by Darcy Burke
Before Diana could answer, Verity asked, “What if her father is there? That won’t be enjoyable at all.”
Simon gripped his fork more tightly. “I’ll ensure he isn’t a problem.”
Verity smiled calmly. “I’m sure you will. However, I think you’d do better to face him at your own home, where you reign supreme.”
Those little lines that had shown less and less in recent days appeared between Diana’s eyes. “I keep thinking we’ll pass him along the road at some point. He won’t recognize our coach, of course.”
And if they did see him, Simon had no intention of stopping. He understood Verity’s point about facing Sir Barnard at Lyndhurst. What would the man do when he visited his daughter—who was now a duchess—at her new home? He’d bloody well behave, that’s what he’d do.
Simon finished his mutton, then sat back with his cup of tea. At the end of the meal, they walked upstairs together. Verity’s room was accessible directly from the landing. She bid them good night, then pulled Diana into a tight hug. Simon was aware she was whispering something in Diana’s ear and wondered if she was giving Diana a brief description of what to expect.
Diana kissed her cousin on the cheek, then joined Simon as they continued along the corridor until they reached their room. The innkeeper had said it was the last door on the left and that it was their largest and finest room.
Simon opened the door and swept Diana inside. It was indeed spacious, definitely the largest lodging they’d encountered. The fire had been stoked so that happy yellow flames warmed the room. Two wing-backed chairs flanked the fireplace to their right, and a small table stood against the opposite wall.
But it was the four-poster bed, situated between two windows, that commanded the room.
“Oh, this is lovely,” Diana said, moving inside. Their things had been brought up already, and the innkeeper’s wife had laid out their nightclothes. Their cloaks and hats were hung on hooks next to the door, and their gloves lay atop a small dresser across from the bed.
Simon closed the door and followed Diana, letting her lead him. She went directly to the bed, moving to the side closest to the fire.
He stood at the foot and watched as she ran her fingers over the quilted coverlet. “There’s a bed warmer,” she observed with delight.
“Mrs. Insley thought of everything.” Simon walked toward the fire and sat down to remove his boots. The warmth felt good, and he realized he was exhausted. But not too exhausted. Perhaps she was, however.
She sat in the chair opposite him and took off her half boots. She wiggled her stockinged toes in front of the fire and let out a soft sigh. “That feels wonderful. I will wear nothing but slippers for at least a week when we reach Lyndhurst.” She looked over at him. “How long will it take?”
“It will depend on the weather, of course, but I should think somewhere between seven and ten days. It also depends on how quickly we wish to travel. Is it important to you to arrive before Christmas?”
“Not particularly, but don’t you have traditions that you need to keep?”
He thought of the dinner he had for the retainers on Boxing Day. He ought to send word that he was on his way home. He’d done a dreadful job of communicating with them since he’d left. He’d rectify that tomorrow.
“I’ll send word to my steward tomorrow, informing him we may not arrive until after Boxing Day.”
They fell quiet, both of them staring into the fire. She yawned, and he wondered if she was in fact tired. “Should we go to bed?” he finally asked.
She looked over at him, her gaze tentative. “I suppose we should.”
“Diana, we can go to sleep. It’s been an exhausting trip.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You make me wait until we’re wed to engage in intercourse, and now you want to go to sleep?”
Simon should have known better. He knew her better than to think she wouldn’t want a traditional wedding night. What’s more, she deserved one.
He thought of his wedding night with Miriam, of her shyness. What the bloody hell was he doing? He couldn’t keep thinking of her. He didn’t want to keep thinking of her. And yet there she was, like a ghost haunting him, and truly, he deserved nothing less. He certainly didn’t deserve this beautiful, charming, thoughtful woman who’d just become his duchess.
He stared at her, wondering what in the hell he’d done to win her? Nothing. He’d been in the right place at the right time. She’d needed rescuing, and he’d saved her. Was there any chance he could save himself in the process?
Before he could answer that question—and he doubted if he really could—she rose from the chair, her lips curling in a thoroughly seductive manner. “Are you going to help me undress? This time, you don’t have to go quickly. Nor do you have to try to avoid touching me.”
And just like that, the demons invading his mind faded to the background. He stood and shrugged out of his coat, letting it fall back onto the chair. He took the two steps necessary to stand before her and stared down at her pink, parted lips. “Turn.”
She did, and Simon’s mouth went dry as he allowed himself to contemplate disrobing her in the way he’d tried very hard not to think about during their long journey north. He plucked at the laces of her gown as he’d done so many times. This time, however, he went slowly, and he took no care to avoid touching her too much.
When the gown was loose, he pulled up the skirt and drew it over her head. Reaching around her, he draped it rather carelessly across her chair. Next was her petticoat. She tugged it up, and he helped remove it in the same fashion as her dress. It also followed the gown onto the chair.
Now the corset. He pulled at the laces, allowing his knuckles to graze her back, feeling her warmth beneath the thin linen of her chemise. Bit by bit, the garment came open and when it was loose enough, he helped her take it over her head. She clasped it and threw it to the chair as she turned to face him.
He shook his head. “Turn.”
