The Duke's Untamed Desire

by Amy Jarecki

  “Your Grace.” Lady Georgiana rushed toward him. “Do not tell me you have been out in this weather all evening?”

  Fletcher tugged on the leads, bringing the dogs forward. “Yes, well, you see, I thought Max and Molly would enjoy a country party as well, so I took a detour.” He looked down at the smelly, dripping Setters. “And then the carriage threw an axle.”

  “Devil take it, you’ve ridden all this way?” asked Derby.

  “About nine miles,” Fletcher explained. “But I daresay the roads are boggy in places and washed away in others.”

  “My word, you must hasten upstairs straightaway. Where is Dobbs?” asked the baroness. “Has he ordered a warm bath?”

  “I have Your Ladyship.” Returning to Fletcher’s side, the butler appeared a bit bothered. “And one of the housemaids is fetching a blanket for the dogs.”

  “Yes, you must change into something warm and dry before you catch your death.” Georgiana curtsied. “I’ll see to it a warm meal is sent to your chamber directly.”

  “I would like that very much.” Fletcher looked to the other guests. If only the lot of them weren’t staring at him, he’d like to tell Her Ladyship to bring the tray herself...and serenade him. Hell, forget the tray and just sing. But like the well-behaved duke he was endeavoring to emulate, he bowed. “If you will excuse me.”

  “I say, Evesham, your Setters are capital,” said Derby. “Are you up for a fox hunt? I’m certain Lady Derby has set aside some time during this frolic for a jolly good chase.”

  Fletcher’s gaze slid to the man’s daughter. “I’d assume no less. Especially if Lady Georgiana would do me the honor of being my second.”

  Her smile warmed him. “I’d be delighted.”

  “IT IS LOVELY TO HAVE you back at Hardwick Hall, my lady,” said Mrs. Parsons, wiping her hands on her cook’s apron. “The baroness would have sent a footman to the kitchens to order a tray for His Grace. And by rights, you ought to have done so as well, though I do love to see your pretty face ever so.”

  “You know how much I like to visit down here. As I grew up, I always felt more at home in the kitchens than above stairs.” For the past quarter-hour, Georgiana had perched on her favorite stool in the corner. “Besides, I told the duke I would personally see to it a tray was prepared.”

  Mrs. Parsons pointed after the footman who’d just headed up to Evesham’s chamber. “Well, there’s enough food on that tray to keep the duke satiated for a sennight.”

  “Thank you. The man deserves every bite.” Georgiana hopped up, opened a canister, and found exactly what she was looking for. Some things never changed. “Did you know he rode nine miles in the rain from Datchet?”

  “A duke? Would no one let him a room?” Mrs. Parsons handed her a spoon. “’Tis unheard of.”

  Georgiana found a pan in the cupboard beneath the countertop. “We were all surprised to see him.”

  “Can I help you with something?” asked the cook.

  “Perhaps some milk?” Georgiana put the pan on the stove and opened the cast iron door to check the fire. “I thought I’d make myself a dish of chocolate.”

  Mrs. Parsons laughed. “I should have known that’s what you were up to.”

  “Yes, I’m still addicted to warmed chocolate, though I cannot oft afford the luxury.”

  “No? My, that does make me sad.”

  “It shouldn’t. I’ve been happy and the country suits me ever so.”

  “If only...” Mrs. Parsons turned away and poured milk into the pan.

  Georgiana could finish the woman’s sentence—if only Mr. Whiteside hadn’t died. “His passing was a dark time in my life, but I’m coming into my own now. Though when the accident first happened, I never thought I’d be able to survive. Thank heavens, after the passage of time, I am content.”

  “Though it would be nice if you could remarry—find a well-to-do gentleman who can afford chocolate.”

  Georgiana stirred the mixture. “Perhaps I’ll be able to purchase my own in the future.”

  “You?”

  “Who knows? If Daniel’s invention finds the right backing, I’ll not only be able to buy chocolate, I’ll be able to commission a host of repairs to my cottage in Thetford.”

  “Well, I wish you great success. Wouldn’t it be a boon to see his work amount to something useful? Why, this family would be shocked for certain.”

