Put Up Your Duke

by Megan Frampton

Something in her thrilled to have him so out of control when he’d been the one to guide what they’d done thus far. She stroked him, imitating the action she’d seen him do on himself, her other hand at his chest, playing with his nipples, rubbing her palm against the light sprinkling of hair there.

  Suddenly it seemed as though he couldn’t stand it any longer, since he pushed her onto her back and got back between her legs, only now, without fabric between them, it was so much more than before. His penis was just there, and she wanted it inside, wanted him to be joined with her, wanted to know what it felt like because she couldn’t stand not to know anymore.

  “I want you, Nicholas,” she said, arching her back so she could press more of her body into his. “I want you,” she repeated, knowing he knew what she’d said, but not able to control her words.

  “Yes,” he replied, then took hold of himself and guided his penis to there, where she ached and wanted and throbbed herself. It was odd, feeling him there, and she bit her lip as he went just a bit further.

  “Does it hurt?” he asked, his expression concerned.

  “Not yet,” she said, returning her hands to his backside, feeling the thrust and clench of his muscles as he moved. It felt amazing to have him, to have his body, so different from hers, on top of her. Going into her.

  He kept pushing forward, and then it did hurt as he encountered the barrier of her virginity, but she was beyond caring about that, not now when it was all so close. She pulled on his body to draw him the rest of the way in, and he groaned as he thrust home, her sex feeling stretched and full and absolutely right.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, his words punctuated with harsh breathing.

  “Yes. Please, Nicholas, please.”

  “Please what?” he said in a more teasing tone, still ragged, but with a note of humor threading through.

  “Please do whatever it is we should do,” she said in an irritated voice. She hadn’t known that having sexual relations with him at last would make her grumpy. Only perhaps she was grumpy because the sexual relations were delayed, and right now she couldn’t imagine anything she wanted more than him inside her, for her to feel that pleasure again as his body—that gorgeous, hard, muscular, delicious body—brought her to climax.

  He didn’t reply, but began to move, easing his penis out of her body and then back in again, his harsh breathing punctuating each thrust.

  It hurt, but in a pleasant way, which was odd to think about. She ran her fingers to the lowest curve of his backside and gripped him, pulling when he went in and releasing as he released.

  It seemed as though she was doing the right thing because he closed his eyes and groaned, his thrusts getting faster, his skin warming on hers, his chest hair brushing against her sensitive breasts.

  It was all too much, and yet not enough. She found his rhythm and moved her body under his, his motion getting faster and faster until, finally, he froze and shouted, flinging his head back as she felt him throbbing inside her.

  Then he collapsed on top of her, this time not seeming to worry about his weight, but it felt right and wonderful to have him there, a warm wetness inside her, his body damp with sweat as he lay on top of her.

  “Mmph,” he mumbled at last somewhere in the vicinity of her neck.

  “Mmph yourself,” she replied, her hands rubbing the skin on his back.

  She didn’t ever want to move, she wanted to stay here like this forever, so she uttered a sound of disappointment as he moved off her to lie next to her, putting his arm under her head, his other hand on her belly.

  “That was everything I thought it would be,” he said, his voice a low rumble. Then he lifted his head and looked at her. “And now it’s your turn.”

  Epigraph

  From the unedited version of A Lady of Mystery’s serial:

  “Thank you, Princess Jane.” Jane smiled at the young girl, no more than twelve, who was curtseying in front of her.

  “You are very welcome. Now, tell me again, what are you going to do with what I’ve given you?”

  The girl’s expression grew fierce and determined. “I am going to put half of it away, and I am going to pay the schoolteacher to give me extra lessons and then I am going to buy a new, serviceable gown and I am going to walk to the castle, where I will ask for a position.”

  She looked so proud and spoke so strongly Jane knew it would be all right. For the girl. For herself.

  “Perfect.”

  She would never stop looking for him, but even if she never found him, she would be all right. She would be all right.

