by Darcy Burke
He moved to the next button, enjoying this leisurely removal of her costume but also eager to see her, as she said, as just her. “Ingenious,” he breathed. “But then I’d expect nothing less from you.” He moved more quickly, making his way through the waistcoat and then pushing the sides open to expose the shirt beneath.
She gasped, then brought her hand up to the back of his head. She pulled him down. “Kiss me, Dartford.”
“Andrew. You should really call me Andrew.” No one had called him that since he’d been small, and even then it had only been his brother and his sisters. His parents had called him by his courtesy title. Why Bertie and the girls had called him Andrew remained a mystery he’d never know the answer to.
Darkness threatened to engulf him, just as it had after the balloon incident. Until he’d found her face. He’d been horrified to see that she was among the gentlemen on the lawn, but after awakening, he’d been relieved and…happy. He did the same thing now that he’d done then to keep his sanity intact—he focused on her. He fed on her touch and lost himself in her kiss.
He pressed down on top of her, relishing her body beneath his. He speared into her mouth, his tongue dancing with hers and his body throbbing with need. She arched up into him, pressing her chest against his. He realized there was something missing. He brought his hand up her side and cupped her breast. Only there was no breast.
Well, he knew she had them. He’d seen them at Lady Colne’s ball. Rather, he’d seen their shape. He wanted to actually see them. Or at least feel them.
He moved his hand back to her waist and tugged the shirt from her breeches. He found the hem and slipped beneath it, skimming his hand up along her bare flesh. She gasped into his mouth. She was warm and soft, and he was going silently but fervently mad with desire.
The shirt lifted with his movements, bunching between them. At last, he reached her chest and encountered linen. She’d bound her breasts. He ran his hand over the fabric, searching for how to remove the offending piece. There was a knot in the middle, but his attempts to loosen it failed utterly.
He ended the kiss, tugging at her bottom lip with his teeth. Her eyes opened. The black of her dilated pupils nearly engulfed the iris, and her mouth was kiss red.
“What torture is this?” he asked as he tried futilely to undo the knot.
“It seemed necessary.” She brought her hands up and took over from him, quickly loosening the fabric. “I can’t…” She looked away from him.
She wanted him to stop. He didn’t blame her. Hell, he was a beast anyway. Disappointment curled through him. “It’s all right. I’m afraid I quite lost my head.”
She tried to rise. He sat back, giving her the space she needed. She came up off the bed and whisked the shirt over her head, shocking him. “I didn’t want you to stop. I just can’t take this off without help. Well, I suppose I can, but it’s easier with assistance. My maid wraps it rather tightly.”
He stared at her, his mouth moistening with need. She was a gift. He had no idea what he’d done to deserve her, but he wouldn’t question the grace with which she’d been given to him.
He grasped one of the edges of the strip of fabric and began to unwind it around her. He went slowly, once again enjoying the slow, meticulous removal of her clothing. It was almost unbearably erotic. As much as he hated her masculine costume, he thrilled to the revelation of her form. It made her even more feminine, more beautiful, more irresistible.
When he got to the final wrap, her breasts taunted him. At last their shape was exposed to him. He snatched the fabric away then, desperate to have her free and open to his hungry gaze.
“You can see why it’s no stretch for me to dress as a man. I’m afraid my curves are almost nonexistent.”
He heard her words but couldn’t have disagreed more. Her breasts were small but lush and round, with perfect pink nipples just begging for his kiss. He pushed her back against the pillows and spread her hair out over the white linen. He traced his hands down her neck, along her collarbones, and circled her breasts before cupping them gently. “You are curved in precisely the way you are meant to be, and you are stunning. I don’t know why you have these inaccurate views of yourself, but allow me to disabuse you of them right now.”
He moved down her rib cage, noting her slender but supple build. She was athletic, graceful, utterly perfect in his eyes. But there was more to see. He found the fall of her breeches and unbuttoned them with quick flicks of his fingertips. The sound of her breathing ceased, and he realized she was holding her breath while he worked.