  “I think all of Christendom would be shocked and that would be a dream come true.”

  Georgiana stirred the chocolate while she watched it eventually come to a rolling boil.

  “Here’s a dish for you, dear.” Mrs. Parsons gestured to a tray. “And I’ve sliced you a bit of cherry tart to help you sleep.”

  “It looks delicious.” She smiled, taking the tray. “Thank you ever so much. Sweet dreams.”

  Heading up the servant’s stairs with the tray, Georgiana forgot to veer off to the south wing and head for her chamber. At least, she told herself it was a slip of her memory. Evesham had been relegated to the second floor of the north wing where the king’s guest apartments occupied the entire ell. Hardwick House was a sprawling baronial estate where one could spend an afternoon exploring and end up completely lost—if he or she hadn’t grown up there, of course. The castle boasted five stories and the other guests had been appointed chambers in various, secluded parts of the castle.

  There were two reasons Georgiana knew Evesham was in the king’s apartments. First, he was a duke, but then Ravenscar was also a duke—so that had initially posed a conundrum. However, after venturing down to the kitchens and overseeing the preparation of a tray for His Grace’s dinner, the footman had confirmed her assumption. Thanks to the efficiency of the housekeeper, Hardwick Hall’s servants always knew where everyone had been appointed.

  Quietly, Georgiana tiptoed through the corridors, ensuring no one saw her until she reached Evesham’s door. Her stomach squeezed like she’d just hopped down from climbing a tree as she balanced the tray on one hand and raised her hand to knock. Hesitating, she bit her bottom lip. Never in her life had she done anything this scandalous.

  As of this morning, the most daring thing she’d done in her entire six and twenty years was kiss Evesham in his carriage. The memory of it still sent tingles throughout her body. She scarcely believed herself capable of such audaciousness. She, Georgiana Whiteside, had thrown propriety out the window and acted like a wanton. Worse, she’d enjoyed every single moment.

  Before she lowered her hand, took the tray, and savored a delicious dish of chocolate in the sanctity of her bedchamber, she knocked—a single rap.

  Drawing in a sharp inhalation, she held her breath.

  If he doesn’t respond, I’ll be on my way. Perhaps he doesn’t care to have company after spending the day out in the storm.

  The Setters barked.

  “To your rug!” Evesham’s deep voice resonated through the timbers. Water trickled. “Come.”

  Georgiana pulled the latch and slipped inside, quickly closing the door to ensure no passing servants spotted her. “Your Grace, forgive my impertinence, but after your ordeal, I made you a dish of my favorite chocolate...to...to warm your...”

  As she spoke, her mouth grew dry, her skin alive with tingles, her body afire. And then she gaped. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t blink. Good glory, Evesham was still in the bath. Water glistened, dripping from the black curls on his chest, shimmering amber with the firelight. Beneath the droplets, the man was solid, well-muscled, and tan-skinned. She licked her lips, her gaze darting to the table. “F-f-forgive me for intruding. I-I’ll just set this on the table and leave you to your bath.”

  “Must you hasten away?” he asked as if he were out for a Sunday stroll while the dogs watched from their place in front of the hearth.

  “I certainly cannot stay here whilst you’re...” Moving to the table, she set the tray down. She mustn’t stare at a naked duke. Before stopping herself, Georgiana’s gaze shifted aside. Dash it, she couldn�
�t help but stare! Shaking her head, she covered her face. “Goodness, I shouldn’t have come.”

  “Why did you?” His tone wasn’t accusatory, but curious.

  “Well...” she began, burying her face in both hands to ensure not to ogle the man once again. “Quite possibly it was an error in judgement on my behalf.” Oh dear, oh dear, she sounded as daft as a hen laying an egg.

  The water trickled. No. It more than trickled. It rushed. Lord save her, he’d stood. He stepped out. Footsteps approached. Dear God, a wet, naked duke stood not but five feet from her.

  “You once told me that you weren’t ready to entertain a liaison—courtship, I think is the term you used.” His voice was even deeper than usual. Yet, he spoke as if in complete and utter control while he stepped so near, the heat from his body swirled about her—rosemary-scented soap with a masculine essence, powerful enough to render her delirious. “In light of our most arousing carriage ride, and now here where you’ve so thoughtfully brought me warmed chocolate, I must ask if your conviction has changed.”

