The Accidental Duchess

by Madeline Hunter

  She could not speak. She could barely inhale. She nodded and reached toward the chair and the bath linen.

  His hand closed on it first. He stood and offered her his hand. To take it meant unfolding her body and rising out of the water. She would be unable to hide anything. She stared at that hand while she mustered some courage. She might be inexperienced, but she did not want to appear no more mature than a girl married off after her first season.

  Hoping she looked sophisticated, and praying her mortification would not show, she took his hand and stood. She glanced down. No one, not even Sarah, had seen her so thoroughly unclothed.

  He did not stare or gawk, but as he helped her step out of the tub she felt his gaze on her, sliding over her body, lingering on her breasts and legs and mound. He wrapped the linen around her. She clutched it close and tried to dry herself with its edges.

  “I will do it.” He took another linen off the chair.

  She kept the towel around her, holding it closed in front while he dried her arms and shoulders. She continued grasping it when he knelt on one knee and began drying her legs.

  “You are very composed. I am impressed.” His hands moved the towel over her feet and shins.

  “Well, I am not a child. Women of the world do not become madwomen just because a new experience unfolds.”

  He looked up, amused. “A woman of the world. Is that what I have married?”

  “Not much of one, I will admit. Due to the war, I have not traveled the way Cassandra did. And due to my aunts and my brother, I have not lived independently or even with much freedom, except that which I could arrange without their knowing. Yet I aspire to be one, and have done my best under the circumstances.”

  He lifted one of her legs and set the foot on his knee. The towel fell away so most of her leg showed. Almost all of it. Almost up to—

  “Now that you are a duchess, being a woman of the world will be easier.” He used his towel to dry her leg. Except it was already fairly dry, so the effect was more a caress. Slowly, up and down his hands moved that cloth. She became very aware of how high each time. Almost to her—

  She tried to ignore it, but her body could not. Her senses exclaimed with alarm each time the caress rose high. Then, after a while, another reaction joined the shock. An odd stirring made her wait for that shock, as if she wanted it.

  Standing on one leg grew difficult. She had to force herself not to wobble. The duke seemed unaware of her condition.

  “I would not want you to misunderstand, however. I will not allow you to have affairs, if that is part of being a woman of the world in your mind.”

  “I know that is out of the question until your succession is secured. I am not unschooled in how things are done.”

  “You should not count on my allowing it even after I have my heir, Lydia. I am sorry if that is an unexpected surprise.”

  Since his attention was more on her body than her face, she trusted he did not see anything to reflect her thoughts. She did not much care for his talk of allowing this or that, or not. Surely he knew that if she fell in love, she probably would not deny herself any more than he would.

  It might be wise to mention that now, rather than accept this little rule he had just made. A retort formed in her mind. Then he looked up at her, and her mind emptied.

  Tiny fires showed in his chestnut eyes. The natural severity of his face tightened, but not in an expression of anger. His gaze probed in a way that left her dumbstruck and trembling.

  The linen fell from his hands, but the caress did not stop. Deliciously warm, subtly rough, unmistakably possessive, his hands moved over her leg and thigh. The stirring thrummed, rising to a focused vibration whenever his hands moved high under the drape of her towel.

  Warmth suffused her, as if a strong fire burned in the fireplace. A small thought broke through her amazement, that an innocent should be afraid of this, and embarrassed. A part of her was both those things, but she could not look away, and the fear itself possessed a compelling excitement.

  His caress stopped. She thought perhaps he intended to now dry the other leg. She doubted she would be able to keep her balance if he did that.

  Instead he reached up to where she held the linen in her hands. Instinctively she clutched even tighter.

  “Let go of it now, Lydia.”

  She did not willfully obey, but her hold loosened anyway. He took the edges from her grasp and let the towel drop.

  She did not look at herself, but awareness of her exposure teased at that stirring until it quivered and moved like something alive. Her foot still rested on his knee, and she wondered if he could see that which she had never seen herself. The notion did not shock her too much. She was beyond that.

  He caressed again, up the outside of that leg, all the way until his fingertips slid over her hip to her waist. His other hand did the same on her other leg, like he outlined her on both sides, until his hands closed on her waist and held her. He leaned forward and kissed her stomach.

  Bolts of delicious sensation shot from that kiss. To her extremities and her heart, and down low to where the stirring continued its erotic churn.

  He stood and embraced her. Covered by him, she felt no less exposed. If anything she became more naked as she pressed the hardness of his body and his clothes rasped her skin. Even the kiss stripped her more, calling as it did to the physical responses that she could not control.

  Vulnerable but safe. Awake yet dreaming. Alive, so alive, so aware of details and nuances, but also dazed beyond comprehension, she could only follow and accept. Kisses on her neck left her gasping. The power of a new, invasive kiss, astonished her. The way his hands moved over her back and then her bottom startled and delighted. Pleasures small and large cascaded, leaving her short of breath. Soon they were all she thought about, and wanting them to continue dominated her instincts just as he seemed to dominate her body and will.

