He took one breast into his hands and massaged, his thumb stroking her nipple to a hard peak. The other breast reacted in a similar manner, her nipples straining against the white fabric. It was not enough. Ambrosia wanted more and even the thinnest of fabrics provided too great a barrier for her at that moment. She sat up.
“Please,” was all she said. She hadn’t the knowledge, nor the words that would take her to that place she so desperately wanted to be. He took each of her arms and positioned them over her head. Duncan then took her dress and allowed the silk fabric to linger slowly over her body as he lifted it over her head. She was dressed in nothing but a chemise, illuminated by just a few candles. He inhaled harshly.
“I can’t do much more, Ambrosia. I won’t be able to stop if we go much further.”
Ambrosia knew all too well the consequences, but before this moment, she couldn’t imagine why any woman would risk so much for pleasure.
Now it was abundantly clear. This was why men fought wars. This was why women gave up promising futures. This was the power of desire and its affects were intoxicating.
“You’ll have to marry me,” he finished, reaching for her leg, letting his hand inch up the silk stocking that dressed it.
The words rung in her ears and she hadn’t quite comprehended their meaning. It was as if he were speaking a foreign language. Then he smiled, and she fully understood their meaning. His confession was not nearly as verbose as hers, but it was poignant none the less.
At that exact moment, his nimble fingers skimmed the top of her stocking and was now drawing circles at the top of her inner thigh. Her breath quickened, the sensation between her legs overwhelming. He allowed his hand to travel even higher, stopping only when he reached the wet curls at her center. Duncan brought his lips to her ear and whispered delightfully wicked sentiments about how soft she felt and how ready she was between licks and nips at her earlobe. His finger found her tiny piece of flesh and at his touch, her entire body clenched.
“Do you want me to stop?” he whispered in a husky voice that practically took her over the edge of the precipice she found herself dangling upon.
“I’ll die if you do,” she returned, surprised by her ability to speak at all.
Duncan plunged one finger deep inside, her hips instantly bucking. He positioned himself over her, allowing his hand to explore each fold and linger at the places that brought her the most pleasure. The pressure was mounting-her thighs were tightening, and her hips were bucking now at a more consistent pace. But something was missing.
“More,” she uttered in between moans.
He dipped a second finger in and the sensation was enough to throw her over the edge. The pressure inside exploded, drowning out all sound within her head, though she was certain there was screaming. Her hips moved of their own volition and her toes curled so tightly she feared she’d never get them into a slipper again. When the waves of feeling subsided, Ambrosia laid there, panting, and covered in sweat.
She reached down and touched his cock, now straining against his breeches. “I still need more,” she pleaded, still feeling a sense of emptiness despite her climax.
Duncan raised his shirt over his head. The muscles of his chest were tight and strong. She allowed her hands to travel over them, stopping at the nipples and rubbing them as he had done to hers. He swallowed, his muscled throat and shoulders taught as a low groan escaped. His pleasure points were similar to hers. Which meant . . .
Ambrosia slipped her hand into his breeches and touched him. He tightened and as if it were possible, his cock hardened even more. He stood and allowed his pants to drop to the floor, stepping out of them and standing naked before her. She looked up from her position on the settee, at the bronze man before her, and worshipped the strength and beauty of his unclothed body. He reached down and pulled the chemise over her head.
She had thought she would be shy, but she felt no reason to cover herself. Instead, she delighted in the way his eyes perused her, slowly at first, lingering at her breasts and thighs.
“One day,” he said, having to clear his throat before speaking, “I plan on taking an entire day just to stare at you and kiss every part of your body.”
It was a threat and a delicious promise all wrapped up into one. She knew he would make good on it, too.
Duncan crawled on top of her, laying her back against the settee again and positioned himself between her legs. He took one leg and bent it at the knee, which seemed to nestle him even closer to that junction between her legs. Her excitement began to mount at a rapid pace as she felt him at her core, rigid velvet pulsating at her center. She felt first the tip and then he looked into her eyes.
It was almost enough to make her come again.
He took her bent leg and lifted it slightly, and she welcomed a bit more of him. Then he pushed, one sudden movement that broke through her resistance, plunging his entire length into her. He groaned with pleasure and she shouted with pain. He kissed her cheeks, newly wet with tears. As he did, he began gently rocking back and forth, her pain replaced with a devilish sensation. She was no longer in pain and the feeling of emptiness was now replaced with a feeling of completeness. Her hips rose to meet his and their rhythm increased to a frenzy.
“Please,” he pleaded in her ear. She knew he couldn’t enjoy his own pleasure till she had experienced hers, an act so moving that she could no longer hold back. Ambrosia fell over the edge again, this time grabbing onto him as if he were falling with her.
Minutes later, her world finally stopped spinning and she was once again aware of the warm man lying atop her. He propped himself up on his elbow. “Perhaps we should move to the bedroom?” he asked, running his free hand up and down the flat plain of her stomach.
“I should probably be leaving . . . ” she started, his hand awakening the hunger she thought had finally been satiated. She had said the words, but the thought of having to dress and leave the comfort of his arms was almost overwhelming.
