A Duke Like No Other

by Valerie Bowman

  Mark was obviously pleased she’d kept the wedding small. Nicole’s mother and grandmother were there, of course. The Duke of Colchester and his wife had sneaked into the back of the church. They’d quietly left before the ceremony ended. Nicole pretended she hadn’t seen them. Mark pretended too. He hadn’t said a word to them or her. She could not understand why her husband didn’t want her to know. He married her with no other family present. Her heart had ached for him, but she would be his family now. She and the children they made together.

  If there was one thing she’d been looking forward to, it was the method of producing children. Her heart raced each time she considered making love for the first time that night. Her mother had sat her down for an awkward conversation during which she told her the basics of what would happen. Nicole suffered through it with a blank look on her face, nodding at the correct parts and asking a question here and there. She wasn’t frightened. She was eager. She and Mark had barely been able to keep their hands off each other during their engagement. She couldn’t wait to share her body with him.

  That night, after dinner at her grandmother’s house Mark had taken her back to his flat. They’d walked together, silently, up the stairs to the small set of rooms. The place was sparse but clean and smelled like him, his delicious cologne. He gave her a tour of the small parlor, the tiny kitchen, the … bedchamber. She hovered in the doorway while he lit a lamp on the table next to the bed before coming back to take her hand and lead her into the room.

  He faced her and clasped his hands over her shoulders, his thumbs drawing circles over them to help her relax. “Are you frightened?”

  “Not at all.” She shook her head. “I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks.” She gave him a bright, saucy smile.

  Mark laughed and pulled her into his arms. When his mouth found hers, all traces of laughter vanished. His fingers worked their way into her hair, where he began greedily sliding the pins from their places. Those clever fingers moved down to the buttons on the back of her wedding gown. She’d chosen a simple silhouette of white satin. She’d adored wearing it all day but now was eager to be out of it.

  While Mark popped open button after button along her back, Nicole’s hands moved to his cravat and ripped at the fabric. Untying the bow and knot, she pulled it from his neck and tossed it to the floor before moving her hands down to work on the buttons of his waistcoat. They ripped at each other’s clothing in a frenzy.

  She paused in their kissing to help him pull her gown over her head. Then he divested himself of his shirt. Their mouths locked together again, her fingers traced the outline of his muscled abdomen while he reached behind her and pulled hastily on the laces to her stays. When that contraption finally hit the floor, she leaned down and pulled her shift over her head, tossing it aside to stand completely naked in front of him, save for her stockings.

  “Now you,” she breathed, staring at the fall to his breeches. He moved quickly to the bed, shucked his boots, and lay back while she climbed atop him to help him remove his breeches.

  Her fingers worked on the buttons to the fall while she leaned down and kissed him, her tongue exploring every part of his mouth. Once the buttons were undone, he sat up and she moved to the side while he pulled off his breeches. Then he turned and, smiling, tackled her to the bed, his chest coming down hard atop her, her legs parting of their own volition beneath him. He felt like silk and steel and she breathed in the heady scent of him, her head nuzzled in the crook of his neck while his mouth found the delicate spot beneath her ear. “You’re gorgeous, Nicole,” he breathed.

  “It’s funny,” she gasped against him as he sucked her earlobe into his mouth. “I think the same about you.”

  He pushed himself away from her to gaze admiringly down her body while she did the same to him. Her eyes fastened on his large member jutting from between his legs, nestled in a thatch of dark, curly hair. She leaned down and grasped it in her fist, squeezing it out of instinct and the desire to feel every inch of it. Mark groaned and shuddered.

  She smiled a catlike smile against his shoulder. “Do you like that?” she asked in a breathy voice.

  “Very much.” He nuzzled his way down her neck until his mouth hovered just above one of her breasts. She’d been forced to let go of him when he moved lower, but was temporarily distracted by his admiration of her breasts. “These are magnificent,” he breathed, staring at them in obvious fascination.

  He bent his dark head and took a nipple into his mouth. Nicole cried out and arched her back. Oh God. Her body hummed with desire, as if a cord had been drawn between her breast and the aching space between her legs, which was quickly becoming wetter and wetter. She’d known that would happen. It happened every time Mark kissed her and it happened even more when she’d laid in bed, thinking about him night after night. Having him touch her, his rough hands gliding over her body, his teeth gently tugging at her nipple, made her wetter than she’d ever been. His hand moved down between her legs. His finger searched through the triangle of hair there. It found the bud of pleasure nestled in the center of her wet warmth. He stroked it with his thumb and she cried out again, grasping his dark head to her breast and shuddering with pleasure.

  She tossed her head fitfully against the bedsheets as he continued to stroke the nub between her legs. Each time he did it, she cried out again, unable to control the building pressure and her body’s response to his touch. When he slipped a finger inside her, she moaned deep in her throat.

  His lips moved back up to her mouth to quiet her, and his tongue tangled with hers while his finger moved in and out of her with maddening slowness. She grasped his head with both hands and kissed him with all the pent-up lust she couldn’t control. “Oh, God, Mark.”

  “Shh,” he whispered against her lips. “Just feel it, Nicole. Let it happen.”

