“We both do,” she acknowledged breathlessly. “Lock the door, Xander, so that we shall not be disturbed.”
“Angelina—” Alexander’s protest arrested in his throat as she stepped back to unfasten half a dozen tiny—and conveniently placed—buttons at the back of her gown, before allowing it to slide down her arms to fall onto the carpeted floor.
Any chance Alexander might have had of putting an end to this dangerous situation fled completely as Angelina stood before him dressed only in her almost transparent chemise, which clearly outlined her firm breasts, and white stockings that stopped tantalisingly short of the nestle of dark blond curls now clearly visible between her thighs.
Until the advent of Angelina into his life, Alexander had always prided himself on his self-control, but he would have to be made of marble to be able to withstand the invitation Angelina’s seminakedness now represented.
“The door, Xander,” she reminded as she reached up to take the pins from her hair. The riotous golden curls fell down to her waist before she slipped the thin straps of her chemise down her arms to bare her lovely breasts and curvaceous hips, as she now wore only those tantalising white stockings held up with garters of blue ribbon the exact color of her eyes.
The darkness of Alexander’s gaze remained transfixed on all that wanton loveliness even as he moved to the door to turn the key in the lock.
Chapter Six
The turning of that lock brought Alexander momentarily to his senses and he gave a shake of his head in an effort to clear it of its riotous longings. “Angelina, we cannot…”
“We will not complete the act tonight, if you prefer that we not do so, Xander. It will be enough for now if we give each other pleasure,” she promised huskily.
“What—” His second protest ended abruptly as Angelina moved across the distance that separated them to stand in front of him, the warmth of her nakedness, pressed against him from breast to thigh, becoming his complete undoing as he pulled her into him roughly and his lips once again laid siege to hers.
Even as his kisses deepened, his breathing becoming ragged, Angelina reached up to pull his jacket down his arms and loosen the necktie at his throat, before unfastening the top of his shirt and unbuttoning his waistcoat. She then slide it down his arms before pulling his shirt from his breeches and sliding her hands underneath the material so that she might touch the hot, bare flesh of his back and chest.
Alexander groaned low in his throat as Angelina began to move her hands across that muscled heat, the groan turning to a growl as she ran her nails over the hard pebbles of his nipples nestled amongst the darkness of the hair on his chest. She moved her hands lower still as she followed the path of that soft, downy hair to the waistband of his breeches, caressing the hardness there that throbbed and strained against the tightly stretched material.
Alexander wrenched his mouth from hers. “Angel…!”
His first use of the name she preferred made her bolder still as she released the buttons of his breeches to allow all the pulsing hardness to surge powerfully free, and her fingers curled about him.
“Angel—”
“Sit, Xander.” Angelina stepped back to urge him in the direction of one of the dining room chairs, before dropping down onto her knees in front of him.
“Angel, I cannot allow you to—Oh, my God…!” Alexander’s cry was one of pure ecstasy as he felt the heat of her mouth on him, his fingers clenching the arms of the chair as her tongue circled the tip of his erection.
Alexander’s head fell back, his knuckles white as he continued to clutch the arms of the chair, teeth gritted, jaw rigid, as Angelina began to suck.
It was all Alexander could do to keep himself from instantly giving in to his release. Instead, he suffered the agonies of hell for long, timeless minutes as Angelina continued to alternately lick and suck as her hands caressed him.
How he needed…wanted—“Take all of me, Angel! He groaned as he reached down to thread his hands fiercely into her golden curls that draped so erotically across his hips and thighs. As she took the full length of him into the heat of her mouth he began to thrust his hips until he felt his climax surging in an agony of pleasure such as Alexander had never experienced before.
Angelina instantly drew back, having been told the exact moment to cease the ministrations of her lips and tongue. Knowing that a man took time to recover from climax, if she paused now she would be able to reinvigorate him, to bring him to that peak again and again.
“Don’t stop, Angel…!” Alexander murmured achingly.
Angelina kissed down his still-pulsing length, enjoying Alexander’s groans of pleasure and renewed hardness as her fingers encircled him, and she began to rub rhythmically up and down until she gave him the pleasure he so sought.
Dear God, how she had pleasured him, Alexander thought as he felt the ache in every part of his body from the fierceness of his release.
A release that Angel had still to attain herself.
