The Duke's Daring Debutante (Regency Historical Romance)

by Ann Lethbridge

  She moaned into his mouth. Writhed beneath his weight, seeking more of the pleasure he gave. He kissed his way from her mouth to her chin to the pulse at the base of her throat. Hot kisses, his tongue laving, his mouth sucking, promising... Ah, yes. He took her nipple in his mouth, toyed with it with his tongue and then suckled.

  The arrow of pleasure streaking to her core almost undid her. She arched her back, rocked her hips against his thigh. He broke away, kneeling over her, his breathing ragged.

  ‘I need this off,’ he said roughly. He tugged at the hem of her chemise. ‘I need to feel every inch of your luscious skin against me.’

  She lifted her bottom so he could push it up over her hips, then sat up to help him take it off over her head. ‘And these,’ she said, pulling at the waistband of his pantaloons.

  Never taking his gaze from her face, he leaped down from the bed and snuffed the candles.

  The light of a not-quite-full moon filled the room with shadows and patches of soft light. She sensed, rather than saw, him remove his shoes, strip his nether garment down his legs and step out of them. A glimpse of his arousal. The flash of bare flanks as he climbed onto the bed again and his face caught in a stray moonbeam as he leaned over her once more. The shadows sculpted the muscles of his chest into gleaming planes and shadowed curves. He looked otherworldly, dark as sin, handsome as the devil, and unbelievably sensual.

  But she had wanted to see him. All of him.

  He had quite deliberately made sure she could not. Was it so bad, then? His leg? That he must hide it in the shadows? She wanted to ask but did not quite have the courage. ‘Why leave us in the dark?’ she said instead.

  He stilled. Stroked her hair back from her face in so tender a motion her heart gave a painful twinge. ‘I thought you might be more comfortable.’

  Protecting her maidenly fears? Or worried about his appearance? She reached up and pulled his head down for a kiss. No sense in hurting his manly pride. The little she had seen of his body had not disappointed, and there would be other occasions on which to see and explore before they finally parted. Hopefully.

  He kissed her back, first palming her breasts and then dipping down to kiss and lick and suckle until she thought she might go mad with wanting—no, needing—fulfilment. The evidence of his own arousal pressed against her hip, so hard and so hot she wanted to take him in her hand, but she had already surprised him with her boldness once so she wasn’t going to risk shocking him again and having him stop to question what it meant. Instead, she satisfied her need for touch by caressing the solid muscle across his back and the curve of his buttocks, trying not to score his back with her nails as he drove the pitch of her wanting ever higher with his mouth at her breasts.

  Unable to bear it any longer, she could not stop from saying his name. ‘Freddy,’ she pleaded. It had been so long since she’d had a man inside her.

  He lifted his head, his gaze searching her face, but she could not make out his expression. Shock? Surprise?

  ‘Impatient, are we?’ he said, his voice teasing, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

  He was pleased.

  He petted her breast, her stomach, and then moved lower, his fingers stroking through her curls. One finger slipped into her. He made a sound of pleasure. ‘You are wet for me.’

  Her insides were molten heat. ‘Freddy, please.’

  He worked one finger inside her, gently stroking. Intrusion. Pleasurable friction. But not nearly enough.

  ‘So tight,’ he murmured. ‘So ready.’

  Another finger parted her folds and slowly pushed deeper, while his thumb pressed against her perle. She fell apart, shattered into bliss.

  He pressed the blunt head of his shaft against her entrance as the sensations rippled through her body.

  Mon Dieu, the man knew his way around a woman’s body.

  ‘This will hurt,’ he murmured, ‘but not for long.’

  She winced, not in pain but chagrin in anticipation of his disappointment.

  He pushed into her swiftly and stilled, staring down at her, and despite the shadows she saw him realise the truth. And then he was moving. Slowly at first, but as she found the counterpoint to his thrust by lifting her hips, he increased the tempo and the depth. He drove into her hard, building the tension, pushing her back up to the crest of desire, watching her face, easing back when she was sure she was going to shatter, holding her there, punishing her with intense, unfulfilled pleasure and need until she clawed at his back to raise herself up, bit his earlobe and thrust her tongue in his ear. He shuddered and rotated his hips to bring pressure to bear against her perle. So wickedly sensitive. She toppled over the edge, her vision turned black, pinpricks of light dancing across the dark.

  He rode the wave and gave one last powerful thrust, withdrawing from her body at the moment before he, too, reached his climax. A needless protection but a gesture so heartbreakingly sweet it made her want to cry.

  Bones melting, limbs useless, heart pounding at the surge of bliss, she lay beneath his hot, heavy weight. Her hard breathing melded with his so precisely she was not sure that he wasn’t breathing for her and her heart wasn’t beating for his.

  Never had la petite mort taken her so completely. It really had felt like a moment of death.

  With a groan, he rolled off her and pulled her tight to his side, one hand resting on her breast, one thigh pinning her to the bed.

  His warmth, his weight made her feel safe. Treasured.

  Since when had she started dreaming of such foolishness?

  She couldn’t hold the thought and drifted into darkness.

