She Tempts the Duke

by Lorraine Heath

“Are you nervous?”

  “Should I be?”

  “No. Just trust me to handle this.”

  “I do.”

  Reaching out, he felt silk, but not the silk of her nightdress. Silk of her skin. Her thigh. He slid his hand up—

  Her hip.

  “Your nightdress.” His voice sounded rough, raw.

  “I removed it.”

  “I see.” Damned, but he wished she’d removed it before he doused the final flame.

  “Are you disappointed?” she asked.

  “God, no. I should have known you wouldn’t be shy about this.”

  “It’s not this, Sebastian. It’s you. I’ve never been shy with you.”

  He felt her hand traveling up his arm, exploring. He closed his eye, imagining her exploring everything. She might be a novice at lovemaking, but he suspected she’d be a quick study.

  He followed the curve of her hip, her side, until in his mind, he could see her clearly stretched out beside him. He rolled until he was half-covering her, until her luscious swells met the flat planes of his body. Heated velvet warmed his flesh.

  Unerringly he plowed his fingers into her hair, cupped the back of her head, and blanketed her mouth with his. Inwardly he smiled at the flavor of brandy on her tongue. It added a dark richness to the kiss. But beneath it was the taste of Mary, and he sought it out like a man who had been denied drink for most of his life.

  For that was how he felt. He’d been in a desert searching for an oasis and she was it. Her eyes were the green of lush vegetation, her hair the red of ripe fruit, her sighs the soft wind cooling his fevered skin.

  He couldn’t deny that he wished other circumstances had led to this moment, that she’d had a choice, that it was not scandal that had brought her to his arms. But neither could he deny that he was damned glad that she was here. And not because it had been so long that his body ached for want of a woman. But because the woman was Mary.

  Lush Mary, whose hands trailed over him, tentatively exploring. Everywhere that she touched he felt as though a dead part of him was being brought back to life. He couldn’t remember the last time that he had yearned for a woman’s touch to this degree. It was as though he would die if she stopped touching him, if he were forced to stop touching her.

  He trailed his mouth along the slope of her throat and closed a hand around a pliant breast. He relished the weight of it against his palm. Easing down, he circled his tongue around her nipple.

  Gasping, she dug her fingers into his scalp.

  Closing his mouth over her areola, he wondered at the shade, cursed himself for insisting on darkness. What an utter fool he was. But he could no more leave her now to light lamps than he could cease to breathe.

  If only there could be a way to shine the light on her without shining it on him.

  She whispered his name, spurring him on to greater pleasures. The sole of her foot traveled along his leg.

  He slid lower, bracketing his hands on either side of her ribs. How could she be so slender, yet so voluptuous? He moved down, dipping his tongue in her navel. Someday he would pour wine there and sip it. But for now it was enough to experience the saltiness of her skin against his tongue.

  He slid down further, nestled himself between her thighs. The fragrance of her sex wafted around him. He blew at the curls. She sighed.

  She did not question, she did not object. He lowered his face and kissed the very heart of her womanhood. He swirled his tongue over her, felt her quiver beneath him. So sensitive, so ready for his plunder.

  He was aching with the need to plow into her, but not yet, not until he revealed what she could have. With mouth, tongue, and fingers, he taunted and teased, urged her toward greater heights. Her mewling cries echoed around them, trapped within their curtained confines. He heard her gasping, could feel her writhing.

  Her fingers became entangled in his hair, tugged and soothed. His body was tense with need, but he fought it back. He would have her, but he would have her so slick and wet that he would slide in smoothly and save her discomfort.

  He didn’t want to hurt her, considered pleasuring her and denying himself, but she was a temptation he hadn’t the strength to resist. He wanted to know how it felt to sink into her heated depths. He wanted to feel her pulsing around him, drawing out the last of his seed. He needed her to make himself complete.

  He didn’t know where that thought came from. Didn’t want to acknowledge the truth of it. He had been too long on his own. He needed no one. Yet the declaration mocked him.

  Unlike Mary, who never mocked him. Who accepted him faults and all.

  Who was crying out and bucking beneath him, whose nails were scoring his shoulders.

  Mary, Mary, Mary. Dear sweet glorious Mary, lost in the throes of passion.

  Rising above her, he plunged into her and released a harsh curse when she screamed.

  He stilled, but holding him as close as she was Mary could feel the tremors cascading through the entire length of his body. He had taken her on a journey of exquisite rapture. But it hadn’t been enough to distract her from the pain of her maidenhead being breached.

  Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t been so large, but the fullness of him astounded her.

  “Forgive me, Mary. Dear God.” His face was buried in the curve of her shoulder.

  “Shh. It’s all right.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “I know. The pain is easing. Give me a moment.”

  Their harsh breaths filled the air, echoed around them. The musky scent of sex hung heavy around them. She didn’t know why she’d never considered that lovemaking would come with a fragrance. Strange how it enhanced her desires, made her yearn even more for what could be between them.

  “It was lovely, by the way,” she murmured.

  “Lovely?”

  He sounded as though he choked on the word, but how could she describe what she’d felt? “Splendid, really. Spectacular.” She released a self-conscious laugh, held him tighter.