He grasped the waistband of the breeches and tugged them down, glad to see there were no smallclothes barring his view. The thick, dark thatch of her curls greeted him as he stripped the garment away. Her breath came back in fast pants.
“Lucy.” He dragged his fingertips along the arc of her hip and the curve of her thigh. “If you have any flaws, I don’t see them. All I see is a beautiful woman I want with every part of my being.” He untangled himself from the bedclothes and came over her, bracing his hands on either side of her head. He still wore his shirt, but that was all that lay between them now. “If you don’t believe me, let me show you.”
She thrust her hands into his hair. “Yes. Please.” And she kissed him again, her tongue tracing over his lips before plunging into his mouth and claiming what she wanted.
He kissed her deeply, pressing his body against hers. She twisted and arched beneath him, stirring his arousal. The hem of his shirt just covered his cock, and he had no plan to reveal it to her. This moment wasn’t for him but for her. He meant to give her an experience she’d never forget. This woman who’d been deprived of so much deserved nothing less.
He stroked the side of her neck, feeling her pulse strong and sure against his fingertips. He dragged his mouth along her jaw, kissing and licking, tasting her. She pulled at his hair, moaning. He smiled against her, reveling in her uninhibited response.
Caressing her collarbone, he moved lower until he found her breast. He cupped her again before coming to the nipple. With thumb and forefinger, he pulled and lightly squeezed. Her moans grew louder and her chest came up, seeking more of his touch. He brought his mouth down her neck, ravaging her flesh along the descent. Clasping her breast, he held her captive while he took the nipple into his mouth and suckled her—soft, then harder, then soft again.
“Andrew.” Her deep, but oh so feminine voice cloaked him in desire.
He made love to her breasts in equal measure, using his hands and mouth to taunt and pleasure her. She moved with abandon, and her breathing grew more irregular. He trailed his fingers down her rib cage and glided them over her hip to her thigh. He went slowly to her core, gently stroking her curls and then finding her clitoris, that sweet nub of need that would send her over the edge.
Her legs parted, allowing him easier access, and he was again thrilled and pleased with her fervor, but not surprised. He continued to focus on her breast with his mouth while touching her, softly at first and then with more purpose. She was wet, and he wanted nothing more than to sink into her heat. But he couldn’t do that. This was already far more than they ought to be doing.
He pressed his finger into her, and she gasped. He worked at her clitoris, increasing his pressure and speed until her desperate cries filled the room. Her response only intensified his desire.
He left her breast and moved down her body. He pushed her thighs apart and focused on her sex, parting her pink folds and licking her delicious flesh. She bucked up, her fingers threading into his hair.
“What are you doing?”
He didn’t think she really required an answer, and he didn’t need any further encouragement. He thrust his tongue into her and stroked her folds, her clitoris. Her hips moved relentlessly as her hands pulled at his head and shoulders. She began to quiver, her muscles jerking. He moved his mouth up to that most sensitive spot and slid his finger into her, filling her again and again until he felt her sheath contract around
him.
His cock twitched, desperate to replace his finger. He’d have to find release, and he didn’t think it would take long.
He stroked into her while her orgasm crested, moving more slowly once it subsided. She panted as she lay back, spent, her legs sprawled around him.
“Good Lord, that was a revelation.”
He chuckled at her summarization—so matter-of-fact and yet so full of wonder. That was his Lucy.
His?
He sat back on his calves, and her gaze went directly to the tent his cock had created with the bottom of his shirt.
She licked her lower lip, and his cock twitched again. She was going to kill him.
“What about you?” she asked. “Aren’t you going to…” She used her eyes to indicate what she meant—wasn’t he going to put his cock inside her?
“I want to, but there are…concerns.”
She frowned, her brow furrowing. “Yes. But aren’t there precautions? I want to feel that. You. Can we do it just a little?”
