by Tamara Gill
Not as much as I’d like to have done.
Damn it. He wrenched his gaze down to the floor and studied the parquetry for a moment. “I’ve not done anything with her ladyship. She merely annoys me.”
Torments me…
“The betting book at Whites now states that Lord Thomas and Sir Fraser are front runners in contending as her lovers. They’ve been quite attentive to her, and she’s certainly allowed them to show their affection if you understand me.”
“She’s allowed them to kiss her?” He shut his mouth with a snap and stood tall, lifting his chin so not to show that the mention of Darcy kissing another, hurt. Hurt like bloody hell.
“I understand Sir Fraser has had the pleasure, but then, you know with these young bucks, they often tell tales just to boost their own self-importance.
“They should not be associating their scandalous behaviour with Lady de Wolfe if it isn’t true. Her reputation could be tarnished by such rumors.”
“She is striking, I must admit. And I’ve meant to apologize for my behaviour the other week. My teasing of you was not warranted, and I’m sorry I spoke of you in such a way to Lady de Wolfe.”
Athelby nodded once. “Apology accepted. But you should not concern yourself. I never take any notice of your nonsense when you’re in your cups.”
The marquess snorted, lifting his wine glass up in salute. “As you should.” He paused for a moment. “Lady de Wolfe does seem to take an interest in you though, Athelby. Are you sure you’re telling me the truth that there is nothing between the two of you?”
There was a lot between them, but nothing he would ever admit verbally. Not even to his closest friend. He raised his attention to where he knew Darcy was located and their gazes locked. Again, his stomach somersaulted in the most dizzying, intoxicating way and he clenched his jaw.
Damn it. He’d hoped after being away from her these past weeks such a reaction would not occur. How wrong he’d been. If anything, it was worse.
Denial it would seem, made the bond grow stronger.
“You’ve kissed. I can see it between the two of you as clear as air. And you want to do it again. Admit it, man, you’ve had a tryst with the de Wolfe.”
“No tryst, just a kiss.” Blast, he was not going to say a thing about it. He wrenched his attention away and frowned at his friend. “Do not tell anyone of what you know, and do not put my name down as a contender for her ladyship’s hand, either in marriage or as a lover.”
“I think you could be a contender for both, for the way she’s looking at you right now, I would say you’re more likely to be her lover before anything else.”
The thought of having Darcy beneath him in his bed made his blood beat at a crescendo that even the instruments about to play could not reach. “I will not sleep with her. Ever.” To do so went against all his morals, the way in which he’d lived his life. Fleeting liaisons were not who he was or ever would be. He was a respectable, upstanding duke. Not a rake.
“Oh, well, from the looks of Sir Fraser you’ve missed your chance. And Lady de Wolfe seems quite pleased by his attentions if I’m any judge of character.”
“I do not care.” Athelby sat and steadfastly refused to move his attention from the stage, even though the singing was yet to commence. Aaron sat beside him, shaking his head, but deciding not to voice whatever it was he was thinking.
Probably for the best, considering Athelby’s mood was decidedly soured. Whether it was due to Darcy fawning over another gentleman and acting yet again inappropriately, or because it was not he himself that she was acting inappropriately with, he couldn’t be sure.
The musical night hosted by the Earl and Countess Musgrove was something Darcy had been looking forward to, up until the point that she’d seen Athelby in all his elegance standing beside the Marques of Aaron, his dark, intense inspection of her rattling her more than she’d like to admit and leaving her flushed.
She had promised herself, and up until tonight had done quite well in keeping her distance from him. Their set was wide and varied, and it hadn’t been hard to go to balls and parties that both were invited to, but at different times. If she’d heard from his grandmother that he was to attend so and so at this time, Darcy ensured she attended at opposite times.
It had all worked out splendidly, until this evening. A musical loo was not something she’d thought the duke would be interested in, and yet, here he was, as handsome as ever, cold and aloof as he’d always been.
She shook her head as she ate a crab cake during the supper repast. After the music he’d seemed to disappear, and she assumed he’d returned home or moved on to attend another event. The fact that his absence left her a little bored and forlorn was not to be considered. Darcy was determined never to marry again, no matter how enticing being courted by the Duke of Athelby might be. She could not risk another bad marriage like the one she’d had to endure with Terrance.
“Fran, darling, I’m going to use the ladies’ retiring room and then I think I shall leave. I wish to go for a ride tomorrow morning, and I’ll never rise should I not head home soon.”
Her friend handed her glass to her husband who stood with them. “Would you like me to accompany you?”
Darcy waved her suggestion away. “No, I shall be fine and my maid is waiting for me there. You stay here and enjoy this delicious repast.”
She exited through the door she’d seen other ladies slip through. A footman explained where the retiring room was and pointed her in the right direction. Darcy walked along a bank of windows, some of which were bay in design. Red velvet drapes hung down on all of them, allowing anyone who sat upon the seat overlooking the gardens privacy if they so wished. Walking past one that was drawn closed, she stifled a scream when a large hand came out and pulled her into the secretive alcove.
“You!” The wild, ravenous look on Athelby’s face gave her pause, and she didn’t say another word.
