The Duke's Untamed Desire

by Amy Jarecki

  Holding very still she gazed into his eyes. “Do you intend to use that French letter, or are you merely teasing me?”

  “Oh, I’ll use it for certain. And when I do, you’ll damned-well know it.” He wanted to thrust inside and claim his plunder.

  Glistening brown eyes stared up at him. They were filled with lust, and something far deeper. Did he want to lay claim to this woman? More than anything on this earth. Here. Now. But her enjoyment was far more important than satiating his own desires. If Fletcher’s intuition was right, though not a virgin, Her Ladyship had a great deal to learn about the pleasures of the boudoir.

  Ever so slowly, he slid between her silken, wet folds and breached her with his thick staff. Damnation, she was so tight—much smaller than he’d experienced before. His eyes rolled back as he stanched his urge to thrust.

  Georgiana squeezed her eyes shut, sinking her fingers into his buttocks, pulling him into her. Her face contorted as she bared her teeth.

  “Look at me,” he whispered.

  She gasped. God’s blood, was she in pain? He had to see her eyes? Was he too large? Was she too small? Or maybe he’d crossed the threshold into insanity because every time he closed his eyes he imagined the sight of his cock entering her...making him need to thrust with every fiber of his body. He needed her now.

  “Georgiana, open your eyes!”

  Heavy lids rose. Luminous eyes focused, then drifted away. “Please,” she pleaded, tugging on his buttocks and wriggling her hips. “I cannot make you go any further!”

  Satisfied, he dropped his chin and kissed her, nudging her legs wider with his knees.

  “More,” she demanded.

  But he wanted it to last. Ever so slowly, he slid his body up the length of her, forcing himself to think of anything but thrusting. “Tell me what you need.”

  Georgiana sank her fingers deeper and rocked back and forth. “This. More. Now!”

  Unable to withhold for one more second, Fletcher dropped his face into her hair and thrust into the tightest, hottest, most glorious woman he’d ever imagined. And Georgiana matched his pace, her roaming fingers wild with desire, her body bucking against his.

  “Faster!”

  “You want more?” he asked, loving her verve.

  “Yes, you devil!”

  He drove harder, setting a desperate pace. He fought for control, sweat dripping from his body, but he would see her come first.

  Beneath him, Georgiana writhed, tossing her head from side to side. Her body spasmed. Cries of passion erupted from her throat while her fingers continued to grip his arse. “I-I-I...oh dear Lord in heaven!”

  As she shattered around him, his hips pumped. Heat roared up his legs and down his spine until it exploded in his balls while pleasure ripped through him in a shattering burst of euphoria.

  Weakened, barely able to hold his weight off her, Fletcher grinned. “My God, woman, who in the hell ever christened you a wallflower?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  IN THE DINING HALL, tables had been set up to display an array of pastries and jam, eggs, ham, fruits, toast, tea, coffee, chocolate and a decanter of cherry brandy for any gentlemen who might prefer a morning libation. Georgiana selected a plate and moved in beside Eleanor as she scanned the room. Predictably, Fletcher had not yet made an appearance.

  Even Georgiana, who always rose with the sun, felt a bit muddled. It had been after two in the morning when she’d tiptoed through the halls and made her way back to her chamber. Fletcher had insisted on accompanying her but she wouldn’t hear of it—doing so was out of the question. She was perfectly capable of moving through her parents’ home, the very place where she’d grown up exploring as a child and, furthermore, if anyone saw them together, the entire house would be alerted to their indiscretion. That would have the makings of a complete disaster not shy of the duke being either forced into a proposal or a duel at dawn with her brother.

  It hadn’t been easy to leave those warm, brawny arms. To leave his kisses. To leave when he’d made her feel like a woman again—alive, filled with passion and desire.

  But the night had come to an end. She must return to her bedchamber and her life. She’d had her liaison. Now she needed to lock the experience away and try not to think on it.

  The problem was how did a woman stop thinking about the most erotic night of her life?

  She sets her sights on what’s important, that’s how. Georgiana smiled at Eleanor. “Did you sleep well?”

