Claiming the Courtesan

by Anna Campbell

  What?

  He whipped his head around. Unbelievably, she still smiled. His hands fisted in the sheets as he battled the urge to grab her.

  She was so close that he felt her warmth. But his sins against her exiled him forever to an icy hell.

  “Stop it,” he snarled. “Listen to me! I’ve set you free.”

  Her presence was sheerest torment.

  He thought he’d die if she left him alone.

  He spoke on a surge of self-hatred. “I should never have started this cruel nonsense in the first place.”

  “It’s too late for regrets,” she said softly.

  “Yes.”

  Too late to redeem himself and become worthy of her, certainly. There was a universe of sorrow in the thought.

  His mind rehearsed the endless litany. He should never have hunted her down at Whitby. He should never have forced her into his carriage—at gunpoint, he recalled with corrosive shame. He should never have bullied her into his bed.

  Although without the abduction, he’d never have really known her. He’d go through hellfire itself before he forsook that privilege.

  But she, not you, went through hellfire. She almost lost her life yesterday.

  “I’m letting you go.” His voice shook with desperation.

  “Are you?” she asked idly.

  After her long struggle to escape him, he’d have expected her to sound more than merely interested when he granted her freedom. Baffled, he stared into the exquisite face that had haunted him for so many years.

  “Don’t torment me.”

  “You deserve it,” she said without heat.

  And without moving away, damn her.

  “Yes, I do. But the Devil if I’ll lie here and let you sink your damned claws into me, little cat.”

  Her luscious mouth curled upward. “I think you might.”

  His screaming tension tightened to breaking point as he strove to banish the sensual images her words sent rocketing through his mind. She played a dangerous game to tease him like this. He shifted higher up against the pillows until his eyes were level with hers.

  “Go away, Verity,” he said with difficulty.

  Stay, Verity, his heart pleaded.

  “That’s not what you want,” she whispered.

  He couldn’t take much more of this. “It’s what you want that matters.”

  She bent closer, and he heard her shaky inhalation before she spoke. “I think…” She hesitated, then continued in a rush. “I think that’s why I can be here with you now.”

  Then impossibly, she kissed him.

  It was a kiss unlike anything he’d ever known. Her mouth was soft, coaxing, inviting. She summoned the arts Soraya had so carefully cultivated, yet beneath hovered the poignant innocence he’d always recognize as Verity’s.

  He was helpless to stop himself from kissing her back with all the fiery yearning in his heart. He plunged his hand into her silky mass of hair. It slid cool and fragrant against his fingers as her mouth branded his with heat. She slid down so she lay across his bare chest, and she twined her arms around his neck, bringing him closer.

  Before he drowned in dark ravishment, he tore his mouth from hers.

  “For God’s sake, I’m trying to do what’s right,” he panted, staring down into her flushed face. He clung to his scruples by only the thinnest thread.

  “Oh, Kylemore.” Her smoky laugh brushed like exquisite torture across every nerve.

  Despairingly, he thought he’d give her everything he owned if she’d only once call him Justin.

  “Why are you doing this?” he grated out even while his arms tensed to keep her in his embrace. “Why, Verity?”

  Her fingers tangled in the hair at his nape. “Don’t you know? Can’t you see?” Her eyes were clear as they met his. “The war is over. I’ve laid down my weapons. The victory is yours.”

  “So easily?” He didn’t trust her capitulation. In spite of the kiss. In spite of the fact that she offered this sinner a paradise he thought he’d never attain. “You told me you hated me. You should hate me for what I’ve done to you.”

  Her expression darkened at the reminder. “Yes, I did hate you. But I can’t hate you any more. I nearly died yesterday. And I don’t want to die before I give myself unreservedly to the man I want. You’re the man I want, Kylemore.”

  He was speechless with wonder. She was brave, braver by far than he. She was beautiful. And despite his crimes against her, she committed herself to his keeping.

