This would be her wedding night. Her eyes wandered to the bed. It had been hers once. As a girl, her mother and grandmother had helped her embroider the white vines and leaves into the ivory-colored covers. Now it would enshroud her like a wedding dress.
She took his hand and slowly lifted it to her breast. “Love me.”
“Estella,” he whispered. “My beautiful star.” She adored how he said her name, the gusts and stops of his musical voice.
He kept his eyes fixed on hers as his fingers delved into her bodice, finding a nipple straining to be known. He gently moved his finger across the bud until she shuddered and cried out. His lips were on hers again, taking in her whimpers. She pushed against him, trying to relieve the pressure building inside her.
He tore his mouth from hers. In a fast motion, she was off the ground and then falling onto the mattress.
“Tell me you love me again,” he cried. “Let me hear you say it. Please.” He rested his knee on the bed as he yanked off his coat and waistcoat.
“I love you,” she whispered and kissed his forehead. “I love you.” She kissed his cheekbone. “I love you.” She kissed his ear. “I’ve imagined you and what it would be like.”
His hands were shaking as he reached for the buttons of her dress. She didn’t feel ashamed. She wanted him to see her. To let her body be a gift to him.
“Tell me everything you think, Estella. Everything you imagine. Tell me your dreams. You fascinate me. I want to know every part of your mind and body.”
Her dress fell away. He began working on her stays.
“I imagine us in Italy, in piazzas and gondolas.” She smiled. “Doing what husband and wives do. Although, I’m not quite sure of the actual details.”
“Ti insegno io,” he said, then translated, “I shall teach you.”
“Speak to me in Italian.”
“Ti sposero. Viaggeremo in Italia e faremo l’amore a Venezia.”
“What does that mean?” She slipped from her stays.
“A secret.” He kissed her shoulder.
She undid the knot of her drawstring. She pulled, and the thin cotton tumbled to her waist, her breasts bared for him.
He sucked in his breath. “Oh God.” He studied her. She felt no bashfulness, but loved how she could use her body to please him. He bent down and slowly circled his tongue around a nipple.
She gasped. The sensation elicited an acute pleasure. It was a lovely torture. His tongue flicked across the hardened tip. She clenched his arm and arched her back, pushing herself into his mouth. Her body began undulating against him. She wanted to cry out, but instead bit on her thumb. His body changed beneath his trousers. His sex grew hard and pressed on her belly.
Instinctually, she knew that it belonged in her. He wouldn’t satisfy her on that score, but rubbed against her, their bodies in a complementary dance of sorts. He yanked off his shirt. His chest and belly was a network of muscles. She hadn’t realized how strong he was until they were skin upon skin. He lay atop her, his body shielding her from the fears beyond this bed. They couldn’t hurt her for now.
The throb in her core grew painful. She moved at a frantic pace, her body pleading with his. “Help me!” she cried and pressed her thighs against him.
“It shouldn’t happen this way,” he hissed through clenched teeth.
No, this was the way it would be. She knew it so surely now. She would give her maidenhood to her true husband.
He yanked her gown and shift away. Every part of her was exposed to him now. He released a ragged exhale and murmured, “My dear, trusting love.” He squeezed his eyes closed, and his fingers pressed the bridge of his nose.
“Is something wrong?” she asked. “What is the matter?”
“Just let me kiss you,” he whispered.
She rose to her elbows to meet his lips. He kept his eyes open, watching her as their tongues caressed. His hand moved slowly up her thigh until he found her wet folds waiting for his touch. She experienced no shyness. As he had made her feel safe to express her dreams and opinions, now she was safe to show her desire without reserve.
His fingers moved along her contours, exploring her as he kept her locked in his kiss.
Then he found that small peak above her entrance. He flicked his finger across it, and she jumped as if hit by a strange, pleasurable electricity. He chuckled in her mouth, letting his finger dance. Her head fell back on the pillow. She had never conceived of such pleasure. Her knees shook. She was wide open to him. His finger lowered, finding her source and sliding inside. She whimpered. “I love you.”
