Wish Upon A Duke (The Dukes' Club Book 3)

by Eva Devon

  The words stung. She’d known it already but she hadn’t quite believed he’d spoken them aloud. “May I ask what I have done to be cast from your so righteous presence?”

  He arched a dark brow. “I know you take delight in teasing me madam, but enough is enough.”

  “Is it?” she asked, her blond brows lifting “Of some things, there is never enough. Why do you run from pleasure so intently?”

  He paused and the silence stretched to a painful point before he replied, “I do not wish to hurt you.”

  Once again, her heart softened. How did he know to say just the right thing? “Why would you hurt me?”

  “I thought you desired only a dalliance, but the other day. . .”

  She cut straight to the point, desperate now that he shouldn’t see how much she liked him. “You needn’t fear, Your Grace. Marriage isn’t in my mind. I wish only to be your lover. In many ways. Wouldn’t it be lovely to have a mutual person to share yourself with? We could be great friends up here in our isolation and be friends in a way that only a woman and a man of mutual understanding can be.”

  Once again, he was silent for a long moment and then as if he’d given in to some powerful internal force, he was pulling her roughly toward him. “I want you, of that I am certain, lass.”

  “Then that is enough. You know I want you too.” She wrapped her arms around him. It would have to be enough. His company would be enough to ease the loneliness that had invaded her heart of late. Besides, something deep inside her insisted that she had to have him. If companionship between them was all he could offer, she wouldn’t gainsay it. She’d take him any way she could get him.

  For now.

  *

  This was not why he had visited her. He kept repeating that to himself. But in his heart he knew it wasn’t true. That letter had finally given him the excuse he had needed to yield to his desires. No more excuses now. She had promised that his company was all she needed. They would be companions. By night and by day.

  Every part of him urged him to take her now. But he hadn’t forgotten the last time he had come so close to taking her. He would suffer no interruptions now. Even the idea was painful. “Take me to your room,” he demanded.

  Silently, serious now, she took his hand in hers and led him to the hallway, up the carved oak stairs and down to the east wing. Every step along the woven runner was torture. Every step beat with the promise and anticipation of him having her alone, entirely to himself where he could do whatever he pleased with her delectable body. Again and again.

  At long last, she stopped before a door and placed her finger tips on the heavy gold plated handle. “No going back now.”

  In answer, he swept her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. The door opened with a quick turn and he kicked it shut enthusiastically behind them. He paused only long enough to locate the bed opposite the windows and near the crackling fireplace. Striding to the wide four poster bed swathed in emerald green hangings, he took a slow breath, determined to have her but not without pleasing her senseless first.

  He put her down onto the downy quilts. “On your knees.”

  Her eyes widened at his order but she complied, adjusting her skirts so that she knelt on the white fabric.

  There would be no holding back. Not with her. He was going to take her with every ounce of passion he possessed.

  He cupped her chin in his hand then stole her mouth with a hungry kiss. He trailed his lips over hers, then slipped his tongue into her mouth. She arched toward him, her mouth opening wider, her breathing growing erratic.

  This time, he yanked her skirts up to her hips quickly. He needed to feel her. To know she couldn’t escape him now. Roughly, he dragged his finger tips over her hips and upper thighs, then as he thrust his tongue into her mouth, he slipped his fingers between her legs.

  She let out a cry of pleasure as he found the most important part of a woman’s pleasure. He stroked his fingers into her wet heat, then teased that little nub. He didn’t break the kiss, but rather tangled his tongue with hers as he circled his fingers over her clitoris.

  Her hands grabbed onto his shoulders, and she rocked her hips towards him. He felt it then. The ripples of pleasure, the tensing of her body, and she moaned into his mouth as she came.

  He savored her release, stroking relentlessly until he was sure he’d wrung every bit of pleasure from her he could. Then in one quick move, he grabber her hips, and flipped her over onto her hands and knees.

