only just penetrating her befuddled mind. Was he actually trying to seduce her into marriage again? He really was one of a kind.

  ‘Of course. Every self-respecting bachelor has a list. Though I suspect mine’s a little more dramatic than most others.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Calum? Dramatic? She’d never have guessed. She laughed. ‘So what’s on your list?’

  He flexed his hips ever so slightly, seeking friction against her leg. She looked down before she could help herself. His form fitting breeches framed rather than hid his growing enthusiasm. In all its magnificent glory.

  ‘Number one.’ He pressed a light kiss to her temple. ‘I knew ye were hiding from someone. At first I considered the possibility that ye’d run away from an abusive husband. I now know the truth of that.’

  ‘Not married. Just the mother of an illegitimate daughter.’

  ‘A moot point in my book,’ he said, dismissively. ‘Number two.’ He pressed a kiss to her cheek. ‘Ye, Miss Burney, are much too good for the likes of me.’

  ‘A baron’s daughter without even a dowry too good for a duke?’ She focused on his words, resolutely ignoring his hand on her thigh. Her breath caught in her throat. Where had all the air suddenly gone? She licked her dry lips.

  ‘What I mean is that beautiful, intriguing, feisty Ellen Burney is too good for a half-Scottish, damaged and decidedly grumpy Calum.’

  ‘You’re not—’

  ‘Please, Ellie. I’m trying to tell ye that I love ye. And that while I’m far from perfect, I’ve come to realise over these last few weeks that ye’re not too good for love. Hell, ye deserve love more than anyone I’ve ever met.’

  Something inside her chest tightened, and she pressed a hand to Calum’s arm, straightening. Love? But… That…

  ‘Calum—’ She felt frozen.

  Her expression must have given him cause for concern for he pressed more kisses down the side of her face, lingering at the corner of her mouth. She turned to kiss him, but with another sly smile he straightened a little.

  ‘And number three?’ she prompted, rather breathlessly, barely resisting the urge to straddle him. It wouldn’t take them long to reach Yew Tree House, and she didn’t particularly like the idea of being discovered by the driver.

  ‘Number three has been the hardest one to come to terms with.’ A little darkness settled back into his eyes.

  ‘Lieutenant Callaghan.’

  ‘Aye. Pierce saved me. He pulled me back from the fire, risking his own life. And he died because of it. My wee brother, who followed me to war because we’d always done everything together from the moment we first met.’ He rubbed a hand over the burn scars on his cheek. ‘I’ve always thought that because he will never have the chance to fall in love and live a full life, I shouldn’t be allowed to either.’

  ‘Lady Faye and Owen don’t blame you for his death. And neither do I. The fire was an accident—’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what they think. It doesn’t matter what Grace thinks or what the rest of the world thinks, not any more. It doesn’t even matter what ye think in that regard.’ He gave her a tight-lipped smile as a silent apology. ‘It matters what I think, and I know that a small part of me is never going to stop blaming myself. Even though I logically know that, at the end of the day, they were all Pierce’s own choices. He could be ridiculously stubborn when he wanted to be.’

  ‘Just like another man I know.’ She cupped his face in both of her hands, twisting awkwardly in his lap to face him, and brushed her lips against his in a kiss so light it could have been a touch of air.

  He growled low in his throat, leaning forward, and she rewarded him by deepening the kiss. She used her hands on his face to guide him, directing the angle of his mouth so she could slip her tongue between his lips.

  With her sitting on his knee like this, they were nearly of equal height. The thrill of taking control only seemed to add fuel to the fire burning at that deliciously sensitive spot between her legs. She rocked her hips again, and Calum’s grip tightened in warning.

  So close.

  But she didn’t want her first time with Calum to be a rushed and fumbled job. Her first, and only, time with Gwen’s father had been that way. Afterwards she’d felt dirty and used.

  She slowed the kiss, taking her time to explore his face with her fingers and lips. There was such a delicious contrast between the softness of his lips and the roughness of his scars. Contrast too between the gentle way he held her to his chest, mindful of the fading bruises on her wrists, and the strength of his corded muscles.

  Her lips travelled down his jawline to his neck, and he raised his chin, giving her full access—at least as much as his cravat would allow. She ran her tongue along the ridges of his burns, where the skin was pulled tight. He was a magnificent man, in all his unabashed glory. She had to grip his shoulders to stop her hands from pulling open his waistcoat and shirt and exposing his chest. She’d seen it once before—but once would never be enough.

  Following her lead, his hands began an exploration of their own. From hip to waist to breast and finally to tangle in her hair.

  Eventually, they broke apart, breathless and flushed.

  ‘Was that a pity kiss?’ he asked with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘Maybe…’ She almost winced, worried for a second he’d take offence.

  But Calum just shrugged, then tugged uncomfortably at his breeches. ‘If I knew pity came as kisses, maybe I wouldn’t have locked myself away for four years.’ The carriage jerked to a halt and a second later they could hear the footman climbing down from his seat beside the driver.