But something was wrong. A coldness came over him. “I must stop,” he growled and withdrew. “What I’m doing is wrong.”
“No!” she protested. “I want to give you my virtue. Please.”
He rose from the bed and put several paces of distance between them. He dropped his head in his hands.
“Will it cause you too much pain?” she asked. “That I can’t marry you?”
“You misunderstand.” He returned to her and began brushing the strands of hair from her cheeks. “I have to tell you the truth.”
She shook her head. “What do you mean?”
“I love you,” he whispered, trailing his thumb along her lip. “I hunger to see you abandoned in happiness and all the worry gone from your face.” His fingers brushed her forehead. “But I cannot continue until you consent to marry me. To allow me to love you for the rest of your life and whatever world exists beyond this one.” His lips hiked to a half smile. “To do otherwise would violate the Primrose code.”
She saw nothing amusing. “I would marry you a thousand times over, but I refuse to destroy you. That is not how to love someone.”
“No, it is not. Nor is concealing one’s identity.”
Estella shot up. “I told you everything! I have no secrets. My conscience is as bared as my body before you.”
He kissed her lips, her chin. “I know, my love. I know. It is…” Fear imbued his eyes. “I have deceived you.”
“Deceived?” She shook her head. “You are a tutor, no? You are Mr. Stephens? Why are you staying at my boarding house?”
He gave a wry laugh. “Because you run the Duke of Lucere’s Boarding House. Where else would I stay?”
She felt suddenly vulnerable and tugged at the covers to conceal herself.
“No,” he said, his hand meeting hers at her chest, halting her progress. “Don’t be afraid. Please. You will break my heart.” He twined a strand of hair around his finger as he peered into her face, searching. “Years ago, I met a girl with a lovely smile in Hyde Park. An azure blue ribbon, which matched her cloak, tied her pale blond hair. She held the hand of a kindly, old gentleman. His wild white hair bushed beneath his hat, and crinkles radiated from the corners of his eyes.” He caressed the edges of her lids. “‘He must laugh a great deal,’ I thought, because I hadn’t laughed in a year. My beloved nurse, whom I loved like a mother, had died in an accident I caused. Do you not remember me? I held a yellow and white kite.”
Estella sucked in her breath. He kissed the edge of her mouth, his fingers caressing her cheek. “You asked if I could fly it, and I wanted so much to do so. I was greedy for your happiness and that beautiful light that surrounds you to this day. My mother seized my hand and mentioned something about returning home to receive callers. We walked on without acknowledging you or your grandfather. And I was ashamed.”
Mr. Stephens was the Duke of Lucere? How could that be? It couldn’t. This was one of Mr. Stephens’s merry games.
He studied her, gauging her reaction. She stared at him. “You’re… you’re the Duke of Lucere?”
“The Duke of Lucere who loves you.”
“Did y-you receive my letters after all? Is that your game? Did you come to check on me?”
“I never received your letters. I wish I had. It was mere coincidence, or perhaps divine intervention, that led me to your door.”
She sank her head. She had experience
d enough unwanted news in her life that she expected the hollow shock, followed by the true realization. She experienced none of this, but sadness. All her lovely memories of this week were poisoned. Mr. Stephens, whom she held in such pure esteem, shattered something sacred inside her. She didn’t have time to consider the deeper significance. There would be hours and hours in the coming days to ponder the day her life fell apart.
“You don’t need to marry me,” she said at length. “I wrote to ask for ten pounds to make payments to Mr. Todd. But it is no matter now.”
She tried to rise, but he seized her shoulders.
“But I need to marry you,” he said.
“Because we kissed, because we…” She gestured to the bed.
“Because I love you. I need you.”
“I love Mr. Stephens!” she cried, digging her nails into her chest. Fury now flooded in. “He is who I want. Kind, patient, beautiful Mr. Stephens, who sings lovely songs to me, teaches me about exotic lands, and makes me so happy inside. I don’t know you. I don’t know your world. How could you do this?”