  A caress up her side, both luring and controlling, captivated her attention. Tremors rippled in her as she waited for something wonderful. Her essence anticipated what her mind did not know. Higher that warmth came, then around her body until his hand closed on her breast. It felt so good that her whole being sighed. His thumb skimmed the tip, creating a pleasure so mesmerizing that she forgot to breathe.

  “You like that,” he muttered into her neck while his mouth added to the wonders. She nodded. Those gentle flicks of touch intensified the pleasure to the point of anguish.

  She almost cried an objection when it stopped. A bit of sense seeped back into her mind. Enough to hear him say, “Get into bed now.”

  She staggered the few steps there, and climbed up, not thinking about what he did or did not see, or what would happen or would not. His hands closed on her waist again before she lay down, while she was on her hands and knees. He held her there, she knew not why, then kissed the small of her back before releasing her.

  She flopped on her back, feeling worldly and sensual, transformed into a goddess by these extraordinary physical discoveries. A bit more sense returned, and she reached for the sheet so she did not appear to lack all modesty. As she stretched to grab its edge, she noticed that Penthurst was undressing.

  He noticed her noticing. “I will put out the lamp and candles.” He moved toward one to do so.

  “Not on my account. I have seen disrobed men before.”

  “Have you now?”

  “Oh, yes.” She spoke airily, like the woman of the world she truly had become in the last fifteen minutes.

  He continued with his shirt. “When was this?”

  She pondered that, her memory skipping through the fog mostly occupying her head. “Not so long ago. I was of age if that is what you mean.”

  “I was not aware there was an age when unmarried women start looking at naked men. I wonder how I missed that social rule.”

  “Not all women. Only sophisticated ones.”

  “You mean women of the world, like you.” He pulled off his shirt and in a minute h
e was naked to the waist. She stared, fascinated. How interesting male bodies were. His looked lean and hard and defined. And suddenly more powerful. Compared with his height and his strength, she would be small and weak. A bit of misgiving seeped into her confidence.

  “Were you alone with him?”

  She realized with a startle what he was asking her. “Oh, it was not—it was an accident, you see. I chanced upon them—”

  “Them?”

  “Uh—two of them, swimming.”

  “Such things are unavoidable, I expect. You immediately left, I assume.”

  Immediately had been an unfortunate choice of word. “I quickly left, yes.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed and continued pulling off clothes. “Did they know you saw them?”

  “I am not sure. Probably not. Cassandra said most likely not.” An outright lie. Cassandra had said no such thing.

  He turned his head and looked at her. “Lady Ambury was with you?”

  Oh, dear. “We were riding together and we chanced upon this spot where people swim and she made every effort to protect me from seeing more than a glimpse.” All true, but not completely accurate. “It was nothing, really. Just a moment of surprise, then it was over.”

  “Not really nothing, if you find the notion of an unclothed man normal and not shocking. I am relieved. I had worried about your delicate sensibilities. Since you are not only a woman of the world by your own accounting, but an experienced one in such matters, I will not concern myself with the lamps or anything else.”

  He stood on those words and turned around, totally naked.

  At which point she did what she should have done, but did not do, when she chanced upon those swimmers. She covered her eyes with her hand.

  • • •

  So much for the sophisticated woman of the world.

  Lydia sat all huddled again, her knees up to her chin and her hand firmly pressing her eyes. He glanced down at what had made her cry out. An arousal of prime proportions stood at attention.

  Patience. Patience. The litany had been chanting in his head all day, reminding him that despite her age and her claims of sophistication, she was not an experienced woman but an innocent, with all that meant.

  He lay down beside her under the sheet. “Come here.” He gathered her into his arms and pried her hand from her eyes. “My apologies, but you said—”

  “The back. I saw them from the back.”

  “A small but significant omission from your story.”

  She set her head on his shoulder. The softness of her breast pressed his side. The scent of her filled his head. “I hate that I reacted like a child. You must think I am tedious.”

  “Not at all.” He doubted she would want to hear what he did think of her. That she was sensual by nature, easily aroused, and probably not too constrained by notions of proper and improper acts.

  She rose up on her arm and looked down at the sheet that covered him, and the clear evidence of his erection beneath it. “This is going to end badly, isn’t it? I am going to wish it had been a bad tooth that needed pulling instead.”

  He hoped not, but it was not something to talk about. Nor did he want to talk about anything else. He caressed up her back, then eased her back down beside him. “If you allow yourself to enjoy the pleasure, I do not think it will end so badly as you fear. I will try not to hurt you.”

  Her color rose. Her lids lowered. He noticed for the first time how thick her eyelashes were, and how dark. He kissed each lid, then her soft cheek, then her lips.

  Immediately he hardened even more. Images entered his head, erotic ones of the pleasures he took with women who really were sophisticated, but which he would not know tonight. He would make sure she experienced desire, however, so she did not shrink from him whenever he reached for her in the future.

  She parted her lips to his kiss so he could explore the warm velvet of her mouth. She trembled within his embrace again and again, and finally attempted a tentative embrace of her own. The careful pressure of her palms on his shoulders charmed him.