  —THE PRINCESS AND THE SCOUNDREL

  Chapter 28

  The last thing Nicholas wanted to do now was—well, anything. He wanted to lie here next to her, perhaps drowse a little, feel her soft warmth next to him as his mind wandered.

  But on the other hand, he didn’t want to stop doing any of this, and she hadn’t climaxed yet, and he didn’t want to leave her poised on that precipice when he was so thoroughly sated. Or not so thoroughly, since he was already anticipating doing it again.

  He sat up and leaned over, finding his smallclothes from the floor where he’d dropped them. He pushed her legs apart and cleaned her, gently, one hand on her belly caressing her skin. “That’s it, let me take care of you,” he said in a low voice as he felt her relax. Her hand was on his arm, and she was sliding her fingers on his biceps. He had to admit it felt glorious to have her so clearly reveling in his body. All the boxing he’d done was worth it if it resulted in her admiring his form so much.

  When she was clean, he tossed the fabric back on the floor and nuzzled his face into her belly, chuckling as she giggled when his hair tickled her skin. He put his hand on her breast, her lovely, full, round breast, and stroked her, teasing the nipple until it was hard.

  Her hands were in his hair, holding him to her, as though he would want to be anywhere else. He kissed the skin under her belly button, then moved down lower still, sliding one finger into her folds as his mouth found her clitoris. She made a low, soft sound deep in her throat and he had to chuckle again. She was so ready for it, ready to be brought to the edge of climax again, and he was determined to make it as good as he possibly could.

  Not that climaxes could ever really be bad, but given that this was her first time having intercourse he wanted to ensure the experience was the best it could possibly be.

  He licked that little button and moved his finger inside her, stroking her wetness. He could feel his cock already perking up with interest at what was happening, and he smiled to himself as he thought about doing it again. And again, and again, until morning.

  There was something to be said for anticipation. Not that he wouldn’t have enjoyed every moment of this if it had happened on their wedding night, but this—this, when he knew he’d gotten to know her, had gotten to share some of himself with her. When he loved her. That made it so much more important and real and made it feel, too, as though he was just as virginal as she.

  Fanciful thought, but it also felt true.

  He kept up his licking, keeping to a steady pace as he felt her begin to writhe under him. He lifted his head and licked his lips. Her eyes were closed, but when he stopped, they flew open and she gazed at him, her pupils dilated, her cheeks flushed, her mouth soft and open.

  “Do you like this?” he asked, in clear imitation of what she’d said earlier.

  She gripped his shoulder, trying to push his head back down. “You know I do,” she replied in a grouchy tone. He laughed, and resumed his work, teasing her with his tongue, caressing her with his fingers.

  The grip she had on his hair was tight, and he was guessing she was actually pulling some of his hair out, but he didn’t care. Not if it meant he was bringing her pleasure, and he knew, for certain, that he was.

  Now just to bring her over the cliff. He could feel her body trembling as the sensation built, and he kept up his steady rhythm, his tongue and fingers working her, bringing her to the edge, until�
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  “Oh, Nicholas,” she cried out, her body tightening with the climax, her hands now holding him to her so tight he doubted he could get free. Not that he wanted to.

  She put her head to the side, her eyes shut, her expression relaxed, and he raised his head, feeling a slow, satisfied smile on his face.

  Eventually she opened her eyes and met his gaze. Thank goodness she didn’t look embarrassed. Instead, she looked—pleasured. Happy. Content.

  She smiled back at him and he drew himself up to lie next to her again, drawing her into his arms, pulling the covers over their bodies and curling into her.

  “That was lovely,” she said, her voice the barest whisper.

  “Perfect,” he agreed, and her smile was the last thing he saw as they drifted off to sleep.

  “Good morning.”

  “Mmph,” Nicholas mumbled, his face buried in her hair. He seemed to have completely enfolded her in his arms while they slept, so his arm was across her chest while his leg was flung over hers. His cock was nestled right in her hip, and it, at least, was awake even if he was not. His cock had been remarkably alert, in fact, and they’d engaged in more sexual relations after that first time.