  His heart contracted within him. After all the misery and violence and pain and anger, he could hardly believe safe harbor beckoned. Safe harbor where the woman he yearned for wanted him in return.

  The concession seemed so simple. The concession changed his life.

  She gazed into his face. Tears glittered in her eyes, and her expression was stark with need. “Do you want me to beg, Kylemore? I will if that’s what it takes.” Her voice cracked.

  “For pity’s sake, no!”

  How could she doubt him after his years of ceaseless hunger? He clutched her to him, so close her tears flowed damp against his shoulder.

  His voice shook with turbulent emotion. “Don’t cry, mo leannan. I’m yours for the asking. I’ve always been yours. You could give me no more precious gift than yourself.”

  She drew away and wiped a shaking hand across her face before, surprisingly, she gave a broken laugh. “What are you waiting for, then?”

  She’d told him she wanted him, and he most definitely wanted her. What, indeed, was he waiting for? He reached out to untie her robe and slide it from her shoulders.

  “My God,” he breathed. “What have you got on?”

  She glanced down at her sheer ice-blue silk negligee. The intensity seeped from her expression, and she smiled with sudden humor.

  “Don’t you recognize it? I suspect it cost you a fortune at Madame Yvette’s.”

  “It was worth every penny,” he said hoarsely.

  In the candlelight, the slippery material hid, then revealed, the curve of a hip, the jut of a breast, the shadowy apex of her thighs. She moved, and silk jagged on one puckered nipple. His breath caught in his throat at the sight.

  He hauled her down and kissed her again.

  He’d never been a man who’d taken much interest in kissing. He’d always considered it a distraction from earthier satisfactions. Now he couldn’t get enough of the taste of her, the succulent lushness of her mouth.

  When he rolled her beneath him, heat flared along his body. He lay between her legs, poised for joining. His arousal clamored for him to take her, but he prolonged the moment. He intended to savor his happiness before a malign fate snatched it away.

  “We should adjourn to your room if you’re feeling particularly adventurous, mo cridhe.” He laughed softly. “This cot won’t allow much more than the traditional relief.”

  He thrust his aching sex against her belly. He fervently hoped she didn’t plan an elaborate seduction, or he’d never last the distance.

  “Mo cridhe?” he prompted.

  “What?” she asked in a dazed voice.

  “Your room. Shall we go?”

  She looked around, and he saw her take in the cramped space.

  “One of us will end up on the floor if we stay here.”

  She gave an enchanting gurgle of amusement. “That wouldn’t sit well with the ducal dignity.”

  “That wouldn’t sit well with the ducal rump.”

  This laughter was a heady new experience. He and Soraya had shared pleasure but never joy. And his passion for Verity had been dark and driven by destruction.

  What a marvelous discovery that after over a year with this woman, he still had untold new worlds to seek.

  He lifted himself off her and stood up, offering his hand. Not long ago, she’d have treated the gesture with suspicion. Tonight, she took his hand willingly and rose in a billow of transparent blue silk.

  “Let me have my wicked way with you,” she whisp
ered, releasing him to collect the candle and move toward the door.

  He followed and swung her around to face him. The man he’d once been would have accepted this bounty without question. The man he’d become needed final confirmation of consent.

  Startled silver eyes flashed up to his. The candle’s flame wavered wildly. “Your Grace?”

  His hold firmed. “Kylemore. Or Justin. I prefer Justin.”

  The smile she gave him was pure temptation. “Perhaps when I know you better.”

  He left that argument for another day. Instead, he spoke somberly. “Are you sure, Verity?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” She raised her hand to cup the side of his face with a tender gesture, then she took his hand once more. The warmth of her touch flowed along his veins like brandy. “Come with me. I promise to chase the bad dreams away.”

  Chapter 19

  As she made her way along the hallway, Verity was dauntingly conscious that more than six feet of lean, strong male followed only a breath behind.

