Celeste Bradley - [Heiress Brides 01]

by Desperately Seeking a Duke

A deep groan ripped through him. His big hand came to rest upon her head, not pushing but simply guiding. “I would not ask you—”

  She lifted her head. “Minion, who is in charge here?”

  He dropped his head back on the pillow. “I have created a monster,” he gasped.

  She opened her mouth and took his enlarged head into her mouth. It was firm and round and salty. She licked around it, exploring with her tongue. He made deep vulnerable noises which emboldened her. She dropped her jaw to take more of him in her mouth. She found that she could not manage more than half, so she wrapped her hand about the rest so it would not feel chilled.

  Somewhere in that maneuver, she accidentally caused suction. The aching, heartfelt moan that erupted from him was enough to encourage more study. She began to slide him deeply in and out of her mouth, sucking on the way out and rolling her tongue over the staff on the way in.

  His hand tightened painfully in her hair but she ignored it, intent on her task. She was on to something, she just knew it. She increased the speed of her method. He grew in her mouth and in her hand until she needed to wrap her other fingers about him to cover him completely. Goodness, he seemed to never end!

  The blunt head of him began to further swell in her mouth. Much more and she wouldn’t be able to—

  “Damn it!” He reached for her roughly and pulled her away, dragging her up to roll onto her and between her thighs. He was panting as he pushed her hair back to gaze pleadingly into her eyes, his dark and needing. “Now—I must have you—”

  She opened her thighs and wrapped her arms about his ribs. “Now.”

  He wrapped his hands over her shoulders and drove himself hard into her—

  The pain was harsh and ripping. A keening cry escaped her. He froze. “What—”

  She pushed at him, gasping. He held her close. “No. Shh. If I leave now it will only hurt more.” He smoothed her hair and kissed her face. “Relax into it, sweeting. Breathe.”

  He was warm and strong and, despite her sudden panic, she knew he had not meant to hurt her. She was safe in his arms. She buried her face in his neck and forced her lungs to slow. If she bore down just a little, would it ease? It would. After another moment, the sharp pain was gone, ebbing to a dull, stretching ache.

  He ran his thumb over her cheek, taking away a tear. “Better?”

  She sniffed and nodded. “What was that?”

  He shook his head. “That was your virtue, my sweet. Apparently your Terrence was a bit of a failure.”

  She blinked. “But I spent the entire night with him. We did … things.”

  “Did you do this?”

  She bit her lip. “Don’t talk down to me. Of course we did this—well, something like this. Terrence would press into me a bit and then—”

  He shook his head. “And then Terrence the Early would be finished, wouldn’t he?” He dropped his forehead down to her shoulder. “I would have known if I had thought to check your readiness. Even with an experienced woman, it is the courteous thing to do.” He rolled his head back and forth. “If not for your damned talented mouth …”

  She laughed damply. “Don’t put this on me, Lord ‘I swived everything in sight’ Marbrook! I’m only a proper little virgin from the country.”

  He lifted his head to smile ruefully. “Not anymore.”

  She put her finger over his lips. “Shh. I’ve believed I was ruined since I was fifteen. I’m owed a few moments of prudery.”

  He blinked. “Oh, hell, I hope not!” He began to withdraw from her.

  The hot pleasure made her gasp. He went still once more. “Did I hurt you?”

  She shook her head, rolling it on the pillow. “Do it again,” she moaned.

  He held her closer, then slowly, carefully, drove into her once more. The hot stretchy ache gave in to a rush of thick pleasure that took her breath away. She felt her fingers dig into the rigid muscles of his arms. “Oh, yes, please!” she gasped. “Again!”

  He kissed her softly. “Yes, my queen.” He stroked his thick, rigid erection more deeply into her, pulling out so slowly she keened with pleasure, driving in with just enough speed to make her gasp again.

