One Summer of Surrender

by Jess Michaels

  “What are you doing?” he whispered.

  She didn’t answer him with words, but by guiding his thick cock to her lips and taking just the head of him inside. He let out a sound of pleasure that cracked the silence of the room and his hands came down, fingers tangling in her hair.

  She took him deeper, loving the feel of him in her mouth, the taste of him. She wasn’t entirely certain what one was meant to do in this situation, so she went by instinct, taking him as deep as she could manage, then withdrawing until he almost exited her lips. She rolled her tongue around his length, she sucked gently. When he moaned, she worked harder, faster, seeking his pleasure without giving a thought to her own.

  Not that she didn’t feel her own. There was an intense power to this act. An eroticism that made her wet as she took him.

  She felt him getting close to the brink. She sensed his crisis and she saw it approaching as she looked up his body to watch his face.

  But he didn’t allow her to steal his pleasure. With a low cry, he caught her elbows and drew her up his body, forcing her back against the billiard table once more. He balanced her on the edge of it, lifting one of her legs to hook around his back as he thrust deep and hard into her willing body.

  She arched at the feel of him entering her in that swift, slick stroke, pleasure exploding in her entire body. He ground his hips against hers as he held her gaze steadily. She wound her arms around his neck and did the same, even as she lifted into his thrusts, rubbing herself against him to increase the pleasure for both of them.

  The intensity of their locked stare, combined with his expert thrusts, brought her to the brink swiftly. She moved to turn her face, but he cupped her chin and held her there, making her look at him as her crisis at last hit. She jolted against him, watching how his pupils dilated as she came, feeling how his body quickened as she milked him with her pleasure.

  He let out a low, needy moan as he pulled away, turning so she couldn’t watch him in his pleasure as he had watched her. It was disappointing. She gave, he never did.

  And she knew why. She knew exactly how she’d earned his reticence.

  He reached down and grabbed for his trousers, shoving them on without looking at her. She edged herself off the table and found her now-wrinkled gown. Stepping into it, she sighed. It felt like an impossible chasm between them, regardless of how powerful their joinings were.

  “Do you need help buttoning it?” he asked.

  She turned and found he already had his shirt on. He was tucking it into his trousers, almost back to the man he had been when they entered the room.

  “Yes,” she said, putting her back to him a second time. If he had taken his time unfastening her, he buttoned her with swift and almost detached efficiency.

  She shook her head and faced him when he was done. “You keep doing this,” she said. “We keep doing it, regardless of everything else.”

  He had begun tying his cravat and his hands stilled at her observation. He lifted his gaze to her, holding it steady just as he had when he took her. Only now his expression wasn’t one of desire and connection. He was wary of her.

  He bent his head again, not looking at her as he said, “I want to stay away from you, Elise. I know it’s the right thing to do. But I…” His voice dropped. “I can’t.”

  She caught her breath. That was the closest to an admission of caring she would likely ever again get from him. And it opened up possibilities in her mind. If he wanted her, perhaps that could solve her problem on so many levels. Being with him could help her escape Ambrose and his ugliness, but it could also be an opportunity to slowly heal the wounds between her and Stenfax.

  After time, she might even be able to explain herself to him and have him understand.

  She stepped toward him. “I still need a protector,” she whispered.

  His head jerked up and he looked at her. She could see he understood where she was going with that statement. Immediately, he shook his head. “That can’t be me, Elise.”

  Pain tore through her at that plain statement. He wanted her, but only because he couldn’t fight that feeling. It was a weakness in his eyes, not a future of any kind.

  She nodded slowly, forcing her voice to remain neutral as she said, “No, of course not. I see that.”

  He went back to tying the cravat, though she noticed his hands moved a little more slowly. He looked at her from the corner of his eye. “But you haven’t found a protector yet.”

  “No.”

  He finished tying the knot and grabbed for his discarded jacket. As he put it on, he said, “If I come to you again, will you turn me away, Elise?”

  She swallowed hard. The past two times he’d touched her had proven what she wanted deep inside. And if these moments were all she’d ever have with Lucien, she would be a fool to lie and say she didn’t want them.

  “I can’t,” she admitted. “I can’t turn you away, Lucien.”

  His expression softened just a fraction. “Neither can I. Even if I hate myself for it.”

  She winced at that assessment, and at the way he turned away from her and moved for the door. He unlocked it and turned back toward her.

  “Goodnight, Elise.”

  She nodded and whispered, “Goodnight.”

  And then he was gone, taking all the air in the room, all the warmth in her body, and a piece of her heart with him.

  Chapter Six

  Elise stood at the full-length mirror in her chamber, staring at the image that stared back at her. She was dressed in one of her altered gowns, this one a warm pink and recut so low that she feared if she bent the wrong way she’d give everyone a show. Her hair had been done in a loose and sensual way, and she looked every bit the temptation she felt she must be.

  Yes, she was ready for a return to Vivien’s lair. Yet, just as she had the past few nights since her last encounter with Lucien, she hesitated. She hadn’t been back since then. She had dressed, she had been ready, then she’d changed her mind.

  Going there just felt so damned hard now.