  “I did.” Reaching for a slice of ham, Eleanor glanced back over her shoulder. “What does your mother have planned for today?”

  “Do you think she’d tell me?” Georgiana took a pastry and spooned a bit of mulberry conserve onto her plate. “Oh no. That would give me time to plot a diversion.”

  “Fancy Evesham isn’t up yet.”

  “He did have an awful ordeal yesterday. Perhaps he has caught a chill.” Georgiana’s hand trembled as she held a dish for the footman to pour coffee. If the duke had caught a chill, he certainly had cured himself of it by the time she had arrived in his chamber.

  Together, they sat nearest the window. “I don’t think I thanked you for coming along. It must be rather dreary for you here.”

  “Not at all.” Eleanor cut a bite-sized piece of ham and dipped it in her egg yolk. “I rarely have the chance to spirit away from London. It’s like a restful holiday. Later, I hope to slip into your father’s library and do some much-needed reading.”

  “You’re beginning to sound like me.”

  “And who said you were all that bad?”

  “Mama for starters. I believe she’s the one who coined the phrase ‘bluestocking’.”

  They both chuckled while the lady of the house swept into the dining hall, dressed in pink taffeta and looking as composed and gay as the icing on a wedding cake. “Hello, my dears, I do hope everyone has found the breakfast fare to their liking.”

  “I believe there is something here for every palate,” said Ravenscar, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a serviette.

  Mother rapidly patted her chest as if she were having palpitations. “How kind of you to say, Your Grace.”

  She held a fist full of papers aloft. “After yesterday’s dreadful rain, I am thrilled to see the morning’s weather is wonderfully fine. ’Tis as if the good Lord knew I had planned a scavenger hunt for our first excursion.”

  “Is there treasure hidden?” asked Miss Peters.

  Mama gave the lass a sober stare. “After eighteen generations of Derbys, I assure you this entire estate harbors an abundance of treasure.” Resuming an air of unflappability, Mama set the stack of documents on the table and picked up the top sheet. “As you see, each team of two will receive a list of items which are located outside Hardwick Hall. When you find—or believe you have found the item, you will pencil in where it is located.”

  Miss Peters raised her hand. “May we choose—”

  “I have assigned the teams as follows...”

  Georgiana leaned toward Eleanor and cupped her hand over her mouth before she whispered, “I’d best tell Miss Peters there’s no use trying to interject.”

  “Have you ever known your mother to miss a detail?”

  “Rarely, though it has happened.”

  The spinster and the widow both muffled their laughter.

  Mama held out the next note to the vicar’s son. “Lady Eleanor and Mr. Greg.”

  “Lovely,” Eleanor whispered. “At least he’s only a year younger.”

  “And a great deal poorer.”

  “Who says a wealthy spinster, that no one knows is wealthy, cannot marry a poor younger man and provide for him a comfortable life?”

  Georgiana tapped her friend with her elbow. “Are you interested in marrying Mr. Greg?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Pity. He’s a nice man.”

  “And totally not for me.”

  “Miss Peters and Ravenscar,” Mother continued as if she were an offic
ial at a grand ball while she peered around the hall. “Lady Georgiana and...oh my, where is Evesham?”

  Shrugging, Georgiana affected an expression of innocence. “It is hardly fair for me to play.”

  “Nonsense.” Mama shook the paper. “No couple has the same sheet, and I have ensured yours is the most cryptic.”

  With no other choice, Georgiana rose and took the paper. “Very well, I’ll head out on my own and Dobbs can send His Grace to the gardens after he has arisen. Goodness, after his ordeal last eve, I’ll be surprised if he makes an appearance before midday.”

  Mother gave out the remainder of the assignments while Georgiana rejoined Eleanor. “The winning team will be the toast of tonight’s dinner and have their choice of seats as well as their choice of the evening’s parlor games.”

  “Where would you prefer to sit tonight?” asked Eleanor.

  Georgiana waved her instructions. “Far away from Hardwick Hall.”

  “Pity, we’ve only just arrived.”