  She wrapped her arms about him, needing to hold on to something solid as she was swept away by a warm, exquisite sea. Deep strokes, the drive and retreat, the ebb and flow of him inside her, expanding her, giving to her, owning her—

  She rose sharply and hard, then flew spinning out into pure light. He went with her, whispering his love as his powerful arms held her tightly through the shimmering tremors of her ecstasy.

  Chapter Forty-one

  Phoebe became aware of her own sobbing cries as the light ebbed from her body. She swallowed and buried her face in his chest, her breath still coming too fast. “I—was I—loud?”

  His deep laughter rumbled through her. “Don’t worry, my sweet. It began to rain again a while ago. I don’t think anyone could hear you.”

  “You had better not do that again, just the same,” she said seriously. “I told everyone at the inn that I was your sister.”

  He gave her a scandalized look. “They’ll all think me depraved! You howled like the north wind!”

  She laughed and slapped at his shoulder. “I did not.” Then she frowned. “Did I?”

  He chuckled again. “I don’t recall precisely.” He pressed more deeply within her. “I suppose we could try it again and see.”

  She shuddered at the renewed pleasure. She was more sensitive now. It was as if she could feel every rigid vein in his organ as it drove into her. He shuddered now too, as he stroked deeply into her, letting his careful control loosen a bit.

  “Is that all right?” he gasped. “Not too fast?”

  He needed it. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his back to ease the fit, then linked her hands behind his neck. “I’m fine,” she said breathlessly.

  It was harder this time, faster and more untamed, and she resisted the pleasure for a bit in order to watch the darkness of his passion on his face. Then his wild need excited her too much and she gave in to the throbbing rush of his heat within her.

  He took her on and on, his hard powerful body sweating and rippling under her touch. He swelled further within her until she was nearly sobbing with the pain/pleasure of his invasion.

  Then, with a deep animal roar, he stiffened in her arms, thrusting deeply, pulsating into her. She cried out at the final increase in his size, exploding into her own sharp, instant pleasure at the feel of his eruption.

  He remained there, gasping hoarsely, his face tucked into her damp neck, as the shudders continued to rack him for a long moment.

  “Oh Sweet Charlotte’s Ass,” swore Phoebe breathlessly. “What happened?”

  He laughed weakly into her skin. “I’m not sure. I think I finally experienced ‘making love.’ It seems you weren’t the only virgin in the room.”

  She wrapped her arms about him and pulled him down to relax over her. “See? We were meant for each other, like … like bread and butter.”

  He slid the greatest part of his weight off her, then stroked her hair away from her perspiring face. “Like toast and jam?”

  “Like kippers and eggs.”

  “Bangers and mash.”

  “Precisely,” she said with satisfaction.

  “Horse and cart.”

  She turned her head to look into his eyes. “Who is the cart?”

  “What?”

  “Am I the cart? I’d prefer to be the horse, I think … although the horse isn’t precisely driving, is he? Then again, the cart makes no decisions whatsoever …”

  He drew his brows together in a helpless expression. “You’re having one of those conversations that doesn’t include me again, aren’t you?”

  She looked up at the ceiling. “I think I’d prefer ‘prince and princess,’ like in Sophie’s story.”

  She told him about the princess cursed to a hundred years of sleep.

  He toyed with her hair and listened, but
then he frowned. “What does it mean? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “She’s alive, but it is as though she is dead … or sleeping. To me it seems as if she were attacked and she … she retreated. She stifled her deepest self—sent it to sleep. She remains that way for a very long time.”

  He kissed her temple softly. “’Tis a sad tale. What happens next?”

  “I don’t know—but I hope that she awakens soon.” She yawned. “I am so weary. I don’t think I can—”

  “Shh.” He drew the covers high and tucked her into the curve of his warm body. “Sleep. You’ve had a trying day, what with cracking highwaymen’s skulls and finding your lost virginity and all.”

