by Lavinia Kent
He blew softly against her, watched the lips quiver and tighten. With a single finger he traced the length of her and back, feeling for that small knot of pleasure. He could see her eyes open wide as he found it.
Rubbing it softly, he wished he knew more what to do. He’d read about it plenty of times and heard it discussed in whispers or bawdy jokes since he’d gone away to school. The practical matters were not a mystery, but how did one make sure?
His own rising pleasure slowed as he felt the first bit of worry sink in. What if he couldn’t do it right?
And then he remembered the fear and nerves he’d seen in Elizabeth’s eyes as they began. If he didn’t do it right, he’d just do it again and again until he did. This was one task he didn’t think he’d mind practicing.
He caught the knot between thumb and forefinger, squeezed and then released, and watched her whole body respond. A bright flush of color rose on her breasts, marked her thighs. His own body responded in kind, his cock jumping with readiness.
Moisture covered her now, and he bent his head and lapped it up. She tasted as she smelled, a little salty, but wonderfully satisfying. He covered her with his mouth, his tongue taking over from his fingers and thumb. He nibbled. He bit. He laved. He relished. Her thighs tightened about his head and he did not mind. No pleasure could be greater than bringing her to the pinnacle.
Her hips were off the bed now, pressing themselves ever more tightly to him. Her purrs had turned to moans, her head thrashed back and forth across the pillow.
He moved his tongue faster, tasted deeper, longed for more.
And then he felt it. Her whole body buckled, a small squirt against his mouth, and her cry—her cry was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. He felt the ripples run through, felt muscles contract, relax, contract again. She cried again. His name.
And then her whole body softened, falling to the bed in a pile of limp, well-spent woman.
He ran his tongue against her again, but her hand pushed him away.
“Too much. Too sensitive.” Her words were barely audible.
Longing for more, he inched up the bed until his head lay beside hers on the pillows.
She turned to him, and her smile was worth every bit of self-denial he was currently experiencing. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly. Reaching up, she held his head tight, deepening the kiss.
She pulled back a moment, her eyes still dark. “Is that what I taste like?”
He licked his lips. “Yes.”
Kissing him again, she moved closer. Her body stiffened as it brushed against his arousal. He fought the urge to push her on her back again, to—
And then a stroke, a brush, her small hand folded about him, ran his length and back. This time he did not hold back the moan, did not fight as she pushed him to his back and rose above him, as her breasts brushed against his lips, as she swung one leg over his hips.
“You’ll be sore,” he whispered.
“Then I’ll be sore. I won’t be dead—or sorry.” Elizabeth smiled and began to rock.
She was sore. He’d been right about that. But it was quite a wonderful ache. Elizabeth rolled on her side and stared down at her sleeping husband.
Four times.
She hadn’t known that was possible.
And that was not counting all the things they’d done that weren’t quite sex, although she wasn’t quite sure what they were. And she wasn’t even going to think about her glass phallus. It was still unclear to her how it had come out of its hiding place—but it was safe to say she no longer hated it.
William’s eyelids fluttered and he stared up at her. “Good morning.”
She looked out the window, trying to hide her blush. A faint glow was beginning to rise above the trees. “I suppose it is. Morning, I mean. It certainly is good.”
He reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. “Would you believe me if I told you I thought I loved you, that perhaps I have loved you since I first saw you?”
She considered the question. “I don’t know. I would think it was most probable that you truly enjoyed yourself last night and were still in the haze of that. I don’t know that I believe we can love so fast.”
“I am certainly in the haze of the finest night I have ever spent, but there is more than that. I want to protect you, to live with you, to see the world though your eyes. I want to watch you grow fat with my child, to see the lines appear about your eyes and the grays in your hair. What is that if it is not love?”
How could he be so honest? Could she be less so? “I don’t know—but I do feel the same way. It scares me. I was so sure that I loved you four years ago. I thought I was ready for my happily ever after—and then you refused me and left. It is hard to be brave now.” She did not look at him as she said the words.