  There was a light knock on her door and then it opened, revealing Elise’s maid, Ruth. Elise tried to brighten her countenance as she turned toward her.

  “I was thinking that I won’t go tonight, Ruth,” she said. “I apologize for wasting your time yet again, but I’m still just not feeling well. You can help me out of the dress and then let Madison know that he may put away the carriage.”

  Ruth pressed her lips together and swallowed hard. For the first time, Elise noticed how flushed the young woman was, how nervous she seemed. “Your Grace, er…the duke is here.”

  Now the color went out of Elise’s own face. She hadn’t faced Ambrose in almost a week, not since he made that threat about finding out Toby’s long-buried secrets.

  “Is he?” she said, working hard to get a handle on her tangled emotions.

  Ruth nodded. “He demands to see you right away. And he said to tell you…”

  She trailed off, and Elise took a step toward her. “It’s all right, Ruth. I understand these are not your words. Tell me what he said.”

  “He—he said if you weren’t down in three minutes, he would come up here and get you, whether you were dressed or not.”

  Elise sighed. “I assume he’d love to catch me undressed. It seems my time is ticking down. I will go to him. Thank you, Ruth.”

  The maid bobbed out a nod and left the room. Elise tossed one more look at herself. She was dressed like a harlot and that would likely only serve to entice Ambrose more. She grabbed a shawl and pulled it around her shoulders, trying to cover herself a fraction before she headed out of her chamber and down the stairs to the parlor.

  She drew a long breath before she entered, tamping down fear and anxiety at coming face to face with her adversary.

  “Your Grace,” she said, her tone falsely airy as she entered the room. “I did not expect you tonight.”

  He turned from the fire and his
eyes all but bugged out of his head as he looked at her. She tugged at the shawl but knew it did little good. Ambrose ogled her scandalously exposed body, and the way he shifted let her know he was now aroused.

  She thought of the gun she kept in her room upstairs and wished she had found a place to hide it on her person. She didn’t trust this man one iota.

  “Good evening, Elise,” he said, stepping toward her. “Don’t you look fetching tonight. Were you going out?”

  She swallowed hard. Thus far she’d been able to keep her trips to Vivien’s secret. The courtesan had assured her that she would never give a membership to her club to Ambrose, as he was, in Vivien’s words, “trouble”. Elise certainly had no intention of telling him herself.

  “No,” she said. “I was just reading and planned to turn in early.”

  His eyes lit up and she swallowed past bile. “Excellent. I am going to a ball. An old friend of yours, the Marchioness of Swinton, invited me.”

  His crowing tone grated along Elise’s spine and she couldn’t help her flare of temper. “Well, bully for you, Ambrose.”

  He moved on her a long step, his smile fading. “Watch your tongue. You’re coming with me.”

  Elise stared at him in shock. “No!” she cried out when she could find words. “I most certainly am not. My mourning period is a few more months, Ambrose. I cannot go to a ball while I’m in black.”

  “I didn’t ask you, Elise,” he said, snatching a hand out to catch her arm. Her shawl fell away and he stared even more blatantly as he began to drag her across the parlor.

  “Stop,” she insisted, digging in her heels and tugging back against him. “Stop it this instant.”

  He yanked her closer, her face now mere inches from hers. “What would you prefer I do, Elise? Stay in with you? Take you to bed?”

  She froze in her struggles as she looked up into his face. He looked deathly serious now, like he was hoping she’d fight him.

  “No,” she whispered.

  He smiled. “Then to the party you and I will go.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut a moment, willing tears not to fall. “Why? Why do you want me there, Ambrose?”

  He caught her chin in his hand, a mirror of what Stenfax had done when they made love a few days before, only without the gentleness and care Lucien had shown her. Ambrose squeezed, just enough to hurt, not enough to bruise.

  “Because I want all of them to know I have the same power as my cousin did. I want him to see I have all the same claims.”

  “Him?” Elise asked, trembling and hating herself for showing that weakness.

  “Stenfax,” Ambrose clarified. “Your earl is sniffing around you again and I don’t want to encourage that to continue. Now, we are late. So let’s go.”

  He grabbed for her arm again and she tugged a second time. “Please, at least let me change. This gown is utterly inappropriate.”

  He smiled as he looked her up and down and then began to pull her toward the door again. “No, Elise. It’s just perfect.”

  Stenfax stood in the middle of the Marquess of Swinton’s ballroom, party in full swing around him, but he was hardly there at all. His mind kept taking him to Vivien Manning’s club. To Elise. To the fact that he’d gone back to the club three nights since he last saw her and not found her there.

  It had taken everything in him not to go back to her dower house and confront her. Take her.

  He blinked as the swarm of mamas and their eligible daughters who currently surrounded him all spoke seemingly at once, asking him questions and trying to make their charges the one in his sightline.

  They were pretty enough ladies, of course. Some were accomplished. All would very likely make a fine countess.

  But Stenfax had gone down this road before. Just a year ago, he had become engaged to Rosalinde’s sister, Celia. He’d sought out a woman who would never ask for his heart, a woman who he’d never be tempted to give it to.