  She curled up small into him, as if she had never slept any other way. “Only one highwayman,” she murmured with another yawn. “I’m sure you would have thrashed them both …”

  Chapter Forty-two

  Morning rose over the shabby little inn yard. Rafe watched it from the window of their room, not really seeing the cloud-shrouded sun as it peeked over the stable roof or the way the mist-edged yard began to fill with activity.

  He leaned with one hand braced high on the window frame, wearing nothing but his trousers and a piece of toweling around his neck. Phoebe slept in the bed behind him, exhausted and spent from the passion of the night and perhaps from the strain of the last week as well.

  He’d risen sleepless from that bed hours ago, for there was no halting the thoughts that swirled through his mind. Blame, for one. Regret. Joy. One hole in his heart had healed, but another had opened. The future … that he could scarcely bear to let his mind light upon.

  Yet, with the fever of his passion now abated—somewhat, he thought with a rueful half-smile—it was past time to face the cold truth of what his actions had wrought.

  He pushed away from the window, the cheerful scenery below suddenly unbearable. He crossed to the rustic washstand and tossed the towel down by the pitcher and bowl there.

  He’d thought it would be over when he won her, but he’d been wrong.

  It had only just begun.

  He closed his eyes against the self-loathing that rose within him. He had stepped over a line that even at his lowest he’d somehow never really believed he could cross. Somewhere deep inside him he’d clung to the hope that he was, or at least someday could be, an honorable man.

  He looked into the small, age-spotted mirror, blind to the haggard eyes and the purpling bruises that distorted his features. He saw nothing there but a man who would betray his only brother.

  He began to dress absently, pulling on the shirt that smelled just a bit of her soap, finding his boots flung into a far corner. He took care not to look at the woman—his woman—in the bed, for he feared that if she knew his true feelings of loss and despair that she would blame herself …

  The only hope for him to reclaim a bit of that honor was to make a clean breast of it all to his brother, face-to-face. He didn’t want to. He’d rather have stolen Phoebe away into the night, hidden far away, and lived out his days without owning up to what he’d done to the only person who had ever given a damn whether he lived or died.

  He certainly hoped that Calder would dish out a beating because he really ought to be required to pay for what he’d done.

  The second-oldest sin in the recorded world. Brother against brother—the wickedest battle, the one that no one wins. It was likely that Calder would never forgive him.

  “No,” he said aloud, “but we all knew that, didn’t we?”

  “Who are you talking to?” Phoebe’s sleepy voice came from the bed. He turned.

  She was watching him mangle his cravat. Her eyes were wide and dark, with circles beneath them betraying the few hours she’d slept, and the flush on her cheeks betraying the reason why.

  She’d never looked more beautiful than at that moment, sleepy and mussed and tangled in the sheets with her softly rounded limbs splayed in innocently awkward sensuality, like a newborn colt’s. His heart thudded dangerously at the sight of her.

  He smiled at her in the mirror as he beat his cravat into some sort of submission. “I’m going to have to learn how to do this myself,” he told her, a teasing note in his voice. “I don’t think Calder will be continuing my allowance after I see him today.”

  Worry flashed across her expression. “Do you think he is very hurt?”

  “At losing you?” It would kill me. Rafe looked down to hide the flare of guilt in his own eyes. “I shouldn’t think it too much worse than damaged pride.” He turned to her, his hands spread wide. “There. How did I do?”

  She smiled wanly. “I think I had better fix that.” She rose to her knees, keeping the sheet demurely in place. Luckily, she needed both hands to fix his neckwear, so he managed to have her naked and panting by the time she was done. At last she put both hands to his weskit and pushed him away.

  The chill of missing her warmth sent a feeling of foreboding through him. He grabbed her hand and pulled her back.

  “Let’s never leave this room,” he begged. “To hell with the world. We’ll take trays of food at the door and never leave the bed!”

  She tilted her head to gaze at him sympathetically. “We cannot hide from what we’ve done, my love. I would go with you, but I think that might make matters worse.” She gave him a last kiss and gently pulled her hand free.

  “If you’re going to go, you’d better leave before that cravat ends up wrapped around the chandelier again.”