She gave him a quizzical look before presenting her back once more.
“I want to take your hair down,” he said, aching to touch her dark, silken locks. He found the pins and one by one deposited them on the mantel until her hair fell about her shoulders. It reached to the middle of her back, hanging in soft, loose waves. “Please don’t braid it.”
She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, her blue eyes glowing in the firelight. “I won’t.”
He touched her hair, gently sifting it through his fingers, then moving it to the side so he could bare the back of her neck. He bent his head and kissed her flesh, eliciting a shiver along her nape.
She edged backward the slightest amount, and a soft sigh—similar to the sound she’d made when she’d removed her shoes and yet wholly different—escaped her. He moved his lips along her neck, holding her hair to the side and trailing his fingertips along her left arm.
When his lips found her ear and he suckled her flesh, she cast her head back. He swept his hand beneath her arm and skimmed his palm up to her breast. She was soft and round and her nipple came to immediate attention the second he touched it. He let go of her hair and brought his right hand around to her other breast. Cupping her in both hands, he massaged her gently and trailed his lips down her neck.
She arched her back, her head falling against his shoulder. He closed his fingertips over her nipples and lightly pressed, then tugged. She cried out, and the sound spurred his desire. As he worked and fondled her breasts, her hips began to move. Her backside grazed his cock. He envisioned bending her over the chair and coming into her from behind. Not tonight, but perhaps some day.
He moved his hand down over her abdomen and pressed it between her legs. She moved her thighs apart for him, giving him better access. He cupped her mound and fingered her through the fabric of her chemise.
She moaned softly, her pelvis rotating. Then she lifted her hem, silently urging him to touch her with no barrier. He meant to do that and more. When she was bare to him
, he found her clitoris and stroked her incessantly. She moaned again and strained back against him. He withdrew his hand, and she let out a quiet whimper.
“To the bed,” he rasped.
She turned to face him, her eyes dark and sultry with lust. “You have too many clothes on.”
“I do indeed.” He quickly unbuttoned his waistcoat, and she barely waited for him to finish before she pushed it from his shoulders. Her hands found his waistband first and pulled the hem of his shirt free. He whisked it over his head and let it fall to the floor. Her fingers were already dancing across his chest, and while he appreciated her zeal, if he didn’t taste her soon, he was going to go mad.
Pulling her against him, he kissed her, openmouthed and hungry. She met him, and her teeth grazed his lip. The contact was more fuel on the fire of his lust. He drove his tongue into her mouth, and she did the same to him, giving and taking with a demand that matched his own.
He was consumed with kissing her. He slowed, teasing her with long, lush strokes of his tongue. He pulled away to kiss her jaw, her cheek, her neck. Then he returned to her mouth to begin his assault anew. She clutched at him through it all, her fingertips digging into his shoulders and neck, his back. And then her hands were on his backside, cupping him and holding him as she pressed her pelvis to his. The contact of her heat against his erection roused a groan from deep within his throat.
They’d never make it to the damned bed.
He picked her up, and she let out a small, feminine squeal of surprise that made him smile. In three quick strides, he was at the bed, and he set her down near the top. “Where’s the bed warmer?” He didn’t want that getting in their way.
She reached for the coverlet and started to peel it back. “I’ll take care of it while you take off the rest of your clothes.”
He leaned against the mattress to remove his stockings. “I hope that means you’re getting rid of your chemise.”
She stopped what she was doing and made a show of lifting the garment over her head. As she put her arms up, her abdomen stretched, drawing his attention right to her breasts. He longed to put his mouth on her. She tossed the chemise from the bed and gave him a sultry stare before removing the bed warmer and taking it to the hearth.
Moving faster, Simon finished undressing. As she came back, he reached for her, wrapping his arm around her waist and drawing her forward. He kissed her again, nibbling at her lower lip, then licking it before sliding his tongue inside. She pressed up against him, and he cupped the back of her head, twining his fingers into her hair and gripping her tight. He pulled her head back, and she arched for him, extending her neck as if it were a delicious feast for his eyes and mouth. He kissed and licked her flesh, unable to get enough of her.
She clasped his head, sighing and moaning until his mouth trailed to her breast. Then she sucked in air—a sharp sound of surprise.
He closed over her nipple and brought his left hand beneath to cup her, holding her captive to his mouth and tongue. He teased her flesh, licking and sucking, pushing her to the edge.
She said his name over and over. He lifted her onto the bed again, laying her down and then continuing to lavish attention on her breasts. She held his head to her as her body writhed and arched, seeking his touch.
He skimmed his fingers along her abdomen and found the curls between her legs. She was warm and wet, and she cried out when he touched her folds. He lifted his head and looked at her face. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, her neck extended. She was the embodiment of rapture. Desire personified.
“Diana, open your eyes.”
Her lashes fluttered before her lids rose and revealed the deep blue of her eyes.
“I didn’t want to shock you. I’m going to put my mouth on you here.” He stroked her sex and slipped his finger into her silken sheath.
Her eyes widened briefly. “Like I did with you.”
“Similar, but not quite the same, of course.” He couldn’t help but smile.