He sat up. “Absolutely not. I won’t have it.” Duncan took her chin in his fingers and tilted her head up to meet his gaze. “You will never leave my side again.”
It was a bit possessive, but the sentiment left her dizzy.
“I will have to eventually. I will have to return home and gather my belongings-”
“We will send my valet.”
She smiled. “I will need an escort.”
“I’ll hire one straight away. Or perhaps we could implore Lillian—she’d make an excellent escort.”
Ambrosia balked. “Lillian is perhaps the worst escort to grace a London ballroom. If only you knew the trouble she got in with Lord Colton before they were married.”
“Precisely. She sounds like my kind of escort,” he chided.
They both laughed and he brought her closer against him. “I was quite serious though. I want you to be here . . . with me. At least till my uncle passes.”
Ambrosia brought her hand up and allowed it to rub back and forth against the fine black hair scattered across the top of his chest. “Of course. Perhaps in the morning I can send word to Brightly for my sister. And I can just as easily pick up a few things from our home in Mayfair.”
He took her hand and kissed the pads of her fingers. “Thank you.”
Ambrosia closed her eyes, finally allowing the day, and night’s activities to sink in.
“I love you,” she said.
Duncan let out a little snore—he had fallen asleep again.
Chapter 25
Duncan woke up in his bed. It was well before noon and for a moment he contemplated putting the pillow over his head and trying to go back to sleep. But then he remembered why he awoke.
He had felt her leave his arms. Duncan sat up and peered as far as he could from his limited vantage point in the giant four-poster bed.
“Ambrosia?” he called quietly. He still wasn’t certain he hadn’t dreamt the entire thing and didn’t want to alert the staff by his delusions.
Then he saw her, clad only in his robe, looking at him from around the corner of the dressing screen. It hadn’t been a dream; it had been a bloody miracle. Miss Ambrosia Tisdale was standing in front of him, her thick chestnut tresses down and gleaming over one shoulder, barely covered, and rosy cheeked from a night of unabashed love making. Even her chest was still red from the stubble of his day-old beard rubbing across it as he worshipped her breasts.
Almost losing someone you love was an awful way to reprioritize one’s life.
The time he spent alone on the ride back from Brightly had given him plenty of time to think. He knew he couldn’t trust himself to be alone with Ambrosia. It had been proven a number of times so the only clear solution would be complete and utter separation. Uncle Richard would die soon, so he wouldn’t have to lie to him long. After Richard’s passing, he would return to Hamptonshire and his life would go on—unchanged. He would eventually find someone else, pack her up and ship her to the country and continue living up, or down, to his reputation amass an unearned fortune and plethora of mistresses. Could any rogue ask for a happier ending?
Unchanged. Duncan had focused on that one word. He would go on doing whatever it was that he did. His life would continue on exactly how it had been—unchanged.
It did not sound like that happy of an ending.
He wanted his life to change. He wanted it to change with Ambrosia. Everything she had said—it was as if her story were teaching him a lesson. He was not the man his father accused him of being, and he very well could be the man his uncle had wanted him to be.
When he saw her standing in the foyer—it was as if his uncle had orchestrated the whole thing as he had so many other times in his life. And her words—my God, those words. It felt as if his chest would burst from such happiness. She thought him worthy of such beautiful words, and in that instant he knew he would do everything in his power to prove to her that her decision had been wise.
“You are beautiful,” he said from across the room.
“I’ve already agreed to marry you, you can stop with the pleasantries now,” she proclaimed, sauntering over to him.
He reached out, grabbing her hips and pulling her toward him. “There’s plenty more where that came from. I’ve warned you before. I am quite skilled in the art of seduction,” he began nuzzling her stomach through the silk of the robe.
She laughed, then gently eased him away. He countered by grabbing her arms and pulling her atop him.
She rolled away, surprising him with her strength. “Duncan, I have to speak with you at some point during the day. I realize you must tend to your uncle, but when you have more time I’d like to talk with you.”
He pulled her back again, feeling a bit as if he were wrestling with a wily boy. “If it’s about wedding plans, don’t bother. I’m arranging for a special license and we’ll marry in whatever room I’m in when I receive it.”
She pushed him away again. “Do be serious, Duncan.”
He stopped tugging. “I am. For once, I am.”
Ambrosia shook her head. “It has to do with last night . . . ”
“Before you ravaged me?” he finished for her, rolling over, taking one of her bare legs in his hands and starting to kiss the ball of her foot.
She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him her most serious look.
Duncan dropped the leg. “What is it then? I’ll give you no more than five minutes and then I insist that we make love again.”
Ambrosia smiled. “I want to, believe me, but this is far too serious to make light of.”
Duncan sat back and readied himself for whatever it was she had to say.
“I went to Lord Kennings’ before I came here.”
Oh God, it was worse than he thought.
“I had to confront him about something I’d learned,” Ambrosia finished.
Duncan sat up a bit. “What do you mean confront him?”
