Duke with Benefits

by Manda Collins

  His mouth was firm, but gentle, as she explored it with her own. He tasted of sin and salvation, and she gave herself over to the heady intoxication of knowing he’d let her take what she needed from him. She was the one who tested, tasted, pressed her tongue into his mouth. Led each step of their dance.

  But he was no passive partner. Once she introduced something, he would reply in kind. A taste for a taste. A touch for a touch. A stroke for a stroke.

  When she gave her hands license to thread through his hair, he caressed up the curve of her waist to cup her eager breast, straining against the confinement of her stays as he stroked a thumb over the peak. When she bit lightly at his lip, he took that as an invitation to suckle his way down her chin to that place near her collarbone that made her writhe against him.

  Somehow he’d managed to lower the bodice of her gown and when his mouth met the sensitive skin of her bosom, she nearly wept at the way he teased the edge of her nipple. The deprivation stirred that place at her core, where she needed him.

  She must have made some protest, for Dalton paused, and asked, a little breathless, “Yes?”

  “Yes,” she exhaled as he loosened the laces of her stays and put his mouth where she most desperately needed it, covering her straining peak with warm heat. “Yes.”

  And even as she gave herself up to the caresses there, she felt his other hand sliding up her stockinged calf to her knee, and when instinctively she moved to kneel, opening herself to him, he did not disappoint. The soft touch of his caress against that aching place combined with the deep pulls of his mouth almost sent her over the edge.

  There was no need for him to ask her consent now, for she was all too eager for his touch. And when he stroked a finger into her, then followed it with two, she could not stop herself from rocking into his touch. She found his mouth so that they could mirror the motion of his hand with their tongues. Higher, higher she seemed to soar with every thrust of his hand, and when finally she went over, it was with a cry of elation as she closed her eyes against the bright burst of her release.

  She was gone for no more than a moment and came back to feel his sweet kiss on her forehead as she sprawled against his chest.

  “Are you well?” His voice was strained, and an experimental shift against him revealed the cause pressing against her still sensitive body.

  “Yes,” she said, moving against him.

  But he caught her hips and stilled her. “We needn’t go any farther,” he said, even as he closed his eyes against his desire. “We can wait. I still wish to marry you, but if you aren’t ready for the rest…” He left the words hanging in the air between them.

  She considered the offer. She knew now that she would not flinch at his touch, and they could have a full marriage without the memory of what had happened with Sommersby between them.

  But now they were almost there, and in the wake of what he’d just given her, she didn’t want to wait. She wanted him to feel the same bliss she had.

  And if truth be told, she wanted him, too. All of him.

  Pulling away from him, and moving to stand, she saw a flicker of disappointment in his eyes before he quickly masked it with understanding.

  He rose, and ran a hand over his mussed hair. “I’ll just go check on the horses,” he said.

  He made to turn and leave, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Stay,” she said. And when he’d turned to look at her fully, she removed her gown and finished unlacing her stays, letting the boning fall to the floor until she was standing before him in nothing but her shift and stockings and boots.

  The knock on the door forced a very foul word indeed from him.

  “The food and clothes,” he said closing his eyes in frustration. To his relief, it was mirrored in Daphne’s face.

  Unable to resist, he crossed the room and kissed her hard. “One minute.”

  It took only a brief exchange to send the innkeeper away, and when he turned back, he saw that she hadn’t moved.

  There was something so vulnerable and brave about her standing there, nearly naked, waiting. When he moved toward her, he stopped just far enough away to let her make the choice.

  But he needn’t have bothered.

  “You’re sure?” he asked as she stepped close to press herself against him. With a nod, and meeting his gaze with trembling courage, she began unwinding his cravat.

  But once he realized she was serious, he pushed her hands away and led her to the bed and threw back the bedclothes. Quickly, he finished removing his cravat, and coats and boots, and when she was seated on the edge of the bed, made haste to remove her boots and stockings. Touching her tenderly every step of the way.

