“I thought you dead.” His jaw ticked, his nostrils flared. “You should never have come here.”
“Well, I am quite well, as you can see.” She gestured down herself.
“I can see.” His gaze grew darker, but the lines in his brow didn’t soften and the tension running across his rigid shoulders remained. “I can see all too well.”
Her throat threatened to close over. Her fists were still tense balls, her breaths came hard. How dare he speak to her in such a manner? She was not some naïve little child in need of a telling off.
But when he looked at her so…
They stood so close together that she felt the body heat roiling off him. He stared down that patrician nose at her. Something stirred deep inside her, and she had to resist the urge to press her palm against his chest, to trace her fingers along his scruffy jaw and into the silky, graying curls at the nape of his neck.
“Um.” A serving girl slid between them. “Excuse me,” she murmured before slipping through into the tap room.
Chastity jerked back. What was wrong with her? Any longer alone and she might well have jumped upon him and begged him to take her here and now. Loneliness had been the last thing on her mind since John’s death but for the first time ever, she missed the touch of a man.
Not just any man, though. For some reason, she longed for Valentine’s touch.
She clenched her teeth. She was not supposed to be attracted to this man. They didn’t even get along. He thought her spoiled or silly or something. She wasn’t going to correct him. Let him think what he wanted—she knew the truth.
“I’ve requested a room,” he said, interrupting her thoughts.
She blinked. “A room?”
“Yes. You know—where one sleeps and such.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know what a room is.”
“If we are to continue this argument, I suggest we do it in private.”
Giving him an earful here, with everyone listening, was tempting indeed, but she ran the risk of discovery even this far out of London. Gossip of a lady pretending to be a maid would spread easily enough.
He reached for her elbow. “For tonight—and only tonight—we must pretend to be… married.” He nearly choked on the word.
Heat climbed up her neck when she realized what he was implying. She took a step back. “I think I’d rather sleep in the stables.”
“Do not be ridiculous,” he growled. “It is too late to travel home now.”
She matched his scowl and tore her elbow from his grip. He wasn’t wrong but she did not wish to admit that. Nor did she wish to acknowledge that she had no desire to sleep in the stables. Her day had already been long and tiring and she wanted a bed.
She could control herself for one night surely? After all, all she had to do was summon the memory of his many scowls and looks of disapproval and any idea of desiring him would vanish. Easy.
∞∞∞
Valentine cursed under his breath when he entered the room and eyed the singular bed. It offered a temptation he did not want to think about. Perhaps he should sleep in the stables.
The narrow bed could sleep two—just about. A rickety chair occupied the corner of the room that barely allowed him to stand straight with the slant of the eaves. Nothing about its sparse furnishings from the roughly crafted clothing chest to the poorly stitched embroidery hanging at a slant on the wall above the bed invited one to enjoy a night here.
But he did not want to leave Chastity alone in a place like this, no matter how much she’d charmed all the patrons. Some might be too charmed and seek her out.
He shut the door firmly, his decision fortified. No way was he letting anyone get near her. He drew the threadbare curtains shut after lighting the several candles scattered about the room.
“You cannot just—”
He turned to face her and smirked.
Her eyes flared. “Must you smirk at me like that.”
“Forgive me. How should I smirk at you?”
“How about you do not smirk at all? I do not see what is so amusing about this.”
“I am amused because you could not wait two minutes before arguing with me.”
Hands to her hips, she fixed him with a look. “You do make it easy. Especially when you come barging in here, dragging me away as though I am some stray wife who has run away from you.”
“Would you run away from me?”
“Of course.”
She lied. He heard it in the catch of her voice. While she’d been spouting these furious words at him, she moved closer, lifting her chin.
The memory of their kiss surfaced, the one where they had argued much like before he suddenly swept her up, crushing his lips to hers. It had been wild and improper and unexpected…and he wanted to do it again.
So did she. He saw it in the slight part of her lips and the way color rose high on her cheeks and down her neck.
“I thought you harmed,” he reminded her. “I feared you kidnapped or dead somewhere. That was the reason for my behavior and I make no apologies for it.”
“I-I do not want an apology. I just—” She frowned and glanced to the floor. “I am my own woman.” She said this as though she had been forced to remind many a person of such a thing.
He didn’t need reminding. Her independence, determination, and courage were some of the traits he admired about her. He issued a harsh curse. “You drive me to the edge, Chastity.”
Her chest rose and fell in the periphery of his vision. “I do not intend to.”
“No. But you do.”
“You…” She released a long, audible breath. “You do something to me too.”
Goddamn it.
He answered by gripping her face in his hands and pulling her up to meet him, his mouth covering hers, hot and desperate.
Her breath hitched and she kissed him back just as ferociously, pressing herself hard against him, wrapping her arms about him and gripping his hair. She smelled of soap and fresh air. She tasted like temptation, like everything he’d been missing in his life.