Alexander pulled her up so that she now stood between his parted thighs, his eyes dark as he gazed upon the firm thrust of her breasts. “I believe it is now my turn to pleasure you, Angel,” he drawled in anticipation.
“Yes, please, Xander,” she accepted almost shyly.
Alexander’s gaze held hers as he moved his mouth onto one bared breast, Angel’s hands clinging to the broadness of his shoulders as his tongue stroked across her hardened nipple. One of his hands moved down below the gentle slope of her waist in search of the nub nestled in the softness of her curls and, upon finding it, caressed her rhythmically until she moaned and writhed beneath him.
Angelina’s breathing became ragged and uneven, and she parted her legs to give him greater access, allowing him to slide one finger inside her, and then two, as he thrust into her rhythmically, all the while the soft pad of his thumb caressing the hardened, pulsing nub above until she collapsed weakly against him.
Alexander raised his head to look at her as he slowly slid his fingers from inside her. Immediately he knew he wanted to give her that pleasure again.
He grasped her hand in his as he led her over to the rug in front of the unlit fireplace, laying her down upon its softness, before spreading her legs wide so that he might kneel between them. He thought how beautiful she looked as he lowered his head to rasp the heat of his tongue over the still-swollen place between her thighs, and began to rouse her once more.
Angelina cried out as Alexander’s hands moved upward, over her stomach, to cup both her breasts, fingers caressing and lightly pinching her nipples as his tongue pressed against with ever-increasing urgency.
She could feel the rising of her second release as the pleasure became almost unbearable and she arched up into him. Her breathing became shallow as that pleasure centered, pooled, at the place Alexander stroked so rhythmically with his tongue. Higher, and still higher, that pleasure rose, until Angelina felt as if she might shatter into a millions pieces.
“Oh, Xander, please,” she choked, her fingers becoming entangled in the dark thickness of his hair as she pressed him harder against her. “Please…!”
One of his hands released her breast to once again seek out the throbbing nub hidden in her curls, stroking harder, and then harder still, as his tongue thrust deep inside her, over and over again.
Angel almost sat up as she cried out in ecstasy, her body meeting Alexander’s thrusts as her climax flowed through her, before she fell back, her breathing labored and rasping.
Alexander moved slowly up the length of her body to lie beside her, his head against her breast as his hand moved to curve about its twin, fingers lightly teasing the erectness of her nipple.
Alexander found himself thinking of numerous—no, dozens!—of ways in which he wished to make love with and to Angel. Again. And again.
But where? When? Did he make Angel his mistress, after all? No! He could not—would not—do that to this warmly giving and beautiful woman. What to do with her, then? How could he ke
ep her in his life and at the same not be her ruination? What—
“The reality is much more…exciting than the theory, is it not, Xander?” Angel breathed happily at his side. “It was truly a—a wondrous experience!”
He laughed softly, forgetting the future for the moment. Time enough to decide upon that later. For now it was enough that he held this enchanting creature in his arms. “It was indeed,” he assured warmly. “In fact, I have become quite taken with the teachings of your Miss Bristow!”
“Did I do everything correctly, Xander?” Angelina prompted softly.
“Everything!” he assured her with a self-derisive chuckle, as he recalled how completely he had been undone as Angel had kissed and caressed him with her own unique blend of innocence and seduction.
Angelina’s face glowed, her eyes shining with emotion. “I am so very glad that I pleased you, Xander.”
If Alexander had been any more “pleased” he may have expired completely! As it was, he still could not believe the intimacies he had shared with this young lady. He had never, ever allowed himself release in a woman’s mouth before. He had not “allowed” it this time, either, he recalled ruefully; his arousal, the excitement of Angel’s mouth and hands upon him, had been such that he had simply been unable to prevent it!
Still, indulging in such licentious behavior in his own home had been both rash and impulsive. Anyone might have found them together—
“Stourbridge!” The loud and imperious barking of his name reverberated through the house.
“Oh, God, no…!” Alexander gasped in protest as he turned to stare toward the locked dining room door.
“What is it?” Angelina looked up at him in concern.
“Not what, Angel, but who!” Alexander corrected harshly as he rose hastily to his feet and began to pull on his clothes.
“Who, then?” Angelina prompted as she less hurriedly got to her feet.