  “We have to get up, Nicholas,” she said, sounding irked. “My sister? Rescuing her? You remember?”

  He opened his eyes and lifted his head, meeting her gaze. “Of course I remember.” So much for some early morning sex. Was she grouchy every morning, or was this a special occasion because of her worry?

  He wouldn’t know, would he, since he’d never spent an entire night with her. He’d always slipped out before the morning. But it didn’t matter anyway, she was concerned about her sister, and he shared that concern.

  He leaped out of bed, naked, and went searching for his clothing. His smallclothes were soiled, so he just grabbed his trousers and put them on, then drew his shirt over his head. They’d packed a change of clothing, but he’d forgotten to retrieve it from the coach the night before.

  She got out of bed also, and he froze for a moment as he saw her. The early morning light streamed in through the one window, highlighting parts of her body. She had a glorious figure, he knew that, but the light and dark contrast made it look even more stunning, and he wished they could just spend the day in bed, his exploring each and every aspect of her.

  But they had her sister to rescue, and he cared too much about both of the sisters to regret—at least, not too much—not being able to indulge his own desires at the cost of someone else’s.

  “You’re going to have to do up my buttons,” she said, having gotten her chemise on. She picked up her gown and dropped it over her head, then turned her back so he could begin to work on them.

  “How do you feel?” And was there a nonawkward way to ask your previously virgin wife how she felt after consummation?

  She turned her head to look at him, her earlier grouchiness apparently gone, for the moment, at least. “I am fine.” She raised her eyebrow and smirked. “How are you?”

  Well, when you look at me like that I am undone. “Fine, thank you.” He concentrated on finishing up his buttoning task, trying to ignore all the instincts that insisted he try to return them to the bed as soon as possible. “Tired,” he couldn’t resist adding, a knowing tone in his voice.

  She turned when he finished and stepped close into him, putting her arms up to wrap around his neck. “I am fine. Thank you for coming with me.”

  “As though I could stop you,” he interrupted, at which she smiled in acknowledgment.

  “And thank you for last night. It was lovely.”

  Her words, even though she didn’t mean them that way, made it sound as though she was leaving him, and he felt a cold fear flow through his body. He lowered his mouth to kiss her cheek, whispering in her ear. “Thank you for changing your mind.”

  “Just keep that in mind, that I’m not perfect,” she replied, giving him a final squeeze before stepping away. “And now let’s go find my sister,” she added, making him remember that they were there for a different purpose than “find out how many times he could have sexual relations with the wife he loved.”

  Eventually he hoped he could resolve himself to that purpose as well.

  She walked downstairs into the common room, a welcome soreness between her legs. Hopefully not a beaming smile on her face. Could everyone tell? She hoped not. She felt her face flush at the thought.

  “Good morning, Your Grace, Your Grace.” Michael the groom—funny how she remembered his name now, even though she’d never thought to remember a servant’s name before—and the coachman (whose name she didn’t know, she would have to remedy that) were waiting for them in the public area of the inn, the signs of their breakfast on the table in front of them.

  “Coffee and tea, please,” Nicholas said to the innkeeper, who was behind the bar. “Quickly,” he added, with an understanding nod to Isabella.

  She didn’t think that she could eat anything anyway, even if they had the time to spare. Margaret’s running away, what they’d done last night, how twisted up and odd she felt today, all combined to make her stomach a jumble that would probably tolerate only tea, and that just barely.

  She’d been too exhausted the night before—from all her activities, she thought, hopefully without blushing too much—to do any thinking before she went to sleep, but this morning, it was as though there were two Isabellas inhabiting her brain; one, the responsible sister in pursuit of her sibling, while the other was a wanton hoyden who just wanted to do more of all the pleasurable things she and her husband had done last night.

  It was difficult to reconcile, but the responsible sister had to take precedence. At least until Margaret was safe.