  Lean, strong, aroused male. He was naked, and his interest in her was blatantly clear.

  It was unnerving.

  It was exciting.

  A thrill shivered through her to have that leashed potency utterly focused on her. As recently as a mere two days ago, that potency had terrified her. Now she luxuriated in its power.

  She was no longer the reluctant demimondaine who shared her bed in return for a livelihood. She was no longer poor lost Verity, afraid that if she surrendered to her deepest impulses, she’d forfeit her eternal soul.

  But still when they reached her room, she hesitated at the edge of the bed.

  This suddenly seemed such an irrevocable step.

  Kylemore stepped behind her and encircled her with his arms. Immediate heat surrounded her. “What is it?” he murmured.

  Was this new, the way he was in tune with her merest thought?

  No. For how else had he managed to lure her along the difficult but inexorable path to surrender?

  She laughed softly, nervously. “Would you believe I feel shy? You’ll think I’m ridiculous.”

  “I think you’re perfect.” He released her and moved across to stretch out on the bed. His erection jutted out, giving the lie to his outward patience. “I’m all yours.”

  Tonight, she knew, that was true. She’d already accepted it wouldn’t be true forever. A woman like her could never have forever.

  Still, tonight was enough for now.

  With one smooth movement, she tugged the filmy negligee over her head and let it float to the floor. His sex twitched, and his mouth took on a strained line.

  “I’m not sure that was a good idea,” he said huskily. “Not if you want me to keep my hands to myself.”

  She gave Soraya’s laugh, except this time it emerged perfectly spontaneously. “I’ll tie you up if I have to. It has to be your turn.”

  How could she jest about her abduction? But somehow, when she’d recognized that she loved the Duke of Kylemore, all earlier pain and rancor had faded.

  If he hadn’t kidnapped her, she’d still be a crippled creature willing to settle for a half life. Good works, independent celibacy, family duty couldn’t compete with the abundant wealth of emotion that swirled around them tonight.

  The possibility of heartbreak hovered too, but she faced it down. She meant to grab joy and hang on as firmly as she could. No matter how long it lasted. No matter what pain awaited in the future.

  She climbed onto the bed and knelt above him. Her knees pressed into his lean flanks, and her hair flowed down around them. She smiled slowly, lasciviously, when he curled his strong hands around her waist as if he’d never let her go.

  Soraya had been powerful, but Soraya had been a lie. What she felt now came from her very core. The core that was heavy and molten with desire for this one difficult, beloved man.

  His indigo eyes darkened to black as he read her expression. Mutual arousal was familiar. This incendiary level of excitement wasn’t, whatever stellar heights they’d scaled in the past.

  She bent to run her mouth down the center of his chest, lingering, tasting, enjoying. His musky scent intoxicated her as no wine ever could. Gradually, inevitably, she traced the arrow of silky hair that led to the base of his belly.

  With great satisfaction, she felt him struggle to draw breath. She’d meant her leisurely exploration to splinter her lover’s vaunted self-control. Apparently, she succeeded.

  She dipped her tongue in his navel and placed her hand very deliberately on his sex. He shuddered as she stroked him, testing his heat and vigor.

  Oh, she had chosen a wonderfully virile man for herself. And all that robust masculinity was hers, all hers, lucky girl that she was.

  Soon, so soon, she’d taste him there. With a sigh, she slid lower to where he rose in proud glory under her exploring fingers. He groaned, and his hands tangled in her hair.

  Slowly, she licked his length, feeling the tension build in the muscles of his thigh, where she’d moved her hand to balance herself. Then, with a concentration that she knew tortured him, she flicked her tongue across the head, savoring his arousal. Beneath her other hand, his belly clenched hard. When he groaned once more, she felt the sound well out from the deepest part of him.

  Of course, she’d pleasured him with her mouth before. Often. But tonight, the act held a joyous freedom she’d never experienced during all those torrid afternoons in London.