  He looked down at her dark eyes and thick lashes and pale oval face. She was lovely. He wondered why he had not noticed years ago. Her abstract expression the last few years might have discouraged it. Tonight, no one could call her impassive. Lights danced in her eyes. She looked alert and curious and brave. She might be gambling, she appeared so alive.

  He smiled to himself as he lost himself in kissing the warmth of her neck. Little sharp intakes of breath sounded in his ear, their pitch saying which kiss moved her more. When the melody quickened and her embrace tightened to a grasp, he lowered the sheet to expose her breasts.

  “Put your hands behind your head, Lydia.”

  Eyes dazed with passion, she frowned in confusion, then released him and bent her arms so her hands lay beneath her head. The pose raised her round breasts. He touched one, then the other, and the tips hardened at once into dark, luring tips. He grazed each again and she gasped and arched her back. Each time she arched, again and again, her body begging. Finally her cries did too.

  She closed her eyes as if to contain it and find control. He teased, circling with his palm until a moan sighed out of her. He pressed his hip and leg against hers to feel the way her body flexed to the pleasure and need.

  “Do you want me to stop, Lydia?”

  She shook her head.

  “Do you want more?”

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. Wild now, close to abandon, she nodded.

  He lowered his head to use his tongue.

  • • •

  She could barely breathe from the power of the sensations. More, he asked. There could be more?

  She watched his head lower and felt the softness of his hair on her chest. His kiss on her breast gave a hint of what more meant. His tongue flicked and she almost died. He used his tongue and mouth on one breast and his wicked hand on the other, and she thought she would become unhinged.

  Surely if she could hold him, she would not feel so helpless to the way pleasure overwhelmed her. Offering herself this way, taking the pleasure he gave without stop, only made her want more again, and more, and yet more. Only within the more and the want a force built. A desperation pressed at the pleasure and threatened to explode out of it. Her body moved and rocked in response to it. Down between her legs she felt wetness and a throbbing that only ached for more too.

  Caresses now, wonderful strokes down her body. She moved into them with sinuous, languid stretches.

  He rose up on one arm, bracing himself beside her. She opened her eyes and almost shut them again. Hair mussed, jaw firm, eyes ablaze, his severity held a terrible sensual quality. An alluring one that made her want to look and look. So compelling and handsome that just the sight of him had her throbbing more and wanting more.

  He stripped the sheet off her so she lay naked, her hands still at her head and her breasts still rising high. He watched his caress claim all of her, hips and legs and thighs and stomach. Then his hand slid between her legs and he touched all that was left.

  She did not believe it possible to be shocked by a sensation still. She did not know that the more meant different pleasures, not only more of the same. This touch proved almost painfully direct to the center of all the others.

  He did not hurt her but she still wanted to cry. He touched places of unbearable sensitivity and made the desperation build and build. Over and over he did it while he kissed her lips and body, until she wanted to scream from the need he caused.

  He moved over her and eased her legs farther apart. She knew what he was going to do now but she could not think about anything except relief. With the first pressure as he began to enter her, she knew that this was the more all the rest had led her to.

  He was slow and careful, but it hurt enough that she bit her lower lip to avoid crying. Then it hurt less, as if her body gave up a rebellion. She moved her hands then, so she could hold on to him should the rest hurt too.

  Soreness ec
hoed when he moved in her, but she felt no real pain. Or perhaps her astonishment left no room for such ordinary sensations. His size and strength eclipsed her and dominated her. He braced his weight on his forearms, but she still cowered beneath him, indisputably small and frail in comparison.

  The intimacy of the act seemed stark and overwhelming to the point she could only accept it, dazed by the shock of being claimed and possessed in such a physical, even primitive manner. For all his care, his need would not be denied and when it found release, its power shocked her anew.

  So did a singular insight that entered her mind when their gazes met near the end. She had seen the carnal side in him all along, she realized, only had not understood or given it a name. Like a fearsome spell, it shadowed his pride and lit his gaze and affected all that she knew of him. It made her uncomfortable with him, because in his presence she tasted that desperation waiting for her, and the abandon calling her name.

  She wondered if she would ever look at him again without being stirred in wicked ways.

  • • •

  Other than her lashes fluttering against her pale skin, she had not moved a hair since he moved off her. Her legs still spread wide beneath the sheet that now covered her. As she had predicted, it had not ended well.

  Taking a woman was easy. Knowing what to say afterward, if anything, had always been the sticking point for men. As if they guessed, many women, the real sophisticated women of the world, had a patter of conversation to ease the awkwardness. Tonight he knew it was incumbent on him to speak instead.

  “I am sorry if I hurt you, Lydia. I never will again.”

  She drew up her legs and turned on her side, facing him. “I was not too hurt. A pulled tooth is probably worse after all.”

  He kissed her forehead. At least she did not flinch. “That is heartening to hear. I would not like it known that sharing a bed with me is more hellish than that.”

  Her eyes opened. Soulful now. No longer dazed with pleasure or alight with excitement, but instead revealing serious thinking and perhaps some sadness.

  “I am accommodating it all. I feel a little odd. Different.”