“Yes, me,” he said, pushing her against the wall and taking her lips in a searing kiss. Against her better judgement and rules, her past mistakes and wishes for the future, Darcy clung to him, all but climbed up against his person and made herself as close as she possibly could while the kiss carried on.
It was too much, this need, the all-consuming obsession with him could not be possible. “Touch me, Cameron,” she gasped as he tried to lift her up to get them as close as achievable.
Failing that, he moaned and rocked against her instead. One hand fiddled with the base of her gown, before the cool night air kissed her ankle, calf and then thankfully, finally her thigh. Athelby paused, pulling back a little to stare at her. “I don’t know what to do.”
Darcy fought to understand what he was saying through her desire consumed mind before understanding dawned. Taking his hand, she guided him to where she wanted him to touch her most.
He didn’t pull away and stop what she was showing him, and the fact that this man, a duke no less was not skilled in the ways of what a woman wanted suited Darcy. He was hers to mould. To teach touches, kisses and whatever else they did together. To know no one else had been with Athelby like this left a powerful elixir that was hard to deny.
At first, his touch was hesitant, too careful as if he was scared to hurt her. This kind of endless teasing was almost enough to send pleasure to ricochet through her. “Slide your hand against me, explore and learn me, Cameron.”
Cameron had never, ever wanted to take a woman as much as he fought not to take Darcy. She stood before him, his to take, her legs spread as the wall supported her while he teased and touched the most private of parts of a woman.
When he’d pulled her into the curtained space, he’d not thought this would happen. He’d meant to chastise her for teasing Sir Fraser and leading the poor fellow on. But the moment she’d entered the space, all he’d wanted to do was kiss her. Taste her one more time.
The woman’s anatomy was not as he’d expected it to be and touching Darcy like this allowed him to learn what she
liked, what made her gasp and cling to him like he was the only other living soul on earth.
“Athelby,” she gasped when his finger found a peculiar, small entrance. Seeing if his touching of her there was something she enjoyed, he slid one finger a little way inside.
Darcy kissed him hard, her tongue meshing with his, and emboldened he slid his finger fully the way in. It was then he realized she was riding his hand, just as he imagined a woman would ride a man’s phallus.
His balls ached and were tighter than he’d ever known them to be. Other than the times he’d woken up in bed, panting and as hard as hell after dreaming of the woman who currently resided in his arms.
“I’m going to come,” she whispered against his lips.
Her lips parted, her head tilting back as she continued to ride him. Athelby nibbled and kissed her while she peaked, her bottom lip clasped tight in her teeth to stop any notifying sound. In time Darcy regained her composure, and already he longed to have her in such a state again.
He’d never slept with a woman before, probably a fact that Darcy now knew, and the pleasure she seemed to experience made him yearn to know if it would be the same for himself. He’d gained so much enjoyment from watching her, being more involved, finding his own release, was that as addictive as he imagined it would be.
Just the thought had him wishing she’d undo his front falls, sit him on the bench at the window and ride him until they both found release.
Their gazes locked and instead of pulling away, Darcy wrapped her arms around his shoulders, kissing him lightly before she said words, that were never truer. “We have a problem, Athelby.”
And they did. A big one.
Chapter 5
Darcy sat astride her grey mare, Montclair, and galloped as fast as her mount would carry her down Rotten Row. The park was deserted, bar her groom Peter who sat atop his horse under a copse of trees not too far away.
The sensation of flying always invigorated Darcy, and she patted her mare as they trotted to a stop, turning her back toward her groom. They had been out for some time already, and soon the park would have the early morning riders who would not take well the sight of a woman, astride and galloping down the row. All faux pas according to the ton, and rules that Darcy always enjoyed ignoring.
She trotted back to Peter and smiled. “Time to return I think.”
“Right ye are, my lady.”
Darcy rode ahead, and as they walked the horses across the park toward the northern gate, a group of men entered on beautiful, well-bred mounts that Darcy couldn’t help but appreciate. But only one man stood out more than the rest.
Athelby…
They stopped and dipped their hats and Darcy in turn smiled but didn’t slow. “Good morning, gentleman,” she said, liking the fact that all of them present threw her admiring glances. She had worn today her newly purchased silk jockey bonnet, that went perfectly with her navy-blue riding suit with gold buttons, she looked almost regimental. Not to mention the colouring always complimented her blue eyes.
The men moved on, but one.
“Go ahead, Peter,” she said, stopping now that Athelby had. “I wish to have a word with the duke.”
“Yes, my lady,” he said, doing as she bid.
Athelby turned his horse to come up alongside hers. Darcy raised one brow but didn’t say a word. After they had left each other two nights past, she’d not seen him at any events. Was he avoiding her again? More than likely, and it wasn’t to be borne. He could not raise such deliciousness within her and then disappear. Her husband had never given her such pleasure in the short amount of time they were married, and other than giving herself release a few small times, with Athelby it was the first a man had raised such emotions.
She wouldn’t allow it. The duke of Athelby was going to be her lover if it were the last thing she did this Season.