  Unbuttoning the folds of his breeches, he couldn’t contain his admiration for the sight before him. God, she was beautiful. The curve of her buttocks fit perfectly against the palms of his hands. He teased his fingers over her hips then back down to the wet heat waiting for him.

  She let out an impatient noise, tilting her hips back, trying to get closer to him.

  He would have laughed if he didn’t need her so damn much.

  No woman had ever stolen his mind or will away like this one. Gently, torturously, he rubbed the head of his cock along her opening then over the tight little nub. He stroked again and again until her hands had seized the blankets in tight fists and she glanced back over her shoulder, “Please!” she begged.

  That one word sent him over the edge, he thrust his cock deep inside her, determined to brand her. For despite everything else, that beast inside him growled mine as he sank deeper into her sweet body.

  She let out a gasp as he filled her and then a moan of pure pleasure escaped her lips.

  Slowly, as slowly as he could, he withdrew to the very tip, then rammed in deep again. He wanted to claim her, to mark her as his own, and that primal part of him, whispered that if he made this unbearably good for her, she would never desire another man but him. In fact, her whole body would wish only one thing. The touch of his own.

  His breathing grew ragged and the hot, perfect feel of her wrapped tightly around him was too much. Increasing the pace, he tilted her hips, finding that magical spot inside her body.

  She arched wildly as he stroked that secret place. “Yes, Duncan,” she cried. “Yes!”

  “Och, lass,” he groaned. “You’ll be the death of me.”

  Just as he uttered those words, she rolled her hips against his. Her muscles tightened around him and she let out a sob, burying her face in the blankets. Those inner muscles of hers tightened around him again and again, a sign of her own coming. It drove him over the edge, and his entire world went wild with his release. His hips thrust quickly against hers as the most intense wave of pleasure he’d ever known washed over him.

  The moment it was over, he collapsed, his chest draping over her back.

  Her arms wobbled and she fell across the bed, taking him with her to collapse in a pile of slightly sweaty, warm limbs.

  Not wanting to press her harshly into the mattress with his weight, he rolled them onto their sides, his cock still in her body, allowing every inch of her, from her back to her toes, to rest against his front.

  It was a glorious feeling. To his utter terror it was the most glorious he had ever known.

  *

  Imogen stretched, her whole body aching in a delicious way. My goodness, the Duke of Blackburn had behaved almost like a barbarian! She’d loved every moment of it. She opened her eyes only to find Duncan staring at her with a gaze so hot, she nearly burnt to a cinder on the spot. Never in all the years since she had embraced a life of fun had she felt so raw, so completely exposed. The sensation was so strange, she found herself pulling the linen up, only to realize she’d fallen asleep in her gown.

  “You’re wearing far, too many layers, lass,” he growled softly.

  Oh my.

  She swallowed. Had she awoken a sleeping, ravenous beast? It certainly seemed so. Her toes curled with anticipation, for if the look on his face said anything, it was that she was about to be devoured. She couldn’t imagine anything more marvelous. “Whatever do you suggest we do?” she teased. She couldn’t help herself. The Duke of Blackburn neede
d to be teased. Everyday. All the time. He was far too serious for his own good.

  And yet. She loved that about him. How he met the world with a hard uncompromising and honorable stare.

  He arched a single black brow, grabbed the folds of her skirts in two hands then yanked.

  The material ripped all the way from hem to bodice in one bold tear.

  She yelped. “Was that called for?”

  “You dinna take me seriously,” he said firmly.

  “So you ruined my gown?” she protested.

  He shrugged his beautiful, broad shoulders. “I’ll buy you another.”

  “That is not the point. You. . .” The soft stroke of his hand up her stockinged leg silenced her. His hand was strong, firm, knowing as it traveled upward.

  He kept stroking toward her inner thigh. “You were saying, lass?”

  “Yes. Uh. . . Well. . . Such behavior is hardly. . .”

  He pushed her thighs apart and, without warning, lowered his mouth to her folds.