He moved his hands from her face, burying one in her soft hair at the base of her skull, lightly pulling, the other gripping her waist, then lowering it to her buttocks, frantically clawing her closer to him.
So damn soft. So perfect. She fitted against him like a key in a lock.
Their heavy breathing mingled in an erotic symphony of sound, filling his ears, heart, and memory. He heaved her upwards, so she was on her tiptoes, and pressed his hips against her so she could have no doubt about where they were going with this. He’d likely passed the point of no return the moment he’d shut the door but he could not give a fig. All that existed was Chastity and this need burning his soul to the ground.
She moaned—the sound carnal and needy.
That was all he needed to hear. He lifted her off the ground and carried her to the bed, where he pinned her to the mattress. He kissed her greedily, not finding the comfort he needed in her kisses. Each time her tongue swept his, the hunger increased. He needed more of her.
Chastity yanked at his clothing, almost tearing off his waistcoat and cambric shirt. He heard a seam rip for certain. When he rose from the bed, the cool air of the room whispered over his bare chest. Her gaze travelled over him when he stood to kick off his shoes and peel down his trousers. His cock ached agonizingly at her perusal.
She shifted to the edge of the bed, stood and twisted. “My dress,” she panted. “Take it off.”
Valentine did not need telling twice. He fumbled his way through removing everything until she was bare to him. He took only a minute to admire the curves of her rear, the soft indent of her back.
A feral growl rumbled from his chest and she shivered, then turned to him. If he thought her arse inviting, the front view would send a man to his knees. It was a minor miracle he managed to snatch her to him and not fall to the floor and beg for mercy.
She fell back onto the bed, her hair falling from its tight updo and spreadin
g about the cream pillows. Her nipples were tight and oh so tempting. One night might not be enough, he feared. There was too much he wanted to do to her. Blame his celibacy if he needed to, but Chastity needed loving for more than one night.
She gripped his arms, her short nails digging into his arms. He felt the roughness of her fingertips that allowed him to practically forget her lineage. Here was a woman so determined to help her family that she would work her fingers until they were hard and callused.
“Please, Valentine.”
Dear God. He touched a breast, a hip, the indent of her waist while he kissed her so ferociously he imagined he would leave her soft skin red and chafed. But he couldn’t slow. He trailed his lips from her mouth to her jaw, her neck, then one of her nipples, which hardened at his touch. He swirled his tongue around it, and she gripped his hair.
When his fingers reached the wet spot between her legs, she lifted her hips and issued a muffled sound. He didn’t waste any time going slowly as he worked his fingers inside her, making sure she was well lubricated. Much longer and his claims of her driving him mad would be true.
When he penetrated her, her nails dug into his shoulders and she released a gentle cry in his ears. He shuddered and closed his eyes, savoring the tight heat clamping about him. It might be the length of his celibacy talking, but he couldn’t recall ever feeling like this before. Being joined with her stole his every thought. He could think of nothing but making love to her.
“Valentine.” The word was a plea—a shaky, vulnerable plea.
It made his heart clench. “I know,” he assured her.
He wrapped her up in one arm, holding her tight while he braced himself with the other and pulsed his hips, pounding hard into her. She didn’t hold back. She gasped and moaned his name.
The bed creaked, the headboard thudding against the wall and making the embroidery above clatter on its hook. Her cries increased, drowning out all other sounds, while she scraped her nails across his back then down to grip his rear. He held her as close as he could, as though he could somehow join their hearts and not just their bodies. She tightened about him, and he opened his eyes to watch her reach her peak, her head tilted back, her eyes clenched tightly shut while her pleasure vibrated through her.
Valentine grunted, panting into her ear, pounding into her one last time before he came inside her, tremors ripping through his shoulders.
She opened her eyes slowly and met his gaze. Gone was the confidence and the determination. He saw only vulnerability. Their chests hammered against each other’s.
Valentine swallowed hard. His carefully constructed world had just cracked wide open.
Chapter Fourteen
Perhaps it was time to end this charade.
Chastity gnawed on the end of her thumb and eyed the neat swirls of Demeter’s handwriting. Acting as maid to the earl was no longer useful to the investigation and it curtailed her freedoms to follow new leads.
Oh yes, and it meant having to see Valentine every day no matter how much they avoided each other.
Heat rolled through her, landing up in her cheeks. Why could she not push that night from her mind? Remove the feel of his hands upon her? Or worse, his mouth? Here she was, a grown woman, acting as though she was a debutante having been kissed for the first time. She’d never desired a lover and Lord Kendall certainly wasn’t going to change that. Men were not for her—Valentine most especially. She could scarcely recall a single conversation between them when they had not argued.
But, by God, she’d never experienced anything like it. No matter how much they had tried to pretend it had never happened, she could not forget it nor the fact he had spilled inside her. How reckless they had been.
She dropped the letter to her side and sighed. That was it. She needed to go.
“Something the matter, love?”
She jerked away from the wall and let her shoulders drop when she spied Tom, polished cutlery in hand.
He nodded toward the letter. “Bad news of your mother?”