  “The game begins at half past nine,” Mama continued. “That will give you plenty of time to finish your meal and collect your hats, gloves and wraps. Have a wonderful time, my lovelies. I have a delightful luncheon planned to which you all can look forward.”

  Georgiana raised her coffee in toast. “I can scarcely wait.” But she couldn’t help looking toward the door. Where was Fletcher? Had he realized his mistake, awaken early and fled? She wouldn’t blame him if he had. Any man ought to flee after being put upon by her brazen behavior. Surely his opinion of her must have waned.

  Good. I cannot ever allow myself to debase myself in such a way again. I should be mortified.

  But she wasn’t.

  However, Georgiana must not lose sight of the pumper and the fact that Evesham hated it just as did everyone in her family. Her life was in Thetford...working with steam-powered fire engines. Evesham was a duke with a life of court and parties and the running of vast estates ahead of him. They were nothing more than two lonely souls whose paths had crossed in the middle of a single night. What they’d shared was glorious, sinful, and very, very secret. But it must go no further.

  She finished the last of her coffee and set her cup on the saucer resolutely. It is best that he didn’t come down for breakfast. Seeing him now would be awkward for us both.

  A MISSIVE HAD ARRIVED from London regarding the home for unwed mothers, reporting that a gang of religious zealots had forced their way inside by hammering down the kitchen door. Fortunately, they’d just come to frighten the poor women, because no one was harmed. But the blackguards had broken every plate and glass in the house to make their message clear. During the attack, they’d called the home a den of prostitution and the inhabitants devil worshipers, none of which was true.

  Evesham had immediately ordered iron bars for the doors and windows, and added another night watchman. Now there would be a guard at both the front and back doors. While he was furiously writing missives, he sent a long explanation to an acquaintance at Bow Street, asking his assistance at keeping the riffraff from the home and indicating the runner’s services would be rewarded handsomely.

  Devil take it, if Fletcher did one good thing with his vast inheritance, he would ensure he protected the women who lived in the home. They came from all walks of life, destitute, hopeless, thinking their lives were ruined while the men who had ruined them somehow felt they had no responsibility—as if a woman could make herself pregnant and carry the burden throughout the life of the child.

  Fletcher had a few modest rules he’d passed to Mrs. Whipple who ran the home: All women were welcomed with no questions asked. Boarders must maintain a high level of cleanliness, were assigned work in the house, and must never steal. Thieves were handed over to the authorities, but there had only been one of those. Women were allowed visitors in the parlor only and were encouraged to seek employment whenever possible.

  Lord Derby’s valet held up Fletcher’s coat. “Shall I bring you a tray, Your Grace?”

  He shrugged into it. “No, thank you.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Her Ladyship assigned me to go scavenger hunting with Lady Georgiana, did you say?”

  “Indeed, though she has a head start.” The man used a lint brush on the coat’s shoulders. “I’d be happy to help you find her.”

  Fletcher tugged on his cuffs. “What fun would there be in that?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Though you might give me a hint—point me in the right direction.”

  “Well, when Lady Georgiana was a young girl, she liked to stroll through the maze.”

  “Ah yes, the maze before the pool.”

  “Mm hmm, but her favorite place is the gazebo in the midst of the overgrown garden.”

  “Overgrown?”

  The man set the boar’s hair brush in a silver tray. “Well, it is draped with wisteria and all manner of vines. Supposed to look overgrown it is, though the master gardener says he spends more time there than anywhere else on the estate.”

  “That would be right.” Fletcher turned. “Now tell me, where might I find this hideaway?”

  As he preferred, he stealthily headed off to find his quarry with Max and Molly obediently at his heel. Last night had astounded him. Yes, he’d had his suspicions, but the evening had exceeded his every expectation. Lady Georgiana was a tiger in sheep’s clothing and the more he came to know her, the more he thirsted to learn.