  She tried to prolong this teasing overture. The sight of him stretched on a sensual rack satisfied some innately feminine element in her. He jerked under her tantalizing kisses, silently begging for more.

  And she wanted to give him more. Need tugged insistently in her blood, dictating an end to delay. Almost greedily, she took him in her mouth.

  He was hot, so hot. When she began to suck, he trembled beneath her as if he suffered a fever. How intoxicating to have him at her mercy like this. She increased the pressure, initiating a rhythm that echoed the act of love.

  “Mo cridhe…” he grated out, tilting his hips up toward her.

  She leaned closer to take more of him, and his fingers clenched convulsively against her scalp. He was very close to breaking, she knew. Her own excitement sparked like lightning as she sensed his futile but frantic struggle to harness his desire.

  She wanted him to lose control. She wanted him to lose control for her.

  But before she achieved her goal, he dragged her upward with shaking hands. She gave a frustrated whimper as he deftly rolled her beneath him. His weight pressed her down into the mattress, and the thought of all that lean strength above her made her shiver with anticipation.

  “I want to give you pleasure,” she protested in a voice she hardly recognized as her own. She licked her lips and tasted his skin. She wanted to taste more.

  He raised his head, and for once, his smile held no darkness. Even piqued of her objective, she couldn’t help thinking with a stab of longing how beautiful he was.

  “This time is for you,” he said softly.

  The wild desperation to snatch this moment and guard it as a miser guarded his gold seeped out of her even while her desire blazed higher, more brightly.

  “Yes,” she whispered. And watched the final shadow slip away from his face as she at last gave him her consent.

  Kylemore shifted over her very gently. Her hips cradled him, and his cock nudged eagerly at the softness of her belly. After their decadent past, this should be so familiar.

  But he couldn’t dismiss the extraordinary idea that he made love to a virgin. In spite of all the pleasure they’d shared. In spite of what he’d done to her in this house. In spite of the frenzy her clever mouth and hands drove him into.

  Softly, as though touching her for the first time, he explored her body. The unsteady pattern of her breathing guided him to where her pleasure lay.

  He took his time, struggling against the need that seethed like a whirlpool within him. His heart beat such a mad tattoo in his
chest that he thought it might burst. But he clamped down on his hunger and concentrated on her. After all his transgressions against her, he owed her this.

  He caressed and kissed her breasts until she gasped and shook in his arms. Her nipples were so sensitive that he knew he could bring her to climax like this.

  But still it wasn’t enough. He’d promised her pleasure and, by God, he meant to give her pleasure such as she’d never known before. The ache in his loins clenched into agony, but somehow he contained the urge to enter and possess.

  He touched her dewy center and smiled his satisfaction when she bucked and moaned under his hand. He’d always loved her responsiveness. The redolent scent of her arousal invaded his senses as he stroked the plump, damp folds until they were swollen and wet beneath his fingers.

  He pushed two fingers into her and bent his head to sink his teeth into the curve where her neck met her shoulder. She cried out and shuddered, rewarding him with a hot flow of moisture against his seeking hand.

  Immediately, he gentled, nuzzling the fragrant hollows of her neck as he began to work his fingers in and out of her. She shivered and wound her arms around his naked back. Soon she trembled like a sapling in a high wind, and her breath emerged in panting moans.

  But his ruthlessness hadn’t altogether vanished. He continued until she broke and clung to him, sobbing. She was still shaking when he positioned himself between her thighs.

  He fought for breath and for the willpower to make this good for her. Carefully, with a restraint that almost killed him, he slid into her. Her sigh as he penetrated fully was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

  He’d been a power in the great world. He’d commanded the destinies of multitudes. Yet, despite that, he knew this private, silent moment was the most important of his life.

  For a long moment, he remained motionless, suspended in perfect connection.

  They were one.

  He’d always dismissed that idea as sentimental claptrap. But for a few transcendent seconds, he didn’t know where he ended and she began.