  Ellen scrambled off Calum’s lap, tugging at her skirts and running a hand over her ruined hairstyle. Next time they were likely to be caught in a compromising position, she was going to have to ensure Calum was the one who looked thoroughly ravished and not her. Just as a little pay back.

  That would mean… She cast a sideways glance at the bulge in his breeches even as the carriage door opened and the footman offered his arm to help her down the steps. She sat frozen for a second imaging the possibilities. Calum half naked beneath her fully clothed body…

  A handful of moments later, Calum had bade the driver return to the theatre for Lady F and Owen, and they’d moved through the front gate of Y
ew Tree House. Ellen started up the garden path, and Calum slipped in behind her, walking so close she could feel the heat of his chest seeping through the back of her borrowed pelisse and something hard pressed against her spine. Was that his… his… She frowned. What exactly was she supposed to call a man’s…display of amorous physical interest? The illicit romance had used words like a ‘shaft of delight’ and ‘pleasure-pivot’, but none of those flowery phrases were a good fit with Calum’s rather forthright nature.

  ‘What are you doing?’ She tried to move to the side but he followed. ‘The servants will start talking. We’re supposed to be avoiding a scandal, not starting a new one.’

  ‘Would ye rather I take a step to the right so Chakrabarti can see just how enamoured I am of ye at this very moment?’

  ***

  Enamoured? More like as aroused as a rutting bull.

  He followed Ellie up the stairs to the second-storey bedrooms, a hand on the railing for support. To hell with these god-awful skin-tight breeches. To hell with all clothes. If he didn’t have Ellie undressed and under him in the next five seconds he might just burn up.

  He caught her around the waist, but she slipped from his grip with a sly smile. ‘Gwen’s probably asleep in my bed this very minute,’ she whispered.

  ‘Then we’ll use my bed.’

  She sank against him for another low, long kiss. His cock jumped, straining at the confines of his breeches as though it thought to break itself free. He ground against her, unable to keep still, and she moaned low in her throat. It was the same delicious sound as she’d made back in the library when he’d pleasured her with his fingers. God, he’d loved how she’d taken control, directing the pressure and direction of his strokes. She most certainly knew what she wanted.

  He’d never had time for insipid innocents.

  ‘She’ll hear us,’ Ellie whispered against his lips.

  ‘Then we’ll be very, very quiet.’ He kissed her again, more urgent this time. Their tongues clashing and their breaths coming in short, sharp pants.

  Ellie fisted her hands in his lapels and, without breaking the kiss, started pulling him further down the corridor. When his back hit the door, he reached behind to open it and they practically fell into his room.

  Desperately, he tugged at his cravat and ripped at his shirt buttons, until he was stripped to the waist. She watched with eyes dark with desire, her gaze roaming his scarred chest. He’d never felt more desirable.

  God, he wanted to kneel at her feet, to touch and taste and worship. But his wounded knee wouldn’t support his weight for long, and what an arse he’d look struggling to stand back up. He tugged her towards the bed instead, and Ellie eagerly lay down, fully clothed.

  He watched her bounce a little on the mattress, following her with hungry eyes, devouring her curves.

  Tzar was startled from his slumber. The old dog tossed them his most affronted look and clambered out of Ellie’s way. Cal banished him to the corridor without a second thought. He could sleep on someone else’s bed tonight.

  ‘Beautiful.’ Her hair had fallen from the confines of its pins in soft tangles around her shoulders.

  After quickly toeing off his boots, he stripped off the last of his clothes. His erection stood proud.

  Her eyes widened and she sat up, unashamedly wrapping her hand around his length before he could move any closer. Ye gods, it felt good. He winced in an effort to stop himself pushing further into her fist. Four years of abstinence was a fierce demon to contain.

  ‘What do you call this?’

  ‘That, lass, is my cock,’ he ground out between clenched teeth.

  She smiled. ‘Much better.’

  Better than what? But before he could ask, she ran her fist up and down, and he almost came undone then and there.

  ‘Nay, ye don’t.’ Reluctantly he pulled her hand away. ‘It’s too soon.’ He’d been fantasising about this moment for too long to let it end like this. He wanted to take it slowly. He wanted to commit every moment to memory so that when he lay in his empty bed at night after all of this was over he could close his eyes and pretend Ellie hadn’t left.

  He made short work of her gown, fervently kissing the newly exposed skin at her collarbone, but his fingers fumbled on the closure of her stays. Impatiently, she brushed his hands away, taking over.

  ‘I’m a little rusty.’ Had stays always been so bloody fiddly? To hell with the person who’d invented them. Surely there was a better, more accessible way of holding breasts. Like his hands.

  As her stays fell away, Ellie lay back down on the bed and Cal followed, kneeling over her. He took her breasts, one in each hand. A perfect fit. He massaged them, pulling gently at her nipples, just visible through the thin fabric of her chemise. Peaked and pink and aching to be touched.