  * * *

  Not a virgin. He wasn’t surprised. His body was lax, sated, immovable, but his mind, no longer enslaved by lust, calculated and reasoned with swift efficiency. It made perfect sense. Her boldness. Her comfort with her own sensuality. Her lovely kisses. Somewhere in her past there was a lover. And he found he didn’t mind. Much. It had made for a very pleasurable, intimate encounter, one that might not have gone so well if she was inexperienced.

  Only one question caused him concern. Why would such an intelligent woman allow him to make the discovery prior to their marriage?

  Because she didn’t still want to marry him. His gut dipped. With the ease of long practice he quelled the pain of loss. There was no emotion in their bargain. It had always been a convenient arrangement, to save her reputation and keep his honour intact. Keep his friend Gabe from repudiating their friendship.

  She might well be surprised to discover it changed nothing. They would still marry. And one thing he knew without a doubt, they were compatible where it counted most.

  A quiet sense of joy filled him at the thought of a future of such pleasurable intimate encounters. After the knot was tied. Hopefully it would be enough for her, because they would not be having children.

  The small fingers, flat on his chest, flexed briefly. A telltale sign she was awake, along with the slight change in her breathing. Awake and pretending.

  ‘Who was he?’ he asked.

  The fingers tightened into a fist. She pushed away. He refused to let her go, held her firmly, but not to cause hurt. After a second or two she gave up the struggle.

  ‘It is a fair question,’ he said.

  ‘Tiens. Wasn’t it enough that I tell you I do not wish to marry?’

  Upset. She sounded upset when he’d expected defiance. Or wheedling. Or excuses. But, no, she was upset, as if it was somehow his fault. Mentally, he sighed. When it came to women, it was always his fault.

  ‘Fine. I don’t need to know,’ he said evenly. He hoped he didn’t. He hoped like hell the man was in her past and not her present.

  This time when she pushed away he released his hold.

  She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees beneath the sheets, giving him a
glorious view of her delicate back, the dip of her waist, the dimple above each rounded swell of her buttocks. He rolled onto his side and bit lightly on that firm, silky flesh. More to bring her attention back to him than as punishment, though there was an element of that, too, a primal need to mark her as his.

  ‘Ouch.’ She turned and gazed down at him, a crease in her brow.

  He hoisted himself up, lit the candle on the nightstand and rested his back against the pillows and headboard. He pulled her back to rest against his shoulder. Her body remained rigid, unyielding, but she did not pull away. He nuzzled her neck. ‘Does your sister know?’

  ‘No.’

  He waited. Sometimes it was better to say nothing.

  ‘He was a mistake. A very stupid mistake.’

  The pain in her voice tore at his heart like a serrated blade. Whoever this man was, he had hurt her badly. And was likely the reason she found it difficult to trust. He wanted to call the man out. ‘You met him here or in France?’

  ‘France. In Challans.’ She sounded ashamed.

  His heart wrenched for how young she must have been. Alone, without family. It was hardly surprising she’d sought protection. ‘I’m sorry.’

  The words sounded trite, and yet she relaxed against him, giving him her full weight.

  Trust. More than any she’d given him before. He kissed the point of her shoulder.

  ‘After you escaped the fire the soldiers set at your house,’ he murmured. He knew the story of her escape from the house burned to the ground by Napoleon’s troops in an attempt to root out loyalists. He knew that the sisters had been separated by the event, Nicky making her way to England and in the process meeting Gabe. Minette had been taken by a group of nuns. She had been little more than a child. He could only imagine how fearful she must have been. How brave.

  ‘A few months later. The nuns were hidden in the house of a merchant. It was dreadful. Locked up day after day in the cellar. Prayers every few hours. I took over obtaining supplies for the kitchen. It got me out of the house. I met Pierre at the market. He was charming, interesting, alive. I left with him.’

  His blood chilled at the thought of a gently bred girl alone in a country in the throes of unrest. He threaded his fingers through hers. ‘You took a huge risk.’

  ‘It was an adventure. We would join a group harrying the soldiers. When things got too dangerous we would move on, find another group by listening to conversations in the taverns. Quite often they would find me.’ She shuddered. ‘Such young men. So full of fire and hope.’ She shook her head, her face filling with sorrow, and...guilt? ‘They didn’t stand a chance.’

  He put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a small squeeze. ‘I am glad you found people who cared for you.’ Much as he wanted to hate this Pierre. ‘Where did you come across Moreau?’

  ‘He was...’ Her expression shuttered. Clearly her trust only went so far. ‘He infiltrated the royalists.’ Her voice lowered to a whisper. ‘He killed them one by one by one.’

  ‘Pierre?’

  Bleakness filled her gaze before she buried her face in her hands. ‘Moreau fooled us all. He was so very clever.’ Anger and desolation rang in her voice. ‘Then he used me to get to Nicky.’ She lifted her head. Her gaze was bright with unshed tears and the glitter of anger.

  ‘And now you will have your revenge on him.’

  ‘Nicky gave up everything for me. She married to keep me safe. I want to make sure he can never harm her.’

  There was something she was not telling him. A part of him wanted to press the issue, the other part wanted only to offer comfort. He decided on comfort.

  He put an arm around her shoulders ‘We will catch him. Believe me.’