She wanted to do it just a little? Hell and damnation, that was going to sorely tempt him, but he’d take a little of Lucy if that was all he could have.
“Are you certain?”
She sat up and put her palms flat on his thighs. Her eyes slitted. “Take off your shirt.”
Lust snaked through him. He tore off the garment and tossed it viciously aside.
She stared at his cock. “That’s, ah, impressive.”
“Lucy.”
She massaged his heated flesh, her fingertips digging into his hips. “Can I touch it?”
“You can do anything you want to it.”
She gave him a saucy look. “Anything?”
God, she was amazing. “Almost anything.”
She slid her hands up his thighs and clasped his hips. “Mmm.”
He worked to keep still lest he thrust toward her. He wanted her so very badly.
“I think I should start up here. You’re so muscular.” She ran her hands up his sides, her fingers splayed. She came up on her knees in front of him, her gaze connected with his. The more she touched him, the harder it was for him to keep his eyes open and not fall completely under her spell.
She kissed his jaw, his neck, his chest, exploring him as she likely did every other facet of her life.
“You have no fear, do you?” His question came out raspy and dark, almost broken.
“Not much. But I guess we have that in common.” She licked at his nipple. “Duke of Daring.” She closed her mouth over him, and he groaned. He twisted his hands in her glorious hair.
“Lucy, I’m ready.” He was more than ready.
“Not yet.” She inched back and skimmed her hand down the plane of his stomach until she found his shaft. “I haven’t done anything to this yet. What do you call it? My friend Ivy says that men have names for them.”
Good God, they discussed this sort of thing? “It’s just my, uh, cock.”
“Right. Cock.” The word tumbling from her mouth elicited another groan from him. Or maybe it was that her hand had closed around the base and was squeezing him gently. “Am I doing this right?”
“God, yes. You can…move your hand. If you like.” He prayed that she would like.
“Show me.”
His hand closed over hers, and he demonstrated how to stroke him. She picked up the motion easily and applied a natural pressure that made his balls tighten. “Lucy, you are a bloody gift.”
“Hmm. There’s liquid. Can I taste it? Never mind, I’m fairly certain that falls in the category of things I can do.”
“It’s probably at the top, actually.”
“I see.” She dropped her head and put her mouth on him, and he was quite hopelessly lost.
She suckled him gently, her hand still wrapped around him, but then she moved her mouth as she’d moved her hand, and within seconds, he feared he might come.
“Lucy, I don’t think I’m going to be able to put myself inside you. Not now. I’m going to…” Hell. She drew him deep into her mouth and sucked while her fingers squeezed him.
His hips moved then; he couldn’t help himself. He pulsed into her, his orgasm building. She released him and pulled him deep again, and he was done. He pumped into her mouth, his seed exploding forth. “Lucy!”
She didn’t let him go but kept him inside of her until he was finished.
He shouted and yelled and made an absolute bloody racket until he was completely spent. He wanted nothing more than to collapse beside her and take her into his arms.
She sat back, releasing him and wiping her hand over her mouth. She looked uncertain, but also…satisfied. A sheen of pleasure glazed her eyes. “Was that…all right? I don’t know if that was normal…” She looked away.
“Lucy, that wasn’t normal. It was spectacular. I can’t imagine how you knew to do that, but I don’t like to question such gifts.”
She blushed as she returned her gaze to his. “Well, then I shall take that as a compliment.”
“Please do.” He kissed her hard and deep and long, holding her tight against him and then falling onto the bed with her clutched to his chest.
When they pulled apart, she laughed. “What about the other . . . act?”
“Not tonight,” he said. “We haven’t even had dinner. I asked Tindall to bring it up later.” He looked at the clock on the mantel and realized it was probably nearing that time. “We should get dressed.”
She made a face. “I don’t want to go through all that just yet. Can’t I wear something of yours if we’re eating in here?”