  Any protest as to his barbarian actions died a hasty death on her lips. Goodness! For a proper man, he certainly knew the ways of a woman’s body. It had to have been all those years in France. She lost the power of witty speech the moment he softly kissed between her thighs.

  “You were about to be saying something?” he challenged from between her legs.

  She shook her head, her curls rustling against the pillow.

  He traced his tongue lightly over her folds, the murmured, “What was that about my behavior?”

  Oh dear heavens! Did he truly expect her to castigate him now?

  “Nothing,” she said quickly, barely able to speak at all, his tongue was so clever.

  He sucked her lightly into his mouth then teased her little nub with his tongue before lifting his head and meeting her gaze with a hot challenging stare. “I do believe you were taking umbrage with my forcefulness.”

  “No.”

  “And if I were to shred another of your gowns?” he asked.

  Well, if the result was what he was doing to her now? She laughed, a pained, tortured, absolutely surrendering laugh. “Shred away,” she sighed.

  He let out a purely male sound of satisfaction then bent his head again and commenced flicking his tongue over her. He grabbed her hips, holding her still as he teased her again and again.

  The pleasure was almost impossible, for every time she was about to rush over the cliff of pleasure, he slowed his teasing, backing off until she was writhing against him, her hips arching up off the bed.

  “Impatient, woman,” he growled against her.

  “Let. . . Me. . .” she panted.

  “I don’t think you’re ready yet,” he said, his voice dripping with desire.

  “Duncan!” she begged, winding a hand into his dark hair.

  He laughed darkly then grabbed her hips, tugged her down the bed then claimed her with his own body. Just in that one hard thrust, she gasped for breath and was thrown up to the stars, her body on fire with burst after burst of delicious release.

  As he thrust again and again, his wild blue eyes meeting hers, she knew one absolute thing, the Duke of Blackburn had ruined her for all other men. She was his and that was all there was too it.

  Chapter 11

  Duncan smiled like a loon. There was nothing for it. He was in seventh heaven. Good god, what he’d been missing? And yet, he was fairly certain that no other woman except Imogen would have slaked his desire to passionately. So entirely.

  He glanced over at her naked, sleeping form, covered by the quilts. Her golden hair spilled over the pillow, a single strand tickling her cheek. Oh, how he was going to enjoy this. Every moment with her would have to be savored. Because this was an indulgence, a temporary lapse, and much like the drunkard who takes a sip after a long absence, he knew he was going to indulge until he could indulge no more and then find the straight and narrow path once again. But at present, he had no wish to think of straight paths.

  Imogen’s curves were far more absorbing.

  The energy pulsing through his body was a complete shock. Preachers always insisted that lechery led to all manner of sins, such as sloth. How had he forgotten how alive a man felt after making love to a woman? Damnation, he couldn’t recall ever feeling this alive. Certainly not in the last several years of his good behavior.

  With a deep inhalation, he jumped off the bed, glorying in the fact he was totally naked. He stretched his arms above his head, strode to his kilt drunkenly strewn over the floor and hauled it on. Today was going to be a damned good day. One of the best. “Up lass,” he called.

  She snuggled into the blankets.

  He strode back to her, yanked the covers back and groaned with delight as he caught sight of her perfect bum. He gave it a playful smack. “Up. It’s time to face the world.”

  “Can’t we face the world under the covers?”

  “If I climb back in bed, I’m never getting out and then I shall waste away. I’m famished. You shouldn’t wish me to die of starvation should you?”

  Her lips twitched. “To let your perfect form waste away? That would be a sin against all woman kind.”

  “Good.” He cleared his throat, still not quite able to take such a compliment. “Now, let’s go.”

  She laughed. “It takes me longer than yourself to dress.”

  He scowled. “But I wish to go now.”

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed then pranced to him, and propped her hands on her lush hips. “Is this how you’d like me to go then? Naked as the day I was born?”

  His chest and cock tightened. “No man should see you but me,” he said before he could think.