She opened her mouth and then closed it. She did not have more reason to lie if she intended to leave today, but she had promised Valentine her position would not be discovered and what other explanation could she give? Oh, it’s just my sister, the duke’s daughter. And by the way I’m investigating the death of a footman and, also, I spent the night with your master.
Well, perhaps that last detail could be omitted.
Instead, she nodded.
Tom glanced around. “Mrs. Cooke is in Town and she won’t be back until well past noon.”
“I—”
“If you need to go and see her, make it quick and I shall ensure you aren’t missed.”
She would only need an hour or two to see her sisters. Maybe she did not need to leave quite yet. Though, she really should. She would do it tomorrow. Tell Valentine firmly that she could do better with this investigation by herself and leave.
Easy.
“Thank you, Tom. You are a gem.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, making him chuckle and rub the spot she’d kissed.
“Go now before someone sees you.” He nudged her gently on the back with a hand.
Chastity slipped up to her room, dug out her gown, hiding it under her plain cotton day dress, and bundled it under one arm. Turning up at her father’s house creased was better than wearing her uniform, but she needed to come up with a better way to see her sisters. They would have to find a quiet spot somewhere, where no one would recognize her. Perhaps by the docks, though she loathed sending her sisters there. Far too dangerous for ladies of breeding, no matter how well she had taught them to physically defend themselves.
Oh. Except she wouldn’t need to now. Because she was going to leave of course.
Out of courtesy, she would inform Valentine and then she would tell Mrs. Cooke she needed to be with her dying mother.
Easy.
Her gaze drifted toward the window of the library. He’d be in there no doubt. Skulking and brooding and doing whatever it was Valentine did. Work for the most part it seemed. He did not entertain or have lovers or spend endless hours in gentlemen’s clubs. Really, he could not be any more different from her late husband.
That thought lingered, even once she had changed, hastened across London to Piccadilly and left herself out of breath. Why did she even compare the two? Maybe it was simply because they were the only two men she had bedded. A natural thought perhaps.
“Goodness, I did not expect you to arrive so quickly.” Demeter ushered Chastity into the drawing room and glanced her over. “You look remarkably well.”
Chastity kept her expression neutral. She did not wish to tell her sister that was likely down to the permanent blush Valentine seemed to have left her with.
“I dashed here.” She fanned her face with a hand and sank onto the sofa, the silk cushions immediately absorbing her weight and making her sigh.
She smoothed a hand over the soft fabric. If she left her position, she could be back in her own bed by tonight.
And she might not even see Valentine again. After all, she had avoided meeting him her whole life. At worst she might only see him in another twenty or thirty years. If that. How perfect.
Knowing her wretched luck, he would be just as handsome at sixty as he was at forty. All silver-haired and distinguished, still insisting on going unshaven and wearing his hair too long. Still broad-shouldered and strong—though she had not figured out quite how he maintained his muscular figure as yet. But she was willing to wager, he would not let his strength slip.
Her stays tightened. Or did her ribs expand? Either way, breathing grew difficult. She forced her attention to Demeter. Hair in a simple yet sleek chignon, the comb tucked in the back of the careful knot was made up of several jeweled, golden lilies—the work so delicate it looked as though it would snap if it fell from her hair, even if it landed on the Persian rug beneath.
But despite her sister’s simple elegance, strain tugged at the corners of h
er lips and shadowed her eyes. She and Demeter shared their mother’s darker looks and though Demeter’s figure was on the slender side, people always commented on how similar they looked. Chastity imagined her eyes were ringed with dark too. Some of it from worry, some of it from hard work.
She wrinkled her nose. A lot of it due to sleepless nights thanks to Valentine.
Glancing up at Demeter, she pursed her lips. “How is—”
“I do so wish everyone would cease treating me as though I am dying.” Eleanor paused in the doorway, arms folded.
Chastity rose and embraced her sister, feeling Eleanor sink marginally into her, despite her stiff spine. She stepped back and eyed her. Her eyes were rimmed red and though she normally fought hard to tame her hair into a tight coil, today strands of it were tugged out at various angles as though she had been toying with it.
“I was just finishing up my mechanical elephant.” Eleanor gestured downstairs to where she spent a lot of time in the boot room, tinkering with various contraptions—some even of her own invention.
“An elephant?”
“He’s quite a-amusing,” Demeter said.
“Are you returned home now?” asked Eleanor, her spine still set straight.
Yes. Of course. Why should she even go back to the earl’s house? There was no reason to really. She could pursue this new lead they had and never set foot in the place again.
“Not yet,” she answered instead, avoiding her sister’s gaze.
“If you have not discovered what happened by now, surely there is nothing more to be found there?” Eleanor pressed.
“First I should like to hear of this witness.” She retreated back to the sofa and sank down again, aware of her feet pounding from her trek across London and how long it would be until she sat again.
Temptations of a Duke's Daughter (The Duchess's Investigative Society Book 2) Page 11