“I am Mr. Stephens!” The desperation on his face arrested her anger.
The Duke of Lucere had loomed for so long in her mind that he had reached god-like proportions. Yet the man before her was flesh and blood and in pain.
“My name is Stephen,” he pleaded. He seized her hand and rested it on his heart. Its beat thundered under her palm. “You know me. The man inside. The others—society, my family, even my friends, to some degree—don’t know me, but a clever shell I put over myself. But there has been nothing between us.”
“Except the truth.”
His throat contracted with his swallow.
“Why did you not tell me?” Tears swelled in her eyes.
“My explanation may cause you pain.”
“I assure you that I’m in great pain at this moment.”
He muttered something and slicked his hands down his crumpled face. She thought he might cry too. She leaned in and kissed him before she realized she had done it. How easily her love swelled for him. “Just tell me.”
He began his tale of the death of his nurse that had triggered years spent lost in dissipation. He jumped, in time, to a deathbed vow made to his father. He spoke about a duel that ended with his friend being shot in the arse. Having ascertained that the friend was recovering quite nicely, she could not contain her giggles. Even the part where he mistook her for a light-skirts was rather funny in the mellowing of hindsight. But the conversation quickly turned serious again when he spoke of finding his true nature under the guise of Mr. Stephens and falling in love with the most worthy and beautiful lady in the world. And the fear that by telling the truth of his identity he would lose the love of this extraordinary woman.
As he ended, lines of tears trailed down her cheeks.
He rose, crossed to his bag, and collected something from within. When he returned, a gold signet ring shone on his finger. He rested an elegant diamond necklace and ring before her on the mattress, as well as an ancestry chart bearing his and her grandfathers’ names.
The diamonds sparkled in the light. A gift for her, no doubt. But she didn’t dare touch them. They were from a man she didn’t know, who dwelled in great homes and mingled among the ton.
“I take your silence as your rejection.” Pain cracked his voice. “I will not continue to Scotland. There will be no woman after you. My heart will always be yours. Keep the diamonds as payment for my cruel deception. I am sorry. Mr. Todd will be paid off. I will repair your home. Your sisters will be educated. Your mother will be attended by a physician. And you need not see me ever again if that is your desire. But I want you to know that all I’ve learned here from you—how you love, how selflessly you care for others—I will keep inside me. You have shown me how to be a better man. And I love you.”
She took in his words and fingered the necklace and ring. “I do not know how to be a duchess.”
“If that is your decision, I will abide by it,” he said. He gently withdrew the necklace from her fingers and placed it around her neck. “But you are a true Primrose. Far more than myself. Look no further than the night you threw me out for besmirching your honor.” He slid the ring on her finger. “And… and I can tutor you.”
Something in his plaintive voice broke her. She smiled, tears dripping down her cheeks onto her chest. He wiped them away. “I need you, Estella. You are my North Star to navigate by.”
The duke had hurt her, but she had hurt deeply before and survived. She studied him now, letting her fingers drift along the planes of his face. He felt like Mr. Stephens. The intense, pained eyes belonged to the same man who sang her lovely Italian songs. Enough people whom she loved had slipped from her life. Would she let this one go? Or would she forgive and take a risk?
All the while, he awaited her judgment.
“I require something more if I am to consent to your hand,” she said.
He closed his eyes, joy and relief breaking over his face. “I have more jewels. I have estates. I can drape you in silks and satins. Feed you grapes and peaches from my orchards.” He gestured around him. “And if that doesn’t please, I supposedly have a lodging house in Lesser Puddlebury. What more could you want?”
She laughed. He was Mr. Stephens.
“A loving family again, ringing with laughter and beautiful music. Will you provide that?”
“My love.” He answered her question with a kiss.
After indulging in his embrace, she drew back. “And I require the services of a certain Mr. Stephens, the Italian master and musician, to sing to me and teach me Italian.”