  The engagement had failed spectacularly, though it had given rise not only to Gray’s happy marriage to Celia’s sister, but to a friendship with Celia that Stenfax very much appreciated.

  Still, he had no intention of trying to do that again. Certainly not during this Season of all Seasons, when he was tangled up in lust and confusion over Elise.

  He smiled at the crowd around him, placating, noncommittal. It was funny, as much as he was the center of attention tonight, he had also sensed something else in the crowd when they looked at him. People would occasionally whisper behind their fans and stare.

  He had no idea what that was about, but it was utterly tiresome indeed. He wanted to run.

  Just as he was about to find a way to do so, his sister Felicity began to make her way through the crowd. “Ladies, might I borrow my brother for a moment?” she asked, her dark blue eyes snaring his in a pointed stare.

  He wrinkled his brow. Felicity didn’t look very pleased. The women around him made various moans and groans, but she still took his arm regardless and led him away.

  Only when they had paced to the edge of the ballroom did he feel as if he could breathe again. He faced Felicity with a smile. “Thank you for coming to my rescue. Was my drowning very obvious to you and Gray and Rosalinde from across the room?”

  Felicity’s expression tightened. “I was not coming to save you,” she said, her voice strained. “I have heard…troubling things.”

  Stenfax’s body went on guard because her expression was so dark and pointed. This did not seem a subject that should be discussed in the middle of an eavesdropping ballroom, so he caught her arm and guided her from the crowd, out into the hall and down to a parlor away from prying eyes and straining ears.

  As he shut the door, he faced her. “What sorts of troubling things, Felicity? Is someone speaking unkindly about you?”

  Her face lost all its color. “What would someone have to say about me, Stenfax?”

  He shook his head. “I have no idea—certainly there is not a blemish on your character. But you seem so upset, I had to wager a guess that you had been hurt by someone.”

  “This isn’t about me,” Felicity hissed, turning away from him. “Damn it, Lucien, I have heard you and Elise are…entangled again.”

  He froze in his spot, staring at his sister’s pained expression. “Who said that?”

  She caught her breath. “You do not deny it first, but ask the source?”

  He clenched his teeth, thinking of Elise’s admonishment at Vivien’s a few nights before. She said then that word of his barbaric, possessive display could possibly spread outside the club and into the ballroom. Now it seemed she was correct.

  “Who?” he repeated.

  Felicity folded her arms. “It was on the wind. And…and Gray verified it when we were speaking a few moments ago.”

  Stenfax bent his head. “Damn it, Gray.”

  Of course he should have known better than to believe Gray wouldn’t tell Felicity about Elise at some point. Oh, he’d protect her from the salacious details, of course, but the siblings didn’t keep secrets.

  Sometimes they didn’t speak of things. But they didn’t keep secrets.

  “Don’t you dare blame him,” Felicity croaked out. “I harangued it out of him and then I basically declared him to be a liar when he admitted the truth. But now I see this horrible thing he said is accurate.” Tears filled her eyes and her voice was choked as she said, “How can this be true?”

  He flinched at the sight of her pain. At the reminder that it wasn’t only he who had been damaged by Elise’s actions three years before.

  “Felicity,” he whispered, moving toward her. “Please.”

  She shook her head, backing away from him. “She betrayed you.” Her fists clenched in and out at her sides. “She was my best friend and she betrayed me. How could you consider letting her back into your life, our lives? How could you think of going back to her?”

  Stenfax shifted. In his attempts to not be crud
e, Gray had obviously left a great deal to the imagination.

  “It is…it’s not a courtship, Felicity,” he whispered.

  His sister had been married. Quite unhappily, of course, but she had experienced a great deal more than the typical virginal miss. It took her a moment to digest what he said, to parse out its meaning, but when she did, her face twisted in disgust.

  “Oh, Lucien,” she breathed as she shook her head.

  “It’s complicated,” he said, a weak defense of an indefensible position.

  “I know complicated,” she sobbed, tears flowing down her cheeks. “You don’t even know how well acquainted I am with complicated, Lucien. But this?” She shook her head as she backed away from him toward the door. Her hands were raised as if in surrender. She reached behind her and opened the door, but before she left, she said, “Not this.”

  “Felicity,” he said, but she turned and left, slamming the door.

  He let out a painful bark as he slapped a palm against the closest flat surface. He leaned there for a moment, trying to block out the intense pain his actions had caused his sister. Felicity was often cool, she was sophisticated. It was easy to forget what she had endured in her life. How she had suffered before her husband had conveniently died in a drunken hunting accident.

  She buried all that so deeply, not allowing anyone to speak to her about it. Losing Elise had only multiplied her pain.

  And now he was dragging Felicity back through it because he couldn’t keep his hands off Elise. He had to talk to his sister. He had to try to make her understand, to comfort her.

  He spun around and stalked out the parlor door. He moved down the hall to the foyer swiftly and saw his sister getting into her carriage in the distance. She was gone before he could even call out to her and he let out a groan of disappointment.

  But perhaps it was best to let her go for now. She would calm down and he would find a way to explain the unexplainable to her.

  He moved to return to the ballroom, but before he could round the corner to the doors, there was a loud announcement from the entryway.