  She was laughing again, the way he’d meant to leave her. He’d almost made it out the door when she stopped him one last time.

  “Rafe …”

  He turned. She’d covered herself once more, but her gaze was naked and vulnerable. “You’ll come straight back?”

  He strode back to the bed where she sat very properly erect on her knees, oddly dignified in her mussed and many-times-violated state. He took her face in both his hands and kissed her long and hard. She melted into him, the way she always did, so damned wholeheartedly.

  I love you. I’m going to marry you and live in blissful exile forever.

  No. When he came back, his honor washed as clean as it might be, then he would bring his ring and bestow it upon her properly, as she deserved.

  He forced himself to pull away.

  “If I’m going to go, I must go now.”

  She managed a near-smile. “Of course. Poor Calder. I will survive until you return this afternoon.”

  Phoebe remained where she was as she watched Rafe depart the room. Then she tried to recapture the warmth of him by climbing back into bed. The room looked remarkably shabby in daylight—reminding her of the last time she spent the night in an inn.

  He’s left you.

  She smiled slightly as she scoffed at herself. What a ridiculous thought.

  Awake permanently now, she slid out of bed. She wrapped the coverlet around her to ward off the chill. The day was gray and misty out, but it would warm soon.

  Rafe was riding away.

  She pressed her nose to the wavering glass. Was it Rafe? It could be any man—any man who was tall and dark haired and well dressed in a blue surcoat and rode a rented black horse with four white stockings …

  He’s left you, just like Terrence did.

  She straightened and turned away from the window and the view of the road which had been empty for several minutes now. Rafe would be back. A man like Rafe would never abandon a lady in an inn!

  You’re not a lady. A lady would never sleep with her fiancé’s brother.

  Calder was no longer her fiancé. She’d broken the engagement before she’d permitted Rafe to—

  Permitted? More like ravaged the fellow against his will! Are you sure you’re a lady?

  Inside her mind, Phoebe took a riding crop to the voice, humiliated it, and drove it out of town. Rafe would be back. He loved her. He had fought for her. He was hers and she was his.

  She waited, but blessed silence reigned.

  Letting the cove
rlet slide from her shoulders, she went to where someone had kindly left her somewhat less muddy clothing in a neatly folded pile—Rafe!—and dressed. She fixed her hair as best she could, pinning up the front with the few pins she could find on the carpet, letting the back fall nearly to her waist. Her gown was creased and dirty, the sleeve still torn but Phoebe only sat herself regally in the single chair to wait for Rafe to return.

  For he would return. Of that she had no doubt.

  AS CALDER STRODE through his second favorite china factory, having just laid the first brick in the replacement kiln he’d ordered built, he was stopped by a familiar looking young man in Brookhaven livery.

  “My lord!”

  “Hello … er …”

  “Stevens, my lord.”

  “Yes, Stevens, what is it? Is everything well at Brook House?”

  The young fellow looked nervous. He dug into his coat to pull out a folded paper. “She said I was to bring it straight to you, and I did, my lord. I rode all night.”

  “She?”

  Stevens swallowed. “Miss Millbury, my lord.”

  Calder grunted. He had more important matters to tend to. “Is she here?”

  “No, my lord. She’s …”

  Something in the footman’s voice made Calder look at him sharply. “Where is she?” he said, his voice low and hard.

  Stevens paled. “Blue Goose Inn, on the road toward Bath, my lord.”

  He took a step back as Calder flipped the page open and began to read.

  Dear Lord Brookhaven,

  I ought to have told you at once, before we set about this betrothal in earnest, but I made a terrible mistake …

  Calder read the letter carefully. Then he crumpled it in his fist until his knuckles whitened.

  It was happening again.

  “Stevens!” He looked around him, but the footman was gone.

  Apparently, fleeing him was becoming contagious.

  Chapter Forty-three

  After she washed and dressed, Phoebe visited the driver, Afton.