“Are you well, my lady?” he asked, his tone distant, and yet his eyes were the window to his soul, and she could see he was struggling. What that struggle was exactly she couldn’t be sure. Wanting her while fighting the emotion or her ineligibility due to his standards she would assume. He’d always been such a stickler for rules, to disregard them after finding pleasure in her arms, would go against all that he believed in.
He wanted her, that she had no doubt. But would he act on it, really act on it and make her fully his? That, Darcy wasn’t certain of.
“I am very well, thank you. And you?” If he was going to be all formal and absurd, then so was she.
“I am well.” His jaw clenched, and he looked away, adjusting his seat a little. The action made her attention snap to his thighs, and she bit her bottom lip seeing that he had very muscular legs and that the tan breeches he had on were very much accentuating his fine form.
It was crass of Darcy to ogle the man in such a way, but really, what was one to do when she found him absurdly attractive and that if she had her way, she’d help him out of those breeches and not let him get back into them again until she was fully satisfied.
“I want to kiss you.” The words sounded torn, a deep rumble that tumbled her common sense into dangerous ground.
Ignoring all sense of decorum, and considering they were a little way from the gates of Hyde Park, Darcy tempted fate. She leaned toward the duke and caught his gaze. “Then kiss me, Athelby.”
His attention slid to her lips and for a moment she actually believed he would do as she asked, before he thought better of it and straightened his spine. “I cannot kiss you here.”
She shrugged, knowing that was too true, but wanting to tease him a little about it in any case. “Pity, I so dearly would love for you to.” Darcy pulled her horse to come around the back of Athelby’s and took the opportunity to slide one finger across his bottom and down one leg as she went.
“Are you attending the Leeders’ ball this evening?”
“Yes,” he said, pushing her hand off his thigh.
She grinned. “Maybe we can continue to further our acquaintance there?” Her words, finally, and triumphantly brought out a small grin from the duke, and Darcy chuckled. How handsome and approachable he was when he wasn’t scowling at everyone, growling like a lion with a prickle in its paw.
“Well then,” she said, moving off. “I shall see you there, your grace.” Darcy trotted off and didn’t turn back to look at the duke, but he was watching her, more than likely debating all the pros and cons of doing what they both wanted.
Each other.
By midnight, Darcy had all but given up hope that the duke would attend the Leeders’ annual ball. She stood beside a grouping of house plants and swallowed down the last of the numerous glasses of champagne she’d already had this evening.
Damn him. If he thought to avoid her again, run away like a little man-child he could think again. She wouldn’t allow it. Even though tonight there was little she could do.
This late in the evening, the guests were well in their cups, the dancing was still the focal point, although some of the gentlemen had wandered into the card room and had commenced gambling.
Darcy sighed and placed her glass on a passing footman’s tray and debated taking another or going home. Even her friend Fran had left some hours ago, and Darcy had only stayed due to the possibility Athelby would arrive.
He would pay for this deception.
She took another glass and sipped. She would give him until this drink to arrive and then she was going home. Distracted by her annoyance at the duke, she didn’t notice the gentleman who came to stand beside her. It wasn’t until a warm finger touched the nape of her neck and slid down the full length of her spine, going all the way down to her bottom.
Darcy grinned as hope bloomed in her chest. She took another sip. “How very inappropriate of you, duke.”
He leaned close to her ear, his whispered words igniting fire in her blood. “I want to be inappropriate with you. Only you.”
The breath in her lungs seized and she swallowed. She wasn’t used to the
duke turning the tables on her and being the one to seduce. It was normally she who goaded and taunted. Even so, it was refreshing and so very arousing to have the duke do it instead.
“Dance with me, Darcy.”
This time she did place her glass down on a passing footman’s tray, and let him lead her onto the dance floor for a waltz. She went into his arms willingly, needing to be close to him, to smell his freshly laundered clothes, his sandalwood cologne, and something else that was just Athelby.
A little alarm went off in her mind that she was getting herself too involved with Athelby, seeing possibility where no possibility should be seen. “You’re a very good dancer for a man who doesn’t often take to the floor.”
He moved them with grace and ease about the room, and considering his height and her own, they fit perfectly, and their dance was effortless.
“I had a very good teacher and of course, I was the most avid student.”
“Why is that so easy to believe.” Darcy chuckled, and he frowned.
“You should not mock people merely because they take an interest in all that they learn. I have never done things by halves and I should not start now.”
“And yet,” she said, wanting to harass him a little more. “You’ve teased me, only completed half of what I want you to do with me, so who is the bad student now?”
Desire burned in his gaze and she shuffled closer still. “I want you in my bed, Athelby. And I want it soon.”
He tripped a little, but righted them quick enough that no other dancers about them noticed. “Lady de Wolfe, while I–”
“Don’t you dare, your grace. You will finish what we both started. What we both want.”
For a time he was silent, and Darcy fought not to lose her temper with him. It was not at all gentlemanly, if this was a gentlemanly act at all, to cry off and leave her wanting him fiercely, while he pushed down his own desires and refused her. Right at this moment, she damned his brother to the pits of hell for scaring his younger sibling into being a prude.