  Let what happen? She wasn’t certain, but she desperately wanted to find out. His finger played with her more before his thumb returned to nudge the spot between her legs that made her legs tense and her thighs quiver. He moved his lips back down to her breast and tugged at her nipple once, twice, between continuing his descent to rain kisses along her trim belly and then … he parted her thighs with both hands, his mouth a whisper away from the nub he’d made so swollen and wet.

  She bit the back of her hand to keep from crying out. She knew what he was going to do, instinctually she knew, and she didn’t want to move a muscle for fear he would stop. She held her breath, every aching sinew in her body tensed and ready to feel his mouth on the spot where she desperately ached for it.

  When he lowered his tongue to her, she gasped. The tip moved through the springy hair to part her lips there and rub deliciously over the swollen nub that ached for him. She whimpered in the back of her throat. Her hands moved down to tug at his hair and hold him in place. “Don’t stop,” she begged.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” came his deep, aroused voice. She felt his smile against her thigh.

  His tongue plunged again and again, rubbing roughly over the spot where she needed it most until her legs shifted restlessly beneath him and she arched up on both hands, her breasts jutted out. Her head fell back, her hair dangling behind her to brush across the mattress.

  “Oh, God, Mark,” she breathed.

  He slipped a finger inside her then and pressed upward against the inner wall of her sex, hitting a spot so perfect, so sensitive that she cried out again, and when he paired it with the brush of his tongue against that spot between her legs, she cried out one last time as shudders racked her body and tremors made her limbs quake. She fell backward against the mattress, her body deliciously limp, her breath coming in hard, fast pants, as she tried to make sense of what had just happened to her, an experience unlike any other.

  “That was…” She tried to speak but words failed her.

  “The most beautifully erotic thing I’ve ever seen.” He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

  “But you’re not�
�” She blushed and continued to pant.

  “I’m not?” He arched a brow.

  “Mother told me what happens in bed between a man and woman,” she explained, too weak to rise up on an elbow and look him in the eye. “And that wasn’t it,” she finished with a wry smile.

  “It wasn’t?” he said with feigned surprise, lifting his eyebrows high.

  She weakly pushed at his arm while he laughed, his wide shoulders shaking with mirth.

  “Don’t make sport of me,” she said, in a mock-angry tone. “I’m new to this, you know.”

  He rolled atop her and covered her with his body again, his laughter fading. His lips covered hers, his hard probing length searching between her thighs.

  “I believe the correct way to go about the actual act,” he breathed into her ear, “is something like this.” He circled his hips above her. She clutched at his thighs, wanting to guide him into the nest between her legs.

  His length slipped against her wet warmth and she reached down to clasp him in her fist and lead him into place. He felt like heated silk, throbbing, reaching for her.

  “Yes, sweetheart.” He kissed her forehead, her neck, the delicate shell of her ear. When he was in place, he breathed in and out for a few moments while Nicole prepared herself for the pain her mother had assured her would be a part of this.

  But when he slid inside, there was only the heat of him, the wet warmth and the slick slide of him, pushing her open and filling her. She fiercely wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes widened with shock.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, gazing down at her and swiping a strand of her hair from her face.

  “Mother said … it would … hurt.” She winced, embarrassed to admit it to him.

  “Yes, well, it doesn’t have to,” he replied, kissing her forehead again. “If you have a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

  She didn’t have time to think about that loaded reply because he began to move and her breath arrested in her throat. The hot length of him slid slowly in and out of her, pausing so his fingers could glide down her body and once again find the nub between her legs. He skillfully brought her to climax one more time before pumping into her. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he released himself inside her while calling out her name.

  In the aftermath, he pulled her atop him and stroked his fingers through her long hair. “I love you, Nicole,” he breathed against her temple.

  “I love you too, Mark,” she replied on a long, satisfied sigh. “More than words can say.”

  They’d spent the next few days in bed, where he’d proceeded to teach her a variety of different positions and the places on her body that were the most sensitive to pleasure. He’d taught her about his body too, what he liked and where her touch caused his pulse to quicken. They’d talked, laughed, and discussed all sorts of topics ranging from his love of horses, to her favorite Lawrence painting. Nicole had never been happier.

  * * *

  Regina cleared her throat and Nicole’s tear-blurred gaze found her friend’s across the table in the sunroom. Oh, how her heart ached when she thought of that man, the man who had awakened her to passion, being beaten mercilessly in a French prison camp.

  “His imprisonment was a long time ago,” Regina said softly, handing Nicole a handkerchief. “I never wrote and told you because…”

  “Because I asked you not to mention him in your letters. I know.” Nicole took a deep breath and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “But how did you know about his captivity? He doesn’t keep in touch with any of you.”

  “Uncle Edward keeps tabs on him. There are stories in the papers. We know a great deal more than Mark thinks we do.” Regina searched her face. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I’m not upset … I’m…” God. What was she? Nicole didn’t know anymore. She’d spent so many years trying to numb her emotions when it came to Mark. She’d spent so many days picturing herself reading the letter that would inform her of his untimely death, trying to prepare herself for it. To hear it had been a near possibility … it just … shattered her. She folded the handkerchief into a tight square and dabbed at her damp eyes again. “Merde. I’m not one to cry.”