  He pressed his forehead to hers. “It can be like that when we’re together.”

  “I might expire if I experience those sensations again.”

  “You won’t.”

  “Is it like that for you, when you … reach that part.”

  “It’s exceedingly … lovely.” He chuckled low, a sound that vibrated through her heart.

  “You’re teasing me now. Is it all right to tease when we’re doing this?”

  “It’s all right to do anything we want.”

  He shifted slightly, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the discomfort.

  “Does it still hurt?” he asked, and she heard the worry in his voice. While he’d not been able to see her closing her eyes, he’d obviously been aware of her stiffening.

  “Not so much. Move a little more. I think I’m getting used to it.”

  He took her mouth as though he owned it, and she supposed in some ways he did. There was a roughness to the kiss that had been lacking before. It more closely resembled the desperation she’d sensed in the garden. As though if he didn’t have her, he would die.

  Warmth swirled through her and her entire body responded by curling inward. It took her a moment to realize that he’d begun moving slowly, sliding out, then in, gently with no hurry, no rush. The kiss had initially distracted her, but now it became part of the sensations. His tongue swirling through her mouth, his hands knotting in her hair, his hips rocking against hers.

  The discomfort receded, the pleasure returned. More intense, more encompassing than it had been before. This time she knew what to expect. Before she had fought it, feared it. Now she embraced it. Embraced him.

  She caressed him, every inch that she could reach. She realized that he, too, had to be lost in the sensations because he didn’t stiffen or object when her fingers encountered scars and continued to explore them. They were part of him, and as such, they were part of her.

  Breaking off from the kiss, he r
ose above her and began pounding into her with a fierceness that called to the wildness in her. His grunts echoed around her. She felt the tenseness in his muscles, the quivering. Her own body reacted in kind: tightening, crying out for release.

  When the climax hit her, she feared that he had lied, that she would die. How could anyone survive such intense pleasure? It rocked her to her core, left her with no bones, with the inability to move as Sebastian cried out with his final thrust.

  Resting on one elbow, he buried his face in her hair. She could feel the hard pounding of his heart against her breast. She didn’t know where she found the strength to skim her fingers over his slick back.

  “That was even more lovely than before,” she said breathlessly.

  He laughed, a deep, rich sound, as he rolled off her. He slid an arm around her, brought her in against his side.

  It was strange but that one small act pleased her more than anything else that they’d done that evening. It gave her hope that one day he’d be glad that he married her.

  Chapter 24

  Awaking to the faint call of the lark, Mary remembered leaving a window open and realized it must be morning. Impossible to tell with the draperies around the bed pulled as tightly shut as they were. They locked in the warmth of body heat, the scent of lovemaking, and her husband’s quiet snores. She wondered how late it was. It was the only reason that she leaned over and carefully parted the drapes—to try to determine the proper time, not to catch a glimpse of her husband. Or at least that had been her intention, but when enough faint light stole in to reveal him, she could not resist the temptation to make the most of it.

  Sebastian was sprawled on his back. Long limbs tangled in the sheets, long limbs that had been tangled around her when she drifted off to sleep. His face was turned away from her slightly, but because she was to his left she was able to see the scars clearly. At some point during the night he had removed the patch. She’d seen the scars before, had refrained from studying them too closely when he was fighting the fever because it had felt like stealing something private from him without his knowledge.

  Perhaps he would consider what she was doing now as the same, only now they were married and should have no secrets, no mysteries from each other. She could not say there was a beauty to the mottled flesh, but there was grace to it. He’d only returned to her life a short time ago, but she couldn’t imagine him with Tristan’s unmarred features. His face—scars and all—suited him. His temperament. His determination. All he’d endured to again walk these halls as lord and master. She wished he were more comfortable in his skin, that he would welcome the light touching upon it as they made love.

  And they did make love. She could think of no other way to describe the tenderness with which he’d explored her body or the fiery passion with which he’d finally taken her.

  She wanted to touch him now, comb back the hair from his brow, but she was loath to disturb him, to awaken him. The scars trailed down his shoulder front and back. His arm. How devastating the wounds must have been, how painful. Little wonder it had taken him so long to recover. Based upon when the battle occurred and when he returned to England, it must have been months. She wondered—

  “Had your fill yet of staring?”

  She gasped, startled with guilt. “How long have you been awake?”

  “Long enough.”

  “I think you’re beautiful.”

  “I think you’re mad.” He rolled onto his far elbow, giving her a clear view of his back and the sinewy muscles that ebbed and flowed with his movements. He reached through the opening on his side of the bed—for his patch she was certain. “Let back in the darkness as I’ve a mind to have you before breakfast.”

  She scowled, refusing to acknowledge the hurt at his callous words. “Such flowery words, Your Grace. Definitely designed to make me swoon into your arms.”

  He stilled his movements. He didn’t look back, but she could see the tightness traveling through his shoulders, along his back. “You’re my wife,” he ground out.

  “A wife still likes to be wooed.”

  “Then draw the drapes, and I’ll woo you with my body.”