  When he stood to pull his shirt over his head, she leaned back against the pillows to admire him.

  His body was muscled without being bulky, and she loved the width of his shoulders, the way they tapered down to his waist.

  Maitland caught her watching him, and his hands paused at the fall of his breeches. She glanced down to where that hard part of him strained against the placket. And suddenly this moment between them was more real than anything she’d ever known.

  Swallowing her apprehension, she gave him a slight nod, and thinking to distract herself from the moment, she rose up and pulled her shift up and over her head.

  When she emerged from the lawn fabric, he was kneeling on the bed beside her, and then they were skin to skin.

  “I’ve heard there is some pain for the lady the first time,” he said against her ear, even as he caressed over her naked skin. “I will try to be gentle, but I don’t know if once I begin I’ll be able to…”

  She stopped his words with a kiss. “I trust you” was all she said. And then she gave herself up to the overwhelming surge of bliss that came from feeling his warmth against her from head to toe.

  And when he kissed her now, there was no diffidence, no hesitation, only desire. She opened herself to his touch, and reveled in the primal sensation of his weight against her.

  His hands, calloused from driving, were rough against her bare skin as they teased their way over her belly.

  When he shifted to kiss his way from her neck to her breasts, then downward, she let him. Only when she felt his arms slide under her knees did she gasp in surprise. “What are you doing?” she asked, both breathless and puzzled.

  Maitland looked up at her, every inch the decadent lord sprawled naked in her bed. But also patient. Tender.

  “Will you trust me?” he asked, his eyes imploring. She sensed that he wanted this as much as he wanted it for her.

  Since he was clearly the more experienced between them, and he hadn’t yet broken her trust, she nodded.

  Given free rein, he continued his movements, hooking his elbows beneath her knees and opening her wide to his gaze. She closed her eyes in embarrassment at the thought of him seeing her thus. But when she felt his warm breath on her mound, she gasped in a mixture of shock and sensation.

  It was thoroughly wanton, but she was unable to stop herself from straining against him where he stroked his tongue against her, reigniting the flames his fingers had lit earlier. And when he sucked the peak, then teased his fingers over her molten core, it had her panting, begging, pleading with him to give her what she needed.

  She almost wept when she felt him slide up over her, but just as quickly he placed his thumb where his mouth had been and propping himself over her on one arm, guided himself to that part of her that desperately needed to be filled.

  With one strong thrust, he gave it to her.

  Chapter 13

  He’d tried to hold back. Tried to be gentle. He’d tried his damnedest to make sure she was as prepared as a woman can be for her first time.

  But still that first thrust almost send Maitland over the edge.

  He clenched his teeth against the need to pound himself into her, to let go of the desire he’d tried desperately to keep banked while tending to her needs. She was worth it, he knew, but dear God, he was des
perate to let go.

  “Yes?” he asked, echoing his earlier question to her, praying that her response would be affirmative. If he had to stop now, it might kill him.

  He’d do it. He had to. But he would weep.

  “Yes,” she said, and whether consciously or not, her hot, sweet sheath clenched around him, and before she even finished the approving syllable he was lost.

  Moving against her, struggling to keep his thrusts decorous—if such a thing were even possible—he felt beads of sweat roll down his back as he pressed into her. Again and again, then needing to be closer, he brought his arms beneath her knees again, this time pressing her wide so that there was not even a breath of space between them.

  And all the while, Daphne, moved beneath him. If there was pain, she gave no indication of it. Instead she writhed and bucked as much as she could in the position, and with each thrust he felt her clench around him.

  He tried to hold out as long as he could, but after months of waiting and wanting, the feel of her tight body clasping him was too much for finesse. He sped up his thrusts, and when he stroked his thumb over her sensitive nub, she cried out, trembling beneath him as her crisis took her. Free to let go at last, he pounded into her three more times before he emptied himself within her in a shout of relief.