Ambrosia swallowed. “It’s far too involved to discuss right now. Please, go to your uncle. I need to go before it gets too light outside. We wouldn’t want the neighbors to talk, now would we?” She gave him a playful smile. Of course, she was fully aware that he wouldn’t give a damn what the neighbors said.
Duncan propped his head upon his hand, admiring the disarray he had left her in. Ambrosia looked thoroughly ravaged. Her hair was tangled and her face pink from his meager day’s growth of whiskers. He felt an ancient sort of male pride in causing her state of dishabille.
But her tempting appearance was not enough to detract him from the realization that speaking to James was certainly not a choice situation. James was privy to the underbelly of Duncan’s sordid existence, namely his state of affairs. Despite their ever-growing friendship, the idea of both him and Ambrosia sharing an intimate tête-à-tête left him dismayed to say the least.
“What was it exactly that you two discussed?” Duncan tried to come off as cavalier, despite the sudden dryness in his throat and increased pulsating in his ears.
Ambrosia shook her head. “It’s nothing that cannot wait till after you’ve seen your uncle.”
“Are you terribly close with Kenning?” Now, he was just prying.
She rose from the bed, a queen draped in nothing but a silk sheet, her dark curls tumbling down her back in stark contrast to her cream colored gown. “No, but it’s certainly not for a lack of trying.”
Duncan’s interest was piqued, as was his jealously. “What do you mean by that?”
Ambrosia worked a feat of magic, somehow changing out her sheet for a chemise from the night before without exposing so much as a leg.
Such a clever minx.
Ambrosia continued speaking as she took a wet cloth across her face and bosom. “Kenning has never been subtle regarding his intentions toward me. As long as I can remember being friends with his sister, I have had to suffer through his not-so-subtle overtures. He’s even gone so far as to come to stay with my family as Amelia’s companion. Tamsin thinks him an utter cad. I had thought the flirtation was harmless, if not persistent, but believed it would finally cease with his marriage.” She turned her back to him, ready for him to assist in buttoning her gown.
His fingers, keenly adept at removing gowns, now his once graceful appendages were as useful as plump sausages. The act of assisting a woman dress, of watching her morning toilette, was more intimate than any sexual act he had ever experienced. With each button, he could feel her back, each breath, each small movement in her body. He allowed his hands to trace along each tiny bump of her vertebrae and the outline of her ribs. She turned to him after the last loop was closed, her eyes heavy with desire, and thanked him with a husky whisper. The realization of her arousal thrilled him.
With that she went on to coil her hair into a loose chignon that could have passed for the work of any experienced ladies’ maid. “Don’t you need to be readying yourself to see to your uncle?” She was deflecting the subject at hand.
Duncan smiled. “Of course. Will you be all right getting home? Is there anything I can do to convince you to stay?” He chuckled. “I have some ideas if you would only consent to letting me try.”
She shook her head. “I shall take a hack to my family’s townhome in Mayfair and gather my things. From there, I will send word to Lillian to come and stay with me. I shall return again tonight.”
Duncan walked up behind her and kissed the soft piece of skin that joined her neck to her shoulders. That creamy expanse of skin peaked out of her dress like a beacon for his lips. “I’ll send message if there’s any change in Richard’s condition.”
Ambrosia turned and touched a hand to his face. For a moment, a brief flash of emotion displayed prominently upon her face. He could tell she had something to say, her eyes speaking volumes that her voice couldn’t. Instead, she let her hand linger, her thumb brushing his cheekbone, then dropped it unceremoniously to her side.
Then she was gone, leaving him alone in his rooms. Duncan made his way back to the bed, collapsing upon it. H
e brought his hands to his face and allowed himself to inhale the scent of her, as if he could permanently imprint the combination of mint and soap unto his soul.
His mind took him to that night on the balcony where he had first become aware of the bouquet Ambrosia left her in wake. That was also the evening James had confessed a certain fondness for her. It had seemed a harmless enough flirtation, but now . . .
Duncan reconsidered the words that Ambrosia had shared with him regarding the Duke. At the time, he hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything she said for want of her. But now that her physical presence was removed, he could nothing but obsess on her memory, on every smell, on every word.
Ambrosia had nothing to gain by not speaking with the utmost honesty regarding James, and he had no reason for which to doubt her. If James had an inclination toward Ambrosia, just how far would he go to see his ambition realized?
Chapter 26
Richard had made it through another day. Duncan sat by his side taking on the dutiful role of nurse. He wiped his face when needed and brought a cup to his lips to quench his throat when requested. There were servants that he could have had fulfill these menial duties, but Duncan wouldn’t have it. He saw it as his responsibility, not some strangers. And he did not read excerpts from the bible as would have been expected in a situation such as this. Instead, his uncle had requested he retell stories of his youth, recounting the memories of a young, uninhibited man. Richard wanted no talk of death, only of vitality. It was how he had lived, and even if it was only vicariously, it would be how he died.
After Richard had been settled in for the evening, Duncan found his way to the library. A long day of sobriety had taken its toll and once relieved of his nurse duties, he had an intense desire to numb his senses. He forwent the glass, and opted to drink straight out of the decanter.
Compromising Miss Tisdale Page 20