  Her mind raced. A liaison? That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Hadn’t Eleanor suggested the rules were different for widows? As long as they took precautions? “No one knows I ventured up here. Even cook thinks I made the chocolate for myself.”

  He brushed a lock of hair away from her forehead. “I know you’re here.”

  She nodded, peeking through her fingers—amber legs, hips barely covered by a white drying cloth. If a woman could melt, she’d already be a puddle on the floor. “I should be ashamed, but I am not,” she whispered. “Perhaps we might share a rendezvous of sorts.” Holy everlasting Father, had the words actually escaped her lips?

  His palm slid over her shoulder. “Then look at me.”

  She was experienced and widowed yet there Georgiana stood, hiding her eyes like a child. Gulping, she lowered her hands, forcing her gaze to focus upon his face—his rugged, beautiful, exotic face.

  Evesham’s eyes glistened as if they could smile. He traced his little finger along her bottom lip. “There you are, my elusive swan.”

  “Y-you ought to try the chocolate. Truly, it is very good.”

  “I’m not interested in chocolate.” Dipping his chin, his hands cupped her face as he brushed his lips across hers. “The only thing I want to drink in right now is you.”

  She gasped while her fingers found their way around his waist.

  His breath caressed her face as he neared. Unable to think, she raised her chin, her lips meeting his as if drinking nectar. He tasted like brandy and smelled of primal male and rosemary soap. It only took but a swirl of his tongue to render her defenseless.

  He tapped his forehead to hers. “Before I cross the line where I will no longer be a duke in calm and cool control, I must know why you came—and do not say it was to bring me a damned dish of warmed chocolate.”

  “Eleanor said—”

  “Eleanor is not in my arms. Do you want me, Lady Georgiana? Do you want me as much as the air you breathe? Do you want me enough to tarnish your pristine reputation? Do you want me to take you to the moon and the stars and the planets beyond?”

  With his every word, her blood warmed and coiled into an ache low in her body. She was no stranger to the pull of desire, yet this was a vortex of yearning more powerful than anything she’d ever dreamed possible. “Yes. Dear God, yes!”

  As she spoke the words, her bodice fell away. But she didn’t care if he’d been loosening the laces behind. She didn’t care if he’d already stripped her bare. She shoved her hands down his hips and ripped away the cloth from his loins.

  His manhood jutted from black curls, thick as a bedpost—so much larger than...oh Lord. She needed this man. Him. Evesham. Deft fingers pulled away strings. His mouth plundered hers while her stays dropped to the floor. With a whoosh, down went her overskirt followed by one, two, three petticoats.

  As he slowly drew Georgiana’s shift up her legs, she couldn’t manage to take in air. Grasping his shoulders, she threw back her head. “Evesham!”

  “Fletcher,” he growled. “My name is Fletcher.”

  “Yes, I know. P-pleases slow down. My head is spinning.”

  He laughed—a deep, menacing, deliciously seductive laugh. “And I intend to make it spin all the more.” In one move, he pulled the shift over her head and cast it aside.

  Gripping her hands and holding them out wide, Fletcher stepped back. Parted lips, darkened eyes, a low hum of approval escaped him. “Hellfire and damnation.”

  Georgiana glanced down. Nothing had been left to the imagination. Her only garments, ivory silk stockings held in place by a pair of garters with pink ribbons. Lower, she tapped new ivory slippers with a modest heel. Her thighs trembled. “I—”

  “Hush,” he whispered. “I want to gaze upon perfection.”

  She tried to slip from his grasp and cross her arms over her breasts, but he clamped his hands tighter. “Never cover yourself in front of me. You’re so damned beautiful, all the goddesses who have come before you could never compare. No man could ever behold you without falling to his knees and kissing your...”

  “Feet?” she ventured, her body afire.

  Dropping to his knees, he shifted his hands to her hips. “To hell with feet!”