  “No.” She flung the curtain wider until the sunlight poured in.

  “Dammit, Mary!” He swung around—

  Froze.

  She fought not to cover herself, wondered if he could follow the blush of her skin as the heat traveled over her. She’d not put on her nightdress before falling asleep. She was bared before him, the sheets pooled around her hips. Without him even touching her, her nipples puckered at the heat in his gaze as it roamed slowly over her. She watched his throat muscles work as he swallowed.

  “You are so beautiful. Fitzwilliam obviously had no clue regarding the treasures you hid beneath your clothes or he’d have never let scandal keep you from him.”

  “I told you I was chaste.”

  “Still, a man can imagine.”

  “You felt me last night. Is this what you imagined?”

  Slowly he shook his head. “Only partially.” Reaching out he trailed his thumb around one of her nipples. “I imagined you dusky not pink.” He skimmed a finger over a rounded swell. “And how the devil did you get a freckle there?”

  “I don’t know. Isn’t seeing me better than not?”

  “But to see you, you must see me.”

  “I told you I’m not repulsed by your scars.”

  “But to have them so near, to have them looming over you—”

  “You loom over me. With strength and purpose. But my hands are small, so I can’t know all of you. Only what I can touch. I want to know it all.”

  “All is hideous.” His voice carried a distraction that pleased her, as he tugged on the sheet, slowly pulling it away from her hips.

  She snatched it, held it in place. “Only if the light remains.”

  “Until I’ve seen you. Then it goes away.”

  “No. If it goes away, so do I.”

  “I’m your husband. You will do as I say.”

  “I’m your wife. Don’t you wish to see me happy?”

  He sighed deeply. “I’d forgotten what a trial you could be.”

  “Close your eye. Pretend you’re in the dark.”

  “I will not even blink and miss a second of seeing you in the light.”

  She gave him a hopeful smile. “Can you not understand that I feel the same?”

  “As I said: you are mad.” He yanked hard on the sheet, revealing the alcove between her thighs. His breathing came harsh and heavy.

  “The light?” she asked.

  “Stays, damn you.”

  With a laugh she worked her way out of the sheet that remained then yanked away the linen covering him and simply stared, taking her fill. “No wonder it hurt when we joined last night.”

  “I wish it hadn’t.”

  His voice held such regret that she could have wept.

  “Aunt Sophie said it will only hurt in the beginning. I’m not sure what she considers the beginning. Will it hurt the next time, do you think?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” She straddled him before he could protest. Smiling brightly, she looked down on him and glided her hands over his chest.

  “You’re really not repulsed.” His words were an astonished statement.

  She lowered her face until their breaths mingled. “I’m really not.”

  Then she kissed him. She may have initiated it but he quickly took control. She would let him have this victory, because she’d won the major battle. Sunlight was warming her skin as much as he was. She loved the feel of his hands coasting over her body. His palms were rough, fingers callused. A soldier’s hands. The hands of one who had toiled and fought. Not one who had done little more than study books and drink to excess. His lessons had come from life, living it, and very nearly being killed by it.

  Was it any wonder that he showed impatience in ballrooms and thought trivial so many rituals of etiquette?

 
; Drawing back from the kiss, she smiled at him, combed her fingers through his hair. She could see scars in his scalp that had been denied her before, and she realized he wore his hair long for a purpose. She could only hope that in time he would come to realize that none of it mattered. That when she looked at him, she saw beneath the scars to the man he was.

  Brave. Caring—even if it was the land instead of her that called to him.

  He cupped her cheek, tilted her face until she met his gaze.

  “You are such a beauty,” he said. “I was a fool to take you in the dark. I just thought it would be more pleasant for you not to see—”

  She pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t try to read my mind. I suspect you will always guess wrong. Last night was wonderful. I don’t regret it. The darkness added its own mystery to everything. Now the light will do the same.”

  She kissed him again, didn’t object when he cradled her hips, lifted her up, and brought her down to envelop his shaft. She took him deep, felt satisfied, complete.

  With his hands he guided her movements until she caught the rhythm. The sensations began building and she was in control of them. He glided his hands to her breasts, kneading them, scraping his thumbs over the taut nipples, sending desire coursing through her.

  He knew so much and she knew so little, yet still she felt his equal in their lovemaking. His groans, his panting spoke volumes. Her pleasure increased as she watched his face. The strain to hold back, the clenched jaw.

  Then she was the one panting as the pleasure spiraled. She rocked faster, harder. She dug her fingers into his chest, craned her head back, arched her spine—

  And succumbed to a joyous awakening as they were both flung into the abyss together.

  Chapter 25

  As Sebastian guided his horse over the rain-drenched land, he cast a glance at Mary riding beside him. She looked magnificent in her dark green riding habit with her hat perched at a jaunty angle. He kept her to his right not because he wanted to spare her the sight of his scars, but because he wanted to be able to see her with as much ease as possible. Of course now it was difficult to look at her without seeing in his mind’s eye her without a stitch of clothing. He’d been a fool to insist they make love in the dark, should have known that headstrong Mary would have her way. If she wanted light shining on them in the bed, light it would be.