  He came back to himself slowly, but fully aware that the soft body cushioning him was Daphne.

  Daphne.

  Reluctantly, he withdrew and eased onto his back beside her. “I’m sorry.” Keeping her in the circle of his arms, unable to stop himself from touching her, he stroked a thumb across the soft skin of her shoulder. “I must have been heavy.”

  But she must not have minded, because she curled into his side, and stroked a hand over his chest, toying with the light dusting of hair there.

  “Is it always like that?” she asked, her breath soft against his skin as she spoke.

  He huffed out a laugh, still a bit breathless. “It most definitely is not.” He thought back to his previous lovers, though the very act felt disloyal somehow. But he could never recall being so … drunk … with passion before. Certainly, he hadn’t felt the sort of protectiveness he did for the woman in his arms.

  What that said about his chivalry, he didn’t like to think.

  When he didn’t elaborate, she went on, “Ivy seems to think she and Lord Kerr are quite good at it.”

  Dalton raised his eyelids and found her watching him. He wasn’t sure he wished to think about his cousin and his wife together.

  No, he was certain he didn’t wish to think of it.

  Though considering that he and Kerr were cousins, it stood to reason that …

  “I think we are better,” Daphne said, breaking into his thoughts. Then her words sank in.

  “You’re quite the competitive little thing, aren’t you?” He met her mouth for a kiss.

  She settled her head back down upon his shoulder. “I’m better than all the other ladies at mathematics of course, but I did think that because Ivy is married she would have surpassed the rest of us at lovemaking. Especially considering that her husband clearly has a great deal of exp—”

  He stopped her mouth with a kiss. “Perhaps we shouldn’t talk about such things, my dear. It could make things rather awkward for me the next time my cousin and I are left to our port after dinner if I’m thinking about him in bed with his wife.”

  And that statement reminded him of Beauchamp House and all the changes awaiting them as soon as they left the cocoon of this room and returned to their normal lives. He sighed into her hair.

  Before she could continue with her speculation about Lord and Lady Kerr, he said, “When we return home, I’ll set out for London to obtain a special license. It shouldn’t take above a day or so if the weather holds.”

  She pulled back a little, eyes wide. “So soon? We still have to visit your aunt’s solicitor in Hastings. And there is the matter of informing the magistrate of what we’ve found.”

  And just like that, the spell was broken, and they were thrust back into the everyday world.

  He sat up against the pillows as she held the sheet to cover her nudity. She’d never been more beautiful.

  “There’s nothing to be done for it,” he said, watching as she examined her hands, not meeting his eyes. “We can’t risk Pinky spreading word of seeing us here. The new vicar has been established at the church, so we can marry in a few days’ time I should think.”

  He could tell that she didn’t like the idea, though whether because it was sooner than she wished or because she didn’t wish it at all he couldn’t guess. Either way she would have to adapt. Because marry they would. On that matter, at least, he would not budge for one reason that was of the utmost importance.

  “There might be a child, Daphne,” he said. They could both endure ruined reputations if necessary, but he would not place that sort of burden on an innocent.

  Her eyes widened, and instinctively she rested a hand on her softly curved belly. “I hadn’t considered that,” she admitted with troubled eyes.

  He didn’t like worrying her, but she was an intelligent woman. She deserved to know all of his reasons for wishing to marry her.

  “Come,” he said kissing her one last time before he began gathering his clothes from the floor, “we should have time to get back before dinner.”

  He pulled on his breeches and watched shamelessly as she followed suit, though the sheet covered her spectacular bottom as she bent to retrieve her chemise.

  Pity, that.

  Slipping into her stays, Daphne said thoughtfully, “If we had a child, it would very likely be quite intelligent. And beautiful.”

  “With my stunning good looks and your brain,” he said with a grin, “how could it possibly be otherwise?”