  She threaded his hair through her fingers. “Oh my, oh my. Daniel said—”

  “I am not Daniel, and I bid you remember it,” he growled as he spread her legs. His hot tongue licked the sensitive flesh on the inside of her thigh. “There’s only one name I want on your lips when you are in my arms and that is Fletcher.” He lapped her again. “Say it!”

  “Fletcher,” she gasped.

  “Louder!”

  “Fletcher!” Yes, she loved the way it sounded on her tongue. Quivering, Georgiana gripped his hair tighter, his soft, cropped, thick, delicious hair. When he licked her parting, a cry erupted from the depths of her throat. Her legs quivered and threatened to give way beneath her. While her mind tumbled, directed by the waves of pleasure rocking her, Fletcher’s grip slid to her bottom, holding her steady while his mouth performed wicked, erotic, wonderful things.

  Stars darted through her vision as she fought for control and arched away. Dropping to her knees in front of him, she slid her fingers down his solid chest. “I want to please you, too.”

  “Not here.” In one motion, the duke swept her into his arms and stood.

  Georgiana showered him with kisses, swirling her fingers through the downy hair on his chest. And then, as if she weighed no more than a feather, he set her on the bed—the enormous bed, with thick mahogany posts fit for a king.

  Her heart raced with a vigorous pulse while her body had come alive with newfound erotic pleasure.

  Fletcher crawled over her with one knee between her legs. “Was it touch you wanted?”

  Scraping her teeth over her lip she gave a nod, her gaze shifting lower. “I do.”

  He took her hand and wrapped it around his tool, his fingers closing around hers. Georgiana’s mouth ran dry. He was silky smooth and as hard as iron all at once. And in this moment, she couldn’t recall anything more virile or alive as he pulsated in her palm.

  With a little grin, she strengthened her grip.

  Fletcher moaned, thrusting. “You will bring me undone like a bloody youth.”

  “Me?” The thought made her giggle. Evesham...Fletcher was so unlike Daniel. She shook her head. No. I’m not going to make any more comparisons.

  But as sure as she was lying naked atop his bed, she’d now ventured into unknown territory.

  And she liked it.

  Taking charge of the power she only now realized she wielded, she drew him fully over her. “I want you.”

  “We must take precautions.”

  “I...” she looked away. She’d never conceived before, why would she assume she might now? “Can you spill outside me?” Good heavens, had those naughty words come from her lips?

  “I can, though it is not a surety. But...�
�� He glanced toward his valise. “I have a French letter.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He pulled out a small package tied with a blue bow. “Using one of these combined with withdrawing.” Returning to the bedside, he rubbed the membrane on her cheek. “Should do the trick.”

  “I take it you’ve had practice?”

  He grinned and climbed onto the bed alongside her, pushing away the bedclothes. “Does my reputation upset you?”

  Quite frankly, it didn’t. Georgiana wanted a liaison. For the first time in her life, she was doing something completely wicked. And who better to enjoy the experience with than a notorious rake? Someone who not only knew what a French letter was, he knew how to use it.

  “Does my reputation put you off?” she asked.

  “What reputation?” His mouth found her lips then trailed to her breast, his tongue flicking over the sensitive nipple.

  “Wallflower. Bluestocking,” she suggested.

  “You’re neither of those.”

  Chuckling, she closed her eyes and let herself revel in the delight of his attentions.

  “I’d say you are complex. You are modest. You are smarter than most men, and you are the most enchanting, mesmerizing, beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  A YOUTH. THAT’S WHAT Georgiana had reduced him to. If he didn’t take her now, he’d spill into the linens.

  “Fletcher!” she cried, squirming beneath him. “Please.”

  He grinned. It seemed he wasn’t the only one growing impatient. Long, shiny chestnut hair sprawled over the pillows. When had he pulled it down? God, he couldn’t remember. No. He only felt. And right now he felt hot, bloody passion. His ballocks were so tight, they were coiled as tight as a medieval trebuchet.

  He dipped his chin and lapped a rosy nipple.

  Crying out, she writhed and reached between them.

  When lithe fingers wrapped around his cock, a bellow reverberated through his body. On the very precipice of control, he thrust downward. The minx used his momentum to lever him toward her.