“Thank you for telling me. That would have been quite shocking.”
Her hips moved up, encouraging the thrust of his finger. He was happy to accommodate her and used two to fill her. Her fingers dug into the bedclothes on either side of her, and she gasped.
He bent and suckled her clitoris while continuing to tantalize her with his hand. He withdrew his fingers and replaced them with his tongue, sliding into her and tasting her sweetness. She moaned, then cried his name, one hand burrowing into his hair.
He lifted his head briefly. “This orgasm may be more powerful than the others you’ve experienced. At least I will do my best to make it that way.”
“Simon.” She urged his head back down, and he grinned before climbing onto the bed and settling himself between her legs. Time to make her senseless.
He draped her thighs over his shoulders and buried himself in her sex, licking, sucking, kissing. She thrashed against the bed as he continued relentlessly, driving her ever closer to the precipice. She cried out over and over, her voice rising higher and higher. He filled her with his fingers again, pumping until he felt her muscles clench around him. Using his mouth once more, he sent her into oblivion, not ceasing until the shudders in her body settled.
He wiped his mouth and sat back, staring at the pale beauty of her body bathed in firelight. Her breasts were taut, the nipples forming hard, pink peaks. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she regained her breath.
He leaned forward and kissed the flesh above her mound, trailing his tongue up past her navel and farther still until he met the underside of her breast. Gently, he stroked his fingers over her skin, grazing her nipple as he licked his way to the tip. Then he sucked it into his mouth and cupped her. He withdrew, then blew on her flesh before sucking it once more. He repeated this several times before moving to her other breast and performing the same ministrations. All the while, her chest continued its rhythm, deep but slightly rapid breaths as her excitement began to build once more.
His was barely in check. His cock raged with the need to sink inside her. Soon. He didn’t want to go too fast. Not this first time. In fact, he wondered if she’d had enough. “Should we continue? I don’t want to overwhelm you.”
She opened her eyes and narrowed them at him. “I’ll repeat what I said earlier. You made me wait until we were wed. We are wed. I am not waiting any longer.”
“This first time may not be as pleasant as everything that has come before,” he said. He had precisely one experience with a virgin—Miriam. He didn’t want to think of her just now, but it was damn near impossible not to. Their wedding night had been rather disastrous.
Diana reached up and stroked her fingers over his chest. “Why? You told me my mother lied, that it wasn’t unpleasant.”
“It isn’t. At least not after the first time and not if you’re with a man who knows how to ensure you enjoy yourself. Many men don’t.”
“Well then, I’m doubly glad I married you.”
He was too. More than he’d ever thought possible. But how did he explain this to her? “The first time can be…uncomfortable for a woman because her flesh isn’t used to being, er, invaded.” He winced, disliking the way that had come out.
“Will it hurt?”
He thought of Miriam, who’d experienced some pain, but kept his features blank. “It could. But it should fade relatively quickly.”
“You know this from experience.”
It wasn’t a question, so he didn’t feel the need to answer. He gave her an infinitesimal nod.
She splayed her palm over his flesh and ran her hand up to cup the back of his neck. She pulled him down. “I appreciate your concern and all you’ve done to prepare me—and to pleasure me. I’ve no doubt you will take every care, and I can think of no man I’d rather share this moment with. Now show me what to do before I toss you over and make it up as I go along.”
He laughed. “Like you did at Beaumont Tower? If that’s the case, then I gladly give myself over to you.” He narrowe
d his eyes and kissed her fast but deep. “But not tonight. Tonight you’re mine, and I’m going to show you how much.”
Chapter 13
Diana shivered at the promise in his seductive gaze. He’d made her a bit nervous a moment before. After everything she’d been raised to believe about sex, it was easy to succumb to apprehension. But all he’d taught her so far had been so wonderful, each experience better than the one before. She had to believe this wouldn’t be any different.
And if it was, well, she’d come too far to turn back now.
Simon kissed her again and any potential discomfort or disappointment fled her mind. She didn’t think she’d ever grow tired of kissing him. Each one was different. Soft and sweet. Hard and demanding. Lush and provocative. This one was a combination of everything, his tongue delving deep into her mouth as his lips played over hers.
His fingers stroked her sex, reawakening the pulsing desire she’d vanquished just a short time ago. She loved the feel of him on top of her, their flesh pressed together, as intimate as two people could be.
His cock nudged between her thighs.
Perhaps not quite as intimate as two people could be.
He pulled his mouth from hers. “You can touch me, if you like.”
Yes, she liked. She ran her hands over his shoulders and back, loving the feel of his smooth skin, then moved lower, caressing the curve of his backside. It seemed an outrageous thing to do, forbidden almost, but it was tame, really, when she thought of the other things she’d already done.
“I meant my cock.” His hips pressed against hers, settling his erection firmly along her sex. The sensation of him there sparked a desperate need, not just the release of an orgasm, but the sensation of being filled. As he’d done with his fingers.
She slid her hand around his hip and reached between them until she found his shaft. Closing her hand around the base, she looked up into his eyes. His face was taut, his eyes dark as sin. “Like this?” she asked.