Placing a finger beneath her chin, he lifted her face to his. “But I have already promised I will not leave, and I do not break my promises.”
She was unable to reply, her throat filled with pebbles.
“I do love you, Elizabeth. I do not know how or why, but I do,” William said. He held her head, still not letting her look away, his eyes repeating the message of his lips.
Forcing air into her lungs, she tried the words out inside her head. They did not make her shrivel in horror. A warm glow began deep in her stomach. “I believe I may also love you, William. I am certainly willing to work toward it. I refuse to be forced into a definite answer in less than a week.”
He laughed. “And that is why I love you. I will wait for you as long as necessary.” He glanced out the window and cursed. Swinging his legs out of bed, he began to dress.
“That was not a very long wait. Where are you rushing off to? We are married, you know. There is no need for you to leave before the maid comes.”
“Swatts is sailing with the morning tide. I want to be sure he’s on the ship.”
That had her sitting up. “I had forgotten all about that. I thought you said he was leaving in a week or so?”
“My friend knew of a trader leaving earlier. It seemed wise to have him gone as soon as possible.”
“I cannot deny that.” She sat, pulling her knees up before her, the covers falling to her waist.
William’s eyes focused on her breasts in a most satisfactory manner. She could see the consideration upon his face. He glanced at the bed—and then back to the window. He grabbed his trousers and pulled them on, but not before she saw that he truly was thinking about other things.
“I do wonder,” she said.
“Yes?”
“With Swatts gone, what will happen to Annie? It does seem that his cartoons have a way of making things work out, of making dreams come true.”
William’s eyes met hers. He let his trousers drop and moved back toward the bed. “Yes, they do.”
THE MAIDS
Jane stared at the window glumly. There was not a single print or cartoon featuring the real duchesses. She sighed. Working at Lady Smythe-Burke’s, she still heard plenty of gossip, but it was not the same as the cartoons. There was something about them that had always made her feel she was being granted a special peek into another world.
“Still not another one.” Abby walked up, two steaming raisin buns in hand.
“No.”
“There will have to be one soon. Even if it’s not the same artist, somebody will draw one. The ladies are just too wonderful not to have their secrets told.”
“I do hope so.” Jane did not sound hopeful.
“I do have one bit of good news. Lady Richard is throwing the most wonderful masquerade in a week and her cook has asked if I can help in the kitchen. I might even get to sneak a look at the carriages as they come and go.”
Jane felt a smile begin to lift her cheeks. A masquerade ball. There was always scandal at a masquerade—and Lady Smythe-Burke was always the first to know about it.
Reaching out, she grabbed a bun from Abby and bit in—warmth and sweetness exploded in her mouth.
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Might Lady Richard find true love? Or perhaps somebody else would?
About the Author
Most days Lavinia Kent loves her life and knows that she has found her own happily-ever-after with her husband and three children. But on those other days (you know which ones!), she is very glad for the wonderful romances, sensuous gowns, and tall, sexy men that fill her mind—and then her computer.
Lavinia lives in Washington, DC, with her family and an ever-changing menagerie of pets. She attended Wellesley College as an undergraduate and holds an MBA from Georgetown University.
What a Duke Wants is Lavinia’s fourth book from Avon Romance. She also has a fun and, sexy serial of e-novellas, The Real Duchesses of London, available from Avon Impulse.
She can be contacted at her website www.LaviniaKent.com or through Facebook and Twitter.
Also by Lavinia Kent
A Talent for Sin
Bound by Temptation
Taken by Desire
The Real Duchesses of London
Kathryn, The Kitten
Linette, The Lioness
Annabelle, The American
Be Impulsive!
Look for Other
Avon Impulse Authors
www.AvonImpulse.com
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ELIZABETH, THE ENCHANTRESS. Copyright © 2011 by Lavinia Kent. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition September 2011 ISBN: 9780062107954
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062127518
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