  He held his breath, waiting for her answer, hoping that after tonight she would at least trust him that far.

  She said nothing.

  As he had taught himself so long ago, he absorbed the blow in silence.

  But there was more pain in it than he had expected.

  * * *

  The silence stretched and Minette knew he was disappointed with her responses to his questions, though not angry as far as she could tell. Which in itself was a surprise. She wished to tell him all the rest. Desperately. But then he’d no doubt be disgusted. And she didn’t want that, not now, when there was a chance to destroy the evidence of her foolishness.

  She needed a change of subject before she confessed everything. ‘Why do you blame yourself for your brother’s death?’

  He turned his head sharply, looking at her in surprise and as if trying to decide what to tell her. She kept her expression neutral. If he did not care to talk about it, she was not going to press him. They were both entitled to their secrets.

  He stared upwards at the canopy for a long time. He wasn’t going to tell her. She startled when he finally spoke.

  ‘My brother and I had been arguing for weeks about who was the better whip. We argued a great deal. Mostly about foolish things. He was two years older and liked to lord it over me. He was, after all, bigger and stronger. But when it came to book learning and logic he didn’t stand a chance.’

  He smiled softly, his gaze becoming unfocussed as if he saw the past played out before him. ‘One thing we were matched in was riding and driving. Our styles were very different. I like precision in a horse. He preferred brute strength. We both had a penchant for speed. I told him I planned to beat his time from the house to the village on a route that involved a couple of turns and one tricky narrow bridge. Naturally, he challenged me to a race. We set it for the following day.

  ‘On the straight his horses pulled ahead, but he took the second turn too wide. He always did. I was expecting it. I feathered by him.’ A sad smile curved his lips. ‘I can still see the shock on his face as I pulled ahead. He was catching me up as we approached the bridge, though. The rule is that whoever is behind, even by a nose, must drop back to cross that bridge.’

  He shook his head slowly and closed his eyes as if in pain. ‘Being ahead there was my strategy. But his team was a whole lot faster than I had anticipated.’

  He reached for a glass of water beside the bed and offered her a sip. When she declined, he drank. She watched his throat move as he swallowed. This was hard for him. She felt honoured by his confidence and saddened at her own lack of honesty.

  He pulled her closer and twined his fingers in a lock of her hair, brought it to his nose and inhaled. ‘The last thing I remember was heading for the bridge a nose in front. Then I was on the ground, the carriage on top of me. I was dizzy. Sick from a blow to the head. And then I saw him a short distance off. Watched the light go out of his eyes.’

  ‘Who was ahead at the bridge?’

  His fist clenched, bunching up the sheets at his hip. ‘I was so sure I could beat him. I had it all mapped out in my mind. All I can recall is the roar of blood in my ears and the sight of the bridge coming closer. My blood was running so hot I felt invincible. I so wanted to beat him, just once.’ He closed his eyes. ‘And then nothing. I can’t remember if he pulled ahead or not. Damn it,’ he whispered. ‘Why can’t I remember?’

  The agony in his face caused her chest to squeeze. ‘You fear you didn’t follow the rules. That the accident was your fault.’ She frowned. ‘You are not that sort of person.’

  She wanted to bite her tongue when his body stiffened. When she glanced up at his face his eyes had gone as dark as midnight, his expression stark. He took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘It was my fault. I should never have challenged him. Not when I knew I had a chance to win.’

  ‘And that is why you let your mother treat you so badly. You think she is right to blame you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  God. Had he really said all that? Spoken about that day for the first time since his father had listened to
his version of the event? It was certainly the first time he’d expressed his deepest fear.

  The possibility that beneath the civilised veneer of a gentleman lay a cold-blooded killer. A fratricide. The ton whispered it behind his back. His throat dried and he took another swallow of water before putting the glass down. In his heart he was sure he hadn’t cheated. In his mind he wasn’t certain. He had been so very determined to win.

  What the hell had he hoped to gain by talking about those things? Was he really so devious, so deeply committed to his work that he had bared his soul to encourage her to reveal what she was so obviously intent on concealing? Or had he been hoping for sympathy? Neither felt particularly good.

  ‘Was that how your leg was injured?’

  Shocked, he could only stare at her. Of course she was likely to think that was the cause. It would be so easy to make it seem as if he, too, had suffered the consequences of that stupid race without exactly lying.

  ‘My foot, not my leg.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s been that way since birth.’ The reason his mother had barely been able to look at him without flinching. And the cause of his vow to never have children. No child of his would suffer the shame of being a cripple.

  She cocked her head on one side. ‘May I see?’

  Bile rose in his throat. There had been others who had wanted to see, when he had been young and had not realised their interest had been ghoulish rather than the concern of friendship. Until they’d grimaced and called him a freak. Schoolboys, so very cruel. And honest. He’d been lucky Gabe and Bane had not been similarly disposed. ‘Why would you want to?’

  ‘You saw all of me before you blew out the candles.’

  ‘You are worth looking at.’ No, that was not self-pity he heard in his voice. It was a statement of fact, nothing more. ‘It is not a pretty sight.’ And a woman’s sensibilities were delicate.