by Darcy Burke
The duke continued to raise his hands until he was barely touching her silk covered skin with his fingertips. Even so, the light touch seemed like consuming fire on her thighs as he moved past her garters, and her core was hungry for something she didn’t truly understand.
When at last his fingers met the juncture of her thighs, she couldn’t hold back the cry of astonishment as his thumb brushed the softest part of her folds. Her hips jerked up, and she strained towards him. A wolfish smile curved his lips, and ever so slowly, he circled his fingers over the tight little nub that was wet and pulsing for him.
Kate closed her eyes as sensation after sensation swept through her. Never in her entire life had she known anything like it. Her entire body felt like a tangled knot ready to unravel. She panted then opened her eyes. The sight of him at her feet, his dark head slightly bowed as he concentrated on pleasing her? It was shocking, what with her skirts pushed up to her thighs.
He slid a strong finger inside her, never ceasing his teasing of her nub and she cried out.
“Yes,” he moaned. “Enjoy it.”
At the sound of his purring voice, her entire body tensed then pulsed again and again with bursting stars of ecstasy. She shook as his thumb circled relentlessly and his finger thrust deep inside. Her hands slid into his hair and pulled him to her.
He pressed his face to her breasts, warming them with long kisses. As the last bit of pleasure faded, she drew in a deep breath and couldn’t stop the smile from coming to her face. So, this was pleasure.
She didn’t know what to make of it except for the fact she liked it very much. Very, very much. How had she gone so many years without this kind of knowledge? Well, knowledge was the path to happiness they said, and she wanted as much happiness as he would give her.
Starting now.
Chapter Three
Among all the women Ryder seduced, and there had been many, none of them ever made him feel as if he was pulling an angel down from the night sky. Or perhaps it was worse. Perhaps it was she who was pulling him up from Hell, and he’d be damned before he pulled his firmly entrenched boots from Satan’s playground. He’d earned his place there years ago, and he hadn’t yet begun to pay for his sins.
Ryder rested his head gently against her soft breasts. God, she was beautiful. Certainly, not the beauty touted by the ton, but when she gasped with the pleasure he’d given her, her cheeks crested with color and her blue grey eyes raged with emotion.
And that. . . That was not acceptable. It was why he should have sent her away immediately. He and emotion were not allowed to mingle.
Ryder closed his eyes as he drew in her scent of cinnamon and roses, rubbing his face gently against her sex dampened skin. He could take her. It would be so simple, he’d push her back and slip her skirts up to her waist, take her sweet cunny into his mouth, and when she was slick with desire he’d take her.
But it felt wrong. He was not the man to give this young lady true what she desired. She deserved someone who would love her, who would lay down his life for her, who could give her more than just his body. She should give herself to a man who had the right to touch a bit of heaven. He was not that man.
After one last breath of her scent, Ryder leaned back and smoothed her skirts down her legs.
It took her a moment to meet his eyes, but she smiled, her eyes dazed and glowing with anticipation for more. “And now?”
She was not going to like his decision, but it was for the best. “Nothing. It is time for you to leave.”
She blinked. “Pardon?”
Gently soothing her, he caressed her skirts. In truth, he was convincing himself to keep the damn gown down for his fingers itched to inch them back up. “You came for pleasure and received it. Now it’s time for you to go.”
Her spine snapped straight, and the smile faded from her face. “I don’t understand.”
Ryder leaned back onto his haunches and forced his hands to rest on his thighs. “How clear do you wish me to make it, darling? Go, for your own good.”
The satisfaction faded from her eyes, replaced by confusion. “But—“
He leveled her with a firm stare. He had to get her out of here before his resolve faded under the growing pressure at his groin. “No.”
“Why?” Consternation elevated the pitch of her voice. “Am I not attractive enough?”
Ryder almost smacked himself in the head. Of course, she’d think the worst of herself. He was handling this badly, but his cock was tight to his stomach, throbbing to be inside her.
“No. You’re. . .” He searched for the smooth words which always came so easily whenever soothing a piqued female. Yet none came.
She pushed his shoulders back and stood. “I see.” She started inching around him, as if afraid her gown might brush him.
“No.” He laughed ruefully. “I don’t think you do.”
Stopping just out of reach, she looked down on him. Her eyes crackled with frustration. “Well, what is it then?” she asked softly.
Ryder struggled for the words that would somehow make this easier for her. At last, he shrugged. “You are a lady.”
She moved forward her eyes searching his. “I don’t want to be a—”
“You should.” It was almost laughable. She wished to be a sinner but looked like a saint. That was except for the glow he’d given her.
“But—”
Ryder stood, forcing her to look up at him. “You don’t truly want to be like me or any of the people you’ve read about in the papers. We’re dark and cruel, and we care nothing for love or honesty.”
A smile curled her lips, only this time, it was cold and her grey eyes froze in to the stillness of the cold English Channel. “Nor do I, Your Grace. Nor do I.”
He blinked at that. She didn’t wish for love? This lovely little thing that looked as if she’d never known a painful day in her entire existence? But as he looked closer, he could not deny that under her brimming optimism there was just the familiar edge of pain.