  Her face softened. “Well then, I suppose I should put some clothes on.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I’ll—I’ll arrange for an outing.”

  “That sounds like a very good plan.”

  He headed for the door then stopped.

  “Imogen,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle to his own ears. “You look so beautiful. You don’t need to spend much time getting ready.”

  “Should I wear breaches then like Cordelia?” she sallied.

  “Yes,” he replied immediately.

  “They’re not proper.”

  “Do I look like I give a damn about proper today?”

  “No,” she whispered. “Not today.”

  “Good. I’ll meet you downstairs then.” With that, he headed out the door, ready to make the day the freest day he’d known in a long time.

  *

  Imogen rushed down the stairs, feeling strangely exposed and not just because she was wearing a pair of woolen breaches, a linen shirt, and a thick tweed jacket. Unlike any other affair she’d had, something about Duncan made her feel raw, as if she’d let him see a piece of heart she’d never let anyone else see. Not only that, she’d entrusted him with a blade to use upon said heart if he so chose. It was fantastically terrifying and liberating, and she felt completely alive.

  It had taken her longer than she’d thought to dress and not because she’d spent some time primping. It had simply just taken her lady’s maid almost half an hour to find her a boy’s outfit that would fit her. Her proportions were simply not that of a young man. Unlike Cordelia who was tallish, she was not, and she had curves in places that young men were straight. So, one pair of breaches had fit over her legs but she couldn’t even get them over her hips. Another jacket wouldn’t button. And so she was in a pair riding breaches that had a bit of give and a coat that was too big in the waist and strapped tightly over her bosoms. Still, she’d never had such freedom before. She hadn’t been able to abandon her corset thought. Without it her breasts had no support.

  So, when she entered the foyer, the Duke who was waiting, tapping a riding crop against his thigh, turned toward her and gaped.

  She couldn’t quite help staring at that crop in his hand, many a naughty story coming to play in her mind. “Are we riding today?”

  “Yes.”


  She swallowed. His lack of clarity only made her certain he meant riding of a variety not limited to horses. “I only have one mare,” she said.

  “I know, my lady fair.” He tsked. “That’s a scandal. A woman like you who loves animals.”

  “Well, I don’t ride often, as I was never encouraged.”

  He chortled.

  She blushed. “That was not what I meant.”

  “I know, but well. . . I’d be delighted to teach you all about riding, lass.”

  Before she would have come back with a quick reply, but not after last night. After last night, she was quite certain he did indeed have a thing or two to teach even she. Goodness, whatever had he been up to before he took his vow of propriety? Had he shagged every naughty mademoiselle in Paris?

  A sudden stab of irrational jealousy flooded her.

  “Are you quite well, Imogen?”

  “Perfectly.” She shook the silly thought from her head. “So, whatever are we going to do?”

  Frankly, she’d assumed they’d go walking. It’s what she always did.

  “I am a man of resources. So, I shall lead you out and one of my grooms will meet us.”

  “It’s terribly cold.” It was the only excuse she could think of to avoid the horses. She wasn’t overly fond of them.

  “Are you frightened?”

  Famous! How she wished to shout, yes! But after all the times she’d teased him for her his reticent behavior, she wasn’t about to start being the maiden in distress. “Certainly not,” she said with an exaggerated smile. “Lead on.”

  The smile that over took his face in that moment was so brutally handsome she almost couldn’t breath. One man shouldn’t be allowed to look so devilishly alluring. She’d have followed him over a cliff in that moment.

  He held out his hand.

  Her heart skipped a beat. It was a remarkable gesture. So many men just strode on ahead, the lady a step behind. But he wished her to go by his side, her hand in his. With that vulnerable feeling swelling all the more, she slipped her hand into his and strode out into the cold air with him.

  The crisp, white sky hanged overhead like a Parisian chef’s perfect marzipan and in the distance the snow capped bens beckoned like a fairy dusted, rugged fantasy land.