The thought of her donning one of his dressing gowns as her dinner costume was an alluring image. “Absolutely.” Common sense, which had been in rather short supply, battered at the back of his mind. “You need to get back to London before you’re missed.”
“I can send a note to Aquilla. She’ll make an excuse for me with my grandmother.” She traced her finger along his forehead, gently touching his cut. “Anyway, I’d rather stay here and look after you, if that’s all right.”
The idea of having her here was tempting, yet also frightening. He hadn’t had a visitor here ever. After his family had died, he’d lived here alone with the staff. He’d spent a good deal of his time at school and then in London. This was his home, but it didn’t feel like home. Because he didn’t want it to. Home was his family, and they were gone.
He closed his eyes briefly as despair pulled at the edges of his mind. He opened his eyes to see her watching him.
“What is it?” she asked. “You look upset.”
He didn’t want to talk about it. “You can stay.” His answer surprised him.
“What about your retainers?”
“I don’t have many, and they’ll keep your presence a secret.”
She studied him, her brows dipped over her eyes with concern. She smoothed her fingertips along his forehead and drew her hand down the side of his face before kissing him softly. “All right.”
“We’ll dispatch your note shortly and see to your coach and driver, after I get you something to wear.” He started to pull away, but she clasped his shoulders.
She looked into his eyes. “Kiss me again first.”
“You’re a demanding woman.”
She arched a brow as if to silently ask if this was a problem. It was absolutely not. His lips curved up before they met hers.
This was an unprecedented day, and he was going to do his best not to think about why.
Chapter Twelve
Lucy finished the last of her dinner, surprised at the quantity of food she’d eaten, but then she’d been ravenous. It had been a long day full of astonishing events. She looked over the table at Andrew. He’d donned his shirt and a pair of trousers, but she could barely call him “dressed,” with his bare feet and a goodly expanse of his magnificent chest exposed. She had no intention of complaining.
“How’s your head?” she asked.
“It aches, but the tonic seemed to help a great deal
. I should take another dose.” He fetched the bottle from near the bed and returned to where Tindall had set up their meal on a small table in front of the hearth. Andrew brushed a kiss against her temple as he passed her. “Or mayhap it’s all due to you and your healing powers.”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “If anything, I’ll cause you more harm than good.”
He sat down opposite her and grinned. “Never.”
She thought about what they’d done earlier—it weighed heavy on her mind for so many reasons—and wasn’t sure if he wanted to repeat the activity. Or take it further. “You truly wish me to stay?” She’d already written a note to Aquilla, and it was at least halfway to London by now.
“I do.” He sipped his wine. “Tell me why you’re a wallflower. I don’t understand it one bit.”
She blinked at him, thinking him mad, then laughed. “I’m not conventionally beautiful.” She held up her hand. “You can’t argue with me. I didn’t say I wasn’t beautiful—you’re entitled to your opinion. However, I am neither blond nor blue-eyed nor am I adorned with especially feminine curves.” She felt odd describing herself that way now. After being with him, she did indeed feel desirable. “Plus, I don’t like feminine things such as needlepoint or singing or tittering.”
He laughed. “Tittering? Were you taught that as part of your comportment?”
“No, which is probably why I fail.” She smiled at him, enjoying his wit and the frank and respectful way he spoke with her. He talked to her as no man ever had, as if he were truly interested and maybe even entranced.
“You’re the better for it,” he said. “Did you never have a suitor? Not even once?”
“I did in my first Season.”
“And what happened with this suitor?”
“He wasn’t really a suitor, just someone who paid me attention for a short time.” She didn’t like thinking about Caruthers, let alone discussing him. “That was five years ago. I scarcely remember.”
Andrew set his glass on the table and leaned forward, his gaze pensive. “I doubt that, but I’m in favor of forgetting things that trouble us. However, I’ve decided I don’t like this fellow, so if you’d give me his name, I’d be happy to trip him when next I see him, or fleece him over a game of whist.”