Ryder took her small hand in his grasp. His fingers swallowed up the graceful whiteness. “You should wish it, and you should find it.”
Her smile warmed, but it was an amused grin as if it was she who was now laughing at him. Him, the bloody Duke of Darkwell.
She tilted her dark head. “In my experience, men proclaim love but do not ever truly feel it.” Her smile tightened. “I think it is far better to mirror their approach to the relations between the sexes than to adhere to a woman’s hopeful heart. Don’t you?”
Ryder blinked, shocked by the sudden anger in her voice. How could he tell her she was completely in error. That men did love. That they could love so entirely it might burn them to a cinder when it was ripped from them. “I—”
She shook her head, her dark curls caressing her slender neck. “You say I should seek it, but do you seek love, Your Grace?”
Damn. The woman had him there. He’d known love once and had no plan on seeking it out ever again. “Touché.”
“It isn’t that you don’t desire me, then? That you’re sending me away?” she asked, gently lifting her hand and tracing it along his hard chest.
“Don’t desire you?” Ryder took her hand and placed it on the hard shaft pushing at the front of his breeches. His cock twitched at the touch of her hand.
She gasped and pressed harder. “Let me stay,” she whispered. “This once.”
He shook his head and stepped back, away from her tempting touch. A woman like her, whether she was prepared to admit it or not, wanted more than just once. She deserved more too. Nor was she ready for the way London would take her goodness and shred it to ribbons. Maybe if she’d been harder, a little wiser to the ways of the world. But he would not be the one to cast her into the cruelness of London’s sparkling sham as a woman to be used for a man’s play thing.
“You will leave through the servant’s entrance in one of the maid’s cloaks.”
“I will go out the way I came, thank you,” she clip
ped. She looked up at him through eyes still hot with desire, and her lips curved into a wickedly dangerous smile as she placed her hand on his hip then slipped it down to his hard cock and slightly squeezed. “But you shall regret it. I should have liked to experience what other carnal delights we might share.”
He smiled tightly and forced himself to take a step back. God, the woman was half way to being a temptress, but he wasn’t going to lead her down that dangerous road. “It was a pleasure.”
“Yes. It was.” She gave a small curtsy then turned to the door. Her hand paused on the handle. She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “No need for goodbyes, I think. After all, we shall see each other again. Quite soon.”
With that, she whisked out through the door.
Ryder stood in the center of the room, staring after her. He never even asked her name. For some ridiculous reason, the realization saddened him. That was completely preposterous. Hell, it didn’t matter.
Slowly, he returned to the small black and gold table. He stared down at the pale ribbon then clasped it in his fingers. Instantly, Jane came to mind. A man could love so much he would never forget and never give his love to another woman again.
Yes. He’d done the right thing. He sent the angel out, and now, he’d let his own personal darkness back in, along with the loneliness of the night.
After all, he deserved to be in Hell. That’s exactly where he would stay.
***
“There you are! Goodness, I’ve been waiting half the night!” Imogen Cavendish bounded down the front steps of their newly acquired town home overlooking Green Park. She grabbed Kate’s hand.
Instantly, Kate started marching up the limestone stairs, passing their spritely butler, Forbes, certain her cousin was going to say something terribly indiscreet before they were able to get into the privacy of their home.
“And?” Imogen demanded as they crossed the threshold and into the circular foyer. Their slippers echoed on the black and white Italian marble. “Did the good duke give your tail a little tickle?”
Kate stepped back and nearly stumbled on her gown in her chagrin. She shot her cousin a warning glare. “The servants!”
“Pish! They know all in any case, why pretend?” Glancing back at Forbes who still stood by the doorway, Imogen gave him a naughty grin. “Don’t they, Forbes?”
Forbes cleared his throat and bowed. “Indeed, they do, madam.”
“You see?” Imogen took Kate’s hand and tugged her along the hallway to the French salon. “Tea, Forbes!” she called over her shoulder.
Kate laughed. The woman was a breath of fresh air compared to the stodgy company she’d kept in the country. Like herself, Imogen was young and very wealthy. Best of all, they were both widows.
Neither of them had liked the idea of living alone, and having been friends since they were children in Shropshire, they decided to take up each other’s company in London.
Imogen started to hum, at least a step off-key, and with remarkable gusto for one who sang like an alley cat. She didn’t even stop once they were ensconced in the French Salon, the walls periwinkle and ivory striped silk. She and Imogen had chosen the tables, all French and painted to a glossy white embossed with pink roses, with more cheer than most married couples.
But tea. . . Tea meant a chat, and Imogen wouldn’t let Kate go until the last sip was drunk or every secret spilled. And right now, she just wanted to patter up to her room without being examined as if she were a dastardly French spy.
Giving Kate’s hand a squeeze, Imogen rushed around to the front of the pale blue watered silk settee and plunked them both down and waited. Her green eyes sparkled in her elfin face and her gold hair shone like copper in the firelight. The folds of her rose silk gown spilled out over the delicate settee and rustled over Kate’s country gown. What was more, Imogen looked as if she was about to burst with excitement.
Kate nibbled her bottom lip.