  Sharp pain speared his knee, and he grunted involuntarily.

  ‘Here.’ She pulled him down onto the mattress and straddled his waist, reversing their positions.

  He might have initiated sex, but he loved how she took control. Especially as his shaft was now rubbing against her hot, wet centre, the only barrier between them her cotton chemise. Her breasts bounced enticingly. His heart pounded out of control but with the merest sliver of self-restraint left, he managed not to thrust up. It was the hardest thing he’d even done in his whole miserable life.

  He reached towards her, intending to pull her down for another kiss, but she hesitated.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ His breath hitched. Had she changed her mind? There was no way he was going to force her into anything she didn’t want. Even if it damn near killed him to let her go. Every moment with Ellie was a gift.

  ‘I…’ She gestured between them, looking suddenly apprehensive. ‘I’m not ready for another child.’

  ‘My love, neither am I. When was yer last menses?’

  ‘It finished just yesterday.’

  ‘Perfect timing.’ With a sigh, he pulled one eager nipple into his mouth until her chemise was wet, turning practically sheer. He admired his work with smug satisfaction. ‘But just to be safe, there are many ways to enjoy ourselves without the risk of pregnancy.’

  ‘You mean…’ Her brows knitted together, her gaze on her peaked nipple. ‘I read about how some men like to…to use their mouths.’

  He laughed, his voice husky with desire. ‘Some men. I most certainly do.’ And he grasped her around the waist, sliding her up his body until she was kneeling over his face, her chemise tenting his head.

  ***

  The boudoir novel hadn’t done justice to this particular kind of kissing. With the first lash of his tongue at the apex of legs, Ellen gasped and instantly spread her thighs wider, offering more. Calum pressed forward with his rampage: tasting, teasing, nibbling until she had to close her eyes from the sheer force of it all.

  Large hands on her hips held her still as she strained to move. Her back arched as surges of pleasure pulsed through her. She wanted it to never end, but Calum’s mouth was a master and he ruthlessly pushed her over the edge before she could do anything more than clasp a hand over her mouth, muffling her cries of exhilaration.

  When she finally came back to her senses, she was lying beside Calum, a hand flung across her face and her breaths short and sharp.

  ‘That was…’ But apparently she couldn’t find the words any more than the author of the boudoir novel had. She pulled her petticoat over her head and dropped it over the edge of the bed. Naked, she stretched against him, enjoying the sensation of skin against skin.

  ‘Deliciously wicked,’ suppled Calum, wrapping an arm around her and gently massaged one bare breast. He looked much as she felt: content. His hair was ruffled and he was smiling smugly.

  ‘Deliciously wicked,’ Ellen agreed. She let her gaze drift down his glorious body. His cock pointed unapologetically towards his stomach. Not so content after all.

  ‘Although it’s not fair that I’ve had all the fun,’ she amended.

  ‘I’m entirely at yer mercy
, love. I think we’ve both realised that, when it comes to the bedroom, ye’re the one wearing the trousers, as they say.’ His gaze turned thoughtful. ‘That gives me another idea: yer arse in tight breeches.’

  ‘I do believe that view is my prerogative. Although I most assuredly prefer this view.’ She gestured towards his straining cock.

  He chuckled, and a flush of contentment rushed through her.

  ‘What do ye intend to do about my predicament?’

  ‘Hmm. Take you in hand, I think.’ She smiled at her own boldness. This was more than deliciously wicked. She felt happy, pure and simple. Happy and loved and safe to be herself. What a wonderful gift Calum had given her this evening.

  Now it was her turn to bestow a gift on him, and she could hardly wait. She felt free in the knowledge she could touch him as she liked—he’d given his consent, as she’d given hers.

  He was watching her as a dying man would watch a plate of food—like he could gobble her up in an instant. He was evidently enjoying the anticipation of what was to come; it was feeding his desire.

  She ran her fingers down his chest, exploring the shape of him. He was all muscle, for all that he could use a couple of extra pounds. Maybe after the Season finished, Cook would stay on, ensuring Calum ate three full meals a day. He needed someone to look after him.

  Her fingers skimmed the base of his cock, and he made a sound of undiluted pleasure. The sound resonated through her body and she quickly straddled him, desperate to close the distance between them. She rubbed her wet heat against the head of his cock.

  ‘Are ye sure?’ Calum ground the question out through clenched teeth. All laugher had dissipated from his face, leaving a look of extreme concentration. He was holding himself back, just.

  ‘Yes. We’ll be careful.’ She sank down, watching where their bodies joined, watching as him disappeared inside her. Why had the great artists never painted such a scene—a de Vinci or a Rembrandt. But then she moved her hips and all thoughts fled.

  ‘Faster, please.’ He was begging her. And just the thought of Calum begging for anything had her moving faster and harder.