“I don’t know about that rascal,” the duke protested sternly. “I’m quite jealous of him. I see how you look at him.”
She tilted her head and smiled. “Full of love.”
“Yes. I fear you may run off to Italy with him. I might just have to show you who is the better man.” He kissed her deeply.
She could feel his emotions flowing into her.
She trailed her fingers along his chest. Men and their bodies were a mystery to her—their confident stride, strength, and aggressive forms of play. The male contours both intimidated and fascinated her. Her knowledge of what happened between a husband and his wife in the bedchamber was rudimentary and, as Stephen had shown her, quite misguided. Now her lover let her intimately study him. He released her lips, but continued to kiss her forehead and cheeks as her fingers feathered over the rise of his chest with its coarse hairs, to the straps of hard muscles over his ribs, to the solid plane of his belly. He was built for power.
She enjoyed the rush of his sighs and quiet moans as she caressed him. He cupped her breast again and flicked his thumb over its nipple, sending a hot shudder to her feminine core. But then he paused, his finger waiting atop her peak. She realized he wanted her to let him know if she was comfortable.
She raised her head, their gazes locking. Though his eyes were dark coffee, she could see through them like clear water to the sensitive man underneath the muscle, intimidating title, ironic humor, and cynical barbs. She could peer deep into the source of his music, born of love and pain. He shivered. How vulnerable he must feel to have his heart so bared.
She didn’t speak, but used her lips to assure him that his secrets would always be safe with her. Then she intertwined their fingers atop her breast. He began his magic, gently circling and squeezing her nipple. She hummed, her sex aching for his touch again. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her, watching her bite her lip and lower her head. He played her like an instrument, each touch a building crescendo.
She shouldn’t allow this intimacy to happen so quickly, given his revelation. But her body wasn’t being rational. She was greedy to see what strained against his trousers. His body should be as revealed as she was. Skin to skin. Nothing between them.
She shoved him, sending him tumbling onto the mattress.
“Estella,” he cried at her burst of violence.
She
reached for his trousers, undoing them and ripping them down. His sex rose up.
“Oh, Stephen,” she whispered.
His chest rose and fell with hoarse breath as he studied her expression, searching for something. She realized he was nervous. He wanted his body to please her.
“You’re handsome,” she said. “Every aspect of you is beautiful.”
She had never seen a penis before, except in illustrations in medical books where they appeared to be silly-looking, dangling members. Those pictures in no way resembled Stephen’s thick, erect shaft.
Did she touch him? Did she play upon him? Would she hurt him?
Her fingers tentatively hovered over him. He must have sensed her unspoken questions. He closed his hand over hers and showed her how to give him pleasure.
Up and down, she glided over his contours. He had been watching her, but now he closed his eyes and dropped open his mouth, lost in the ecstasy of her motion.
His penis was a thing of contrasts, much like the man—the hard shaft and the fragile sacks beneath. She learned how to please him by noting the subtle changes on his face. The tensing of his lids, the widening of his mouth, or the low stream of breath calibrated her tempo and the pressure of her touch.
“Estella, you make me wild, but I should please you.”
She kissed his belly, dragging her tongue over his skin. “I enjoy your happiness. Your joy is my joy.”
He found her breast again, this time the neglected one that had not received his lovely care. He quickly made up for the lack of attention, rolling its peak between his fingers, flicking across the top, giving it the gentlest squeeze. Her wet feminine parts throbbed as her body began to undulate. Her hand flew along him, all to the maddening pace of his finger. A deep pressure built from her core.
What would sate this rapacious hunger needed no articulation. It was as tacit as breathing.
Never mind that she had just learned he was the Duke of Lucere. In fact, never mind that they had truly known each other a little over a week or that she wasn’t being a proper lady. She released his penis, rose onto her knees, and placed her face inches from his, letting her hair fall around him.
Dukes In Disguise Page 23