Imogen leaned forward, still silent. No doubt wanting to know every detail, and yet Kate wasn’t sure she wanted to elaborate on her experience. It had been bizarre in the extreme, though she wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. In fact, her mind was already racing with endless possibilities as to how she might meet the duke again.
“You liked him,” Imogen said assuredly.
Just as Kate opened her mouth, the maid popped in with a laden tea tray. The girl set the heavy silver service down before them. An indiscreet smile curled the maid’s lips, and she scampered out. Surely, servants weren’t supposed to be so cheeky, but then again Kate, herself, wasn’t really a model of female virtue.
“Well?” Imogen prodded, scooting even closer.
Kate studied the tea tray with fixed curiosity and began pouring the black liquid into a yellow china cup.
Imogen plucked up the delicate cup and proclaimed, “You did. You liked him. I can tell. You’re cheeks are positively glowing!”
Kate snapped up a hand to her face. Indeed, her cheek was warm against her cool palm. A laugh bubbled from her throat. “It was. . .”
“Amazing? Miraculous?” Imogen shivered with delight. “Oh, the Duke of Darkwell! You know, I tried for him once myself. Apparently I wasn’t to his taste. In the end it was his loss. You see—”
“Imogen,” Kate cut in, taking up her own tea cup. For some reason, she didn’t like the idea of Imogen fantasizing about him. And she wasn’t about to ponder why such an idea might agitate her.
“Of course, he is your duke, my dear, but the scandal sheets report him to be the most—”
“I know what the scandal sheets say.” And she did. Kate glanced back towards a stack of the rags she loved tucked away on the French table by the tall windows. In fact, she had stacks all over the house. They’d been her only entertainment through the long winter months alone in her sprawling country home.
Imogen nodded. “Of course. But you’re not quite as happy as I thought you’d be.” She narrowed her eyes. “Actually, I’d say you’re a trifle snippy.”
Kate shook her head, fighting back a smile. “I’m sorry, it’s just the evening didn’t go exactly as I planned.”
“Ah! Plans.” Imogen took a strawberry tart and plopped it on to her plate. She lifted her tea cup to her lips and sighed. “They seldom go as we desire, and sometimes it’s for the best.”
“Yes, but...” She wasn’t sure how to explain. “He sent me home.”
Imogen choked on a sip of tea. “Sent you home? But—But he is the rake of all rakes!”
“Exactly as I thought.” Taking a conciliatory drink of tea, Kate tried to sort out exactly how it happened. One moment he’d been caressing her and the next—well, the next he’d given her the boot.
Which made no sense because he undoubtedly desired her.
“It had to be the dress. I told you to wait. I said, ‘Kathryn, we shall buy you delicious new gowns and then you shall see him’. Did you listen to your dear cousin?” Imogen gestured towards Kate theatrically with her tart. “No. And now you have the consequences of never knowing what it would be like to—”
“It wasn’t the dress,” Kate cut in, knowing Imogen could go for ages. “Indeed, it wasn’t.”
Imogen frowned and took a bite of her tart. “Something did happen though.” She chewed, eyeing Kate with consideration. “I’m positive.”
Imogen would know. Unlike herself, Imogen had already had countless lovers. Her husband had been old and had just wanted a pretty girl to present to company. Also unlike herself, Imogen had never been foolish enough to believe a young man could ever love her just for herself. She was too schooled in the ways of the ton, having married at fifteen.
“Are you going to tell me or shall I have to bring out the rack? No, I have something far more cruel. I shall deny you strawberry tart.”
Kate glanced at the taunting strawberry tarts glistening with sugar and cream. Imogen could eat heaps and never worry about her figure. She, on the other hand, had only to look at the delicate little
confections and had to go off on a bracing walk. “Hardly a punishment.”
Imogen rolled her green eyes. “Come now, you are purposefully avoiding the subject.”
Shifting on the settee, Kate drew in a breath. Imogen was her closest friend and her ultimate guide to scandal. Still. . . she’d never talked about such things, not with her mother and most certainly not to Percy. In fact, if she’d mentioned such things to him, he probably would have called her an un-virtuous wife. Even though he saw nothing hypocritical about splashing his name about with countless women of ill repute in the sheets.
“He commenced seducing me.” Kate lowered her voice to a hush. “It was divine. He touched me. Stroked my legs.”
Imogen glanced about the room. “I’m sorry, are you concerned about an audience?”
Kate sat back as she pinned Imogen with a dagger glare. “It’s all very well to you, but I’ve never done anything like this. You met Percy, you know what he was like.”
Percy had firmly believed a wife should be a paragon of modesty and not know the joys of the flesh. A mistress on the other hand, well apparently, she was perfectly qualified to be given care and satisfaction. Once, she’d seen him with one of his women, just outside the coaching inn leading to London. He’d kissed her quite in public, his hands roving over the woman. He hadn’t seemed to care about modesty at that moment.
“Silly is what that situation was. I don’t know how you ever thought of him as a potential lover, let alone a husband.”
Kate ground her teeth. Yes. Percy was a particular sore point. When she’d first met the russet haired gent, he’d been so charming, quoting Shakespeare and Dryden. He’d said he loved her and longed to cherish her. Much to her shame, she believed him.