  The estate was vast with a five-hundred-yard-long pool in the front, which he had been told was stocked with trout and catfish. To the north of the pool grew a maze of massive proportions, and to the south, Fletcher had ridden in on a grand tree-lined drive. But he’d been sent to the back garden. Filled with the fragrance of heady blooms, the presentation was not as stately as the view in the front, but it was more magical. With winding pathways and sculptures of angles and interesting statuary blended into the drapery of tree and fern—a fiddler, a laborer with a wheelbarrow, too many birds to count, and Fletcher swore he spotted a fairy peeping through the foliage of a rosebush.

  He confirmed he’d taken the right path when he spotted the dome of a gazebo peeking above a row of lilacs. Changing his gait, and motioning to the Setters to step quietly, Fletcher and his accomplices didn’t make a sound as he approached. He stopped as he spotted Georgiana curled up on a bench with her feet tucked beneath her, a book in her hands. Lavender wisteria hung from the gazebo’s arches, framing the nymph as if she were in an ethereal painting—a living portrait made real by a slight breeze, a perfect day, the rich song of a nearby woodlark.

  For the first time in ages, he stood transfixed. In this moment, there was nothing he’d rather do than watch Georgiana turn a page—or sigh as the corners of her lips curled upward at something amusing. Watch as she tucked an errant wisp of hair beneath her bonnet.

  He neared and loudly cleared his throat to alert Her Ladyship of his approach.

  Georgiana lowered her book. “Who’s there?”

  “’Tis only me and a pair of excitable hounds.”

  She smiled, her brows arching as if she hadn’t expected him. “Evesham.”

  “Fletcher,” he corrected.

  “How did you find me?” Setting the book aside, she swung her feet to the ground. “This is my sanctuary.”

  “It seems the servants know every hidey-hole on the estate.”

  She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip and glanced away. “Yes, they do.”

  “And I understand you are supposed to be out and about on a grand scavenger hunt.”

  “Mother’s idea of a fun morning.”

  “So you decided not to play?”

  She slid her fingers along the bench’s armrest. “My assigned partner was nowhere to be found during breakfast.”

  “Apologies. I had some urgent correspondence to tend.”

  “Oh?” Her Ladyship drew a hand over her chest, her expression changing. “I hope all is well.”

  He joined her on the bench and motioned for the do
gs to lie at his feet. “It is...or at least it will be.”

  Patting her leg, Georgiana urged the dogs to her side for a welcoming scratch. “I can only imagine how taxing the responsibilities of being a duke must be.”

  “Wealthy peers only like to complain about their lot. In truth, most of them are bored, spoiled, and self-indulgent.”

  “Harshly put for a man who is so near the top of the peerage.”

  “Quite accidentally, I might add.”

  “Why accidentally?”

  “I am a bastard, am I not? If that isn’t an accident, I cannot imagine what is.”

  “Forgive me. I didn’t think...ah...it is difficult to imagine your adverse beginnings.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.” Leaning toward her, Fletcher inhaled the fragrance of clean female and linen while he traced his finger along her arm. “I’m happy to discover you here. Alone.”

  She scooted away slightly. “I didn’t expect you to find me.”

  Within a heartbeat, he tensed. “You are disappointed to have your peace and tranquility interrupted.”

  The lady’s shoulders curved as she clamped her fingers over the cover of her book. “’Tis not that as much as...”

  Was Her Ladyship having second thoughts? Feelings of remorse? Had he done something to hurt her? Fletcher’s gut twisted. “Yes?”

  Her knuckles turned white with the pursing of her lips. “Last eve was very special and very wrong. We must both put the incident behind us and act as though it never happened.”

  This was a declaration more fitting to Georgiana Whiteside, consummate wallflower. What the devil had happened between last night and this moment? Damn, he knew he should have escorted Her Ladyship to her chamber. Did she wake with the sickly feeling of remorse? “What have I done to earn your scorn?”

  “You, sir?”

  “Yes, me. In my opinion, when you left my bedchamber last night, you did so amicably. I had no reason to believe that all you wanted was to use me and cast me aside.”

  “Use you? Cast you aside?” Shaking her head, she sliced her hands through the air. “No. That is not it at all.”