  The innkeeper brought the beverages and laid them on the table, then cleaned up the breakfast things. Isabella sat and drank her tea, barely registering how it tasted.

  “Your Grace,” Michael said, “we heard that the mail coach stops for a change of horses at about noon in a town not five miles from here. We should be able to catch it today.”

  If Margaret was on it. But she had to be. Because if she wasn’t, then there was no telling where her sister was, and that thought couldn’t be borne.

  “Thank you,” Nicholas said, putting his hand on Isabella’s shoulder. “Go get the coach ready, the duchess and I will be out in just a few minutes.”

  The two nodded and left, while Nicholas beckoned the innkeeper over to settle up the bill. Isabella could hear they were talking about something—the weather, the accommodations, whatever—but didn’t hear anything, her mind was already too full of words, the two Isabellas chattering inside her brain.

  Margaret, Nicholas, bed, pleasure, worry, lost, found, find, skin, touch, marriage. All of it a maelstrom in her mind.

  “We’ll find her today,” Nicholas said in a confident tone.

  “We will,” Isabella replied, hoping he was right.

  Epigraph

  From the unedited version of A Lady of Mystery’s serial:

  “Have you seen the prince?” Jane felt ridiculous talking to each person she and Catherine encountered on the road, but each time when she spotted someone, she thought, What if this is the one who’s seen him? What if?

  None of them seemed to mind her asking, but then again, none of them had seen him, either.

  The shadows of the day grew dark. “We should stop soon,” Catherine said, and Jane nodded, glancing up at the sky.

  “What if his name is Algernon?” Jane blurted out.

  Catherine looked confused for a moment, then laughed. “Or Ichabod.”

  “Or what if it is just absolutely plain, like Robert or Michael or William. It wouldn’t suit him.”

  “Well,” Catherine reasoned, “that might be why he’s just called Prince. Maybe he doesn’t like his name. I know I hate it when people call me Cathy.” She looked at Jane. “Nobody can shorten your name, can they? That’s lucky.”

  “I am lucky,” Jane agreed. And she was—yes, she
couldn’t find her husband, but she knew what she wanted. And she would be fine if his name was Algernon. Or even Moloch or Nebuchadnezzar.

  —THE PRINCESS AND THE SCOUNDREL

  Chapter 29

  They were on the road again within half an hour. “It won’t be long.” Nicholas leaned forward to touch her hand, but decided he’d be far happier sitting next to her, so he did so.

  And, just as she’d done when they’d been in bed, she tucked herself under his arm and put her cheek on him, curling in like a cat wanting to nap.

  What a happy coincidence that he wanted to pet her. But now was neither the time nor the place.

  He felt her heave a sigh next to him. And then she spoke in a soft, but clear, voice. “She was right about them,” and Nicholas knew she meant their parents. “I always hoped that somehow what they planned, what they did, it was for our good. To keep us safe for the future.” She shook her head. “It was only to secure their own.”

  Nicholas squeezed her arm. “Now you have other people to keep you safe.” Did he sound maudlin? Perhaps. But he absolutely meant it, and he wanted her to know it, to know that he was there when or better yet if she needed him.

  She leaned up to kiss his jaw. “I know.” Then she drew back, a questioning look on her face. “You asked me about boxing. Why I wanted to do it. How did you start? Besides the distraction”—and she blushed, as though recalling that there would no longer be a need for distraction—“there has to be something that compels you to—to get punched.”

  “And do plenty of punching myself, thank you. I don’t usually lose,” he said, knowing he was bragging, but it was the truth. She wanted the truth, didn’t she? That was the only reason he’d said that, of course. For truth’s sake.

  “Well?” Oh, right, she was waiting for his answer. Not the answer where he told her how wonderful he was, either.

  He leaned his head back against the cushions, the movement of the carriage making him sleepy. Well, that plus he hadn’t gotten very much rest the night before, he’d spent most of the night making love to his wife.