  “Of course not,” Regina said. “You are my fearless cousin who worked for both the Bow Street Runners and the War Office and I’ve been wanting to ask how you managed both. I may be interested in a similar path. So, please tell me.”

  Nicole smiled and tucked the handkerchief into her sleeve. Regina was a dear for changing the subject. “I don’t know about the fearless part, but I wanted to do what I could to help.”

  “But how did you manage it? How did an earl’s daughter become a female Bow Street Runner?”

  Nicole laughed. “I was never officially a runner. I was an assistant. A helper. They weren’t about to appoint me to the team.” She stared out the window at the hawthorn trees, memories overtaking her again.

  * * *

  Nicole had walked into the office on Bow Street on trembling legs. Would they laugh at her? Throw her out? Both were possibilities. She forced the two thieves in front of her to march at the end of her pistol and they both did so, possibly because they were astonished by the fact that they’d been apprehended by a lady.

  A young man with silver spectacles and a slight build sat behind a desk that looked far too large for him. “May I help you, lady?” he asked, his eyes widening at the sight of Nicole and her two prisoners.

  “Yes, please.” Nicole straightened her shoulders. “I am here to see one of the Bow Street Runners. I would like to turn in these two wanted men for the crime of stealing.”

  The young man’s eyes darted back and forth behind the spectacles and he plucked at the haphazard dingy cravat at his throat. “Oakleaf!” he finally called out.

  Moments later, a large, blond god of a man strode from one of the offices in the back. He was dressed in tight-fitting black breeches, black boots, a white shirt and cravat, and a red waistcoat. He must have left his overcoat in the back. When he saw Nicole, he pulled a cheroot from his lips and whistled. “Well, I’ll be a son of a—”

  “My name is Nicole Huntington,” she interrupted, purposely leaving out the lady part. “I’m here to turn these two in. They are thieves.” Her heart hammered in her chest and she eyed the runner warily.

  The blond god named Oakleaf strolled up to the three of them and gave them each a once-over. “Good morning, Miss Huntington,” he said with a wide grin. “My name is Daffin Oakleaf and I have a slew of questions for you.”

  “Are you a Bow Street Runner?” she asked, head still held high.

  “I am.” He tilted his head toward her in the semblance of a bow.

  Nicole swallowed. “Then I shall be happy to answer your questions once we have these brigands squared away. I have a few questions of my own.”

  “Who are they?” Daffin asked, walking around the men in a wide circle, still clutching his cheroot between his fingers.

  “The two thieves you were looking for in yesterday’s paper,” she informed him with a solid nod.

  Oakleaf’s eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. “Parker and Smith? You found them?”

  “Yes.” A proud smile popped to Nicole’s lips.

  “Why bring them to us?” Daffin’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  Nicole summoned every ounce of courage she possessed. She concentrated on ensuring that her voice did not waver. “I want you to hire me.”

  “Oh, lady.” His grin returned even broader. “I want to hear all about this.”

  And so her relationship with Daffin and the runners had begun. He hadn’t liked the fact that she was female. He liked it even less when she admitted she was a lady. But she’d been able to convince him she could help. Many crimes were committed by and against the aristocracy, after all. Who better to be watching without being paid any mind than a young lady of the ton? Who better to sneak up on unsuspecting brigands in the streets than a woman no one would suspect was looking for
them? This, and only this, had convinced Daffin to allow her to be a part of his tribe.

  He would not allow her to call herself a runner. She was an assistant, and if that was as close to becoming a member of law enforcement as she could be, it was good enough for her. For the moment.

  She’d prove her worth and convince them they needed her. They couldn’t officially hire a woman, but they could accept her help and give her a share of the bounty. She readily accepted.

  After working out the particulars, Daffin had set to work teaching her. He showed her techniques of watching people, questioning suspects, establishing alibis, tracking people down, and searching for clues. She’d had many good instincts on her own, but with his help she’d exceeded expectations. By the time she’d been working with him for two years, she was one of the finest of the lot, according to Daffin. Which was why the night she’d met Mark, she’d been chasing the servant out to the mews with nary a thought.

  She’d hoped Mark would be proud of her accomplishments. She’d thought he’d look at her with more pride and respect. Instead, when he discovered her affiliation with Bow Street, it was just another strike against her. She’d been asked to work for the War Office through a connection of Daffin’s, and after she and Mark had their falling-out, she took it. She had more reasons than one to leave England.

  * * *

  “I want to help too,” Regina said, snapping Nicole from her thoughts again.

  Nicole furrowed her brow. “Help with what?”

  “I want to help discover who murdered Cousin John.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Mark provided Oakleaf the directions to the sunroom where he’d last seen Nicole. He was sorely tempted to go with him and witness his loving wife’s reaction to seeing the Bow Street Runner again, but he didn’t want to have to punch Oakleaf in the face when the man was doing his family a favor by being here. And at the moment Mark was even more curious about something else.