  * * *

  As luck would have it, they were met at the entrance to Beauchamp House by Ivy, who took one look at their disheveled state and called for hot baths and tea for them both. And soon Daphne found herself in her dressing room, soaking in a lavender-scented tub. Her maid fussed over her tangled hair and damp clothes and made sure that her robe was warmed by the fire before she wrapped herself in it.

  Though she would have liked some time alone to consider what had happened with Dalton at the inn, she found her fellow bluestockings waiting for her in the seating area of her bedchamber.

  “Here,” said Sophia, handing her a cup of tea as she took the overstuffed chair they’d obviously left vacant for her. “Summer might be at hand, but these storms can be quite chilling. We don’t wish you to catch your death.”

  “I am quite warm, thank you,” Daphne said, though she took the proffered tea and drank. Dalton had done a thorough job of warding off any chill the rain had left her with. Though she was oddly reluctant to tell her friends that. Their response to her confession that she’d propositioned him before had been swift and scandalized.

  “What did you learn?” Ivy asked, settling back with her own tea. For the barest moment, Daphne thought she was talking about that interlude with Dalton, and her eyes widened.

  “Did you find the clue with Mr. Renfrew as you’d hoped?” Gemma clarified.

  Relieved, Daphne nodded. “Yes, we did. It took a bit of doing because Mr. Renfrew is suffering from the effects of old age, but we did manage after a bit.”

  She explained how the former steward’s daughter had let them search the man’s belongings until they found the clue from Lady Celeste. Dalton had the actual note, but she’d memorized it and recited it for the other ladies now.

  “So you believe she means the next clue is with her solicitor in Battle?” Ivy asked, after they’d discussed the likely interpretation of “Themis’ shining sword.” “I can’t help but agree. Themis is often used to symbolize justice and the law. Well done, both of you.”

  Daphne blushed a little at the praise. “It was mostly Dalt … um, the duke, who guessed the meaning. As you know my classical knowledge is not what yours is.”

  “Dalton, i
s it?” Sophia asked with a sly smile. “Do I take it the two of you grew a bit closer on your journey?”

  “Hush, Sophia,” her sister chided. “They are betrothed—even if it’s only a temporary ruse. It’s hardly shocking that she would use his Christian name.”

  “About that,” Ivy said with an inquisitive look. “Was I mistaken or did Maitland not eschew the hot bath I had brought up for him and call for his horse to be saddled and his valet to pack a bag? Surely he isn’t going to Battle on his own?”

  Daphne didn’t bother trying to dissemble. “I believe he is traveling to London for a special license.”

  Silence fell on the usually chatty group.

  “It must have been a very eventful journey, indeed,” Sophia said with a speaking look at her sister for chiding her earlier.

  “I must say,” Gemma said with a little shake of her head, “if my sister and I do not wish to become betrothed, we must of necessity avoid going out in a gentleman’s company when a storm is likely.”

  She referred, Daphne knew, to Ivy’s betrothal to Lord Kerr following their being caught out during a rainstorm. Daphne wondered if her friend and her husband had spent their rainstorm in a similar activity. Curious.

  Ivy pursed her lips, but ignored them. Instead, she turned to Daphne and touched her lightly on the arm. “Is all well? Are you agreeable to the match? Because if not, I can speak to Kerr and have him put his cousin off for a bit.”

  But despite her reluctance when Dalton had mention a special license earlier, she was determined to go through with the marriage. Her own reputation might not be of primary importance to her, but she knew that Maitland took his gentlemanly honor quite seriously.

  She may not have considered marriage to be something she wanted before, but if she was being honest with herself, she wasn’t exactly dreading marriage to the duke. If anything, she was rather looking forward to it. She cared nothing for his title or wealth. But the fact that he was able to rouse fire in her with barely a look was certainly an enticement.

  If what they shared in bed was as unusual as all that, she was reluctant to give it up for a life of lonely solitude. That only a few months ago she’d looked forward to such a life was an irony she found amusing.