He fastened his breeches before answering her. “It would seem that my aunt Elizabeth has indeed returned to town and decided to pay me a visit…!”
Chapter Seven
“Sit up straight and do not fidget, Angelina.” Lady Elizabeth Montague instructed brusquely but not unkindly as the two women sat together in the elegance of her town house drawing room, awaiting the arrival of afternoon visitors.
Angel instantly stilled in rearranging the folds of her cream gown, still somewhat at a loss to know how it was she came to be in residence at Lady Montague’s home at all.
The elderly lady had swept into the dining room at St. Claire House the evening before, having been informed by not one acquaintance but several that the Duke of Stourbridge had been seen in his carriage that very morning with a young, unmarried female at his side. An occurrence that she had felt the need to look into personally. “Being seen with a female and having that female stay in his home unaccompanied,” Alexander had been informed disgustedly, “were two completely different things!”
Having taken in the intimacy of their situation at a glance—how could she not when Alexander had only had time to hastily don his shirt and breeches, and Angelina’s own appearance showed signs of their lovemaking in the untidiness of her hair and lips swollen from the force of Alexander’s kisses!—she had ordered Angelina to collect her things immediately as she would be returning home with her instantly.
Such had been the older woman’s force of will that Angelina had felt compelled to comply with the instruction. Quite what had taken place between aunt and nephew in her absence Angelina had no idea, but when she returned down the stairs, her appearance suitably tidied and her belongings duly repacked into her trunk, she had found Alexander to be in complete agreement with his aunt’s arrangements.
Angelina had personally received no word of rebuke from that lady, either last night or this morning, Lady Montague seeming to attribute any and all blame, for the intimacy of the situation she had so obviously interrupted, to her nephew.
Something Angelina knew she must now correct. “Lady Montague, I feel I must tell you—”
“I would rather you did not, my dear,” the older woman assured her hastily. “I saw enough yesterday evening to know the way things are between you and Stourbridge,” she added kindly. “The sooner the two of you are married the happier I shall be!”
Angelina’s eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, but—”
“The Duke of Stourbridge, my lady,” the butler announced while standing in the doorway, only seconds before Alexander himself strode forcefully into the room.
Angelina was only vaguely aware of the butler withdrawing and closing the door behind him, her attention all on Alexander as he crossed the room to bend and place a kiss upon one of his aunt’s powdered cheeks. He looked every inch the haughty duke this afternoon, his hair tied back meticulously, his dark blue jacket and paler blue waistcoat impeccably tailored above cream silk breeches.
At last, Alexander turned to look at Angelina, frowning darkly as her lashes instantly fanned down onto the paleness of her cheeks and so hiding her expressive blue eyes from his gaze.
“What have you been saying to Angel in order to cause this uncharacteristic demureness, Aunt?” he drawled ruefully, his gaze unrepentant as Angelina’s lashes rose instantly so that she might give him a censorious frown for his levity in the midst of a situation that was obviously causing his aunt some distress.
“I am afraid that your aunt is under the misapprehension that the two of us are to be married, Your Grace,” she informed him worriedly.
“Indeed.” He gave an inclination of his head.
“Yes,” Angelina confirmed breathlessly. “When you arrived I was just about to inform Lady Montague that I am intended as your mistress and not your wife!”
“Stourbridge!” his aunt prompted in alarm at the same moment as Alexander gave an uncontrolled shout of laughter. “I fail to see anything in the least amusing in this situation!” she admonished severely.
Alexander smiled ruefully. “That is because you are you and not me, Aunt.”
She looked scandalized. “Stourbridge—”
“Aunt Elizabeth—” he sobered, his narrowed gaze still fixed intently on the beautiful vision Angelina made in her cream gown “—would you be so kind as to allow Angel and I a few minutes alone in which we might converse privately?”
“Very well. But a few minutes only,” his aunt warned sternly as she rose majestically to her feet. “I am expecting dozens of visitors this afternoon, all of them anxious to meet and gaze upon the young lady who has succeeded in capturing the elusive Duke of Stourbridge’s heart!”
Angelina waited only long enough for the elderly lady to leave the room before rising sharply to her feet, her expression one of alarm as she beseeched. “Xander, you must put a stop to this instantly!”
“Must I?” he drawled mockingly.
“But of course you must!” Angelina chided impatiently. “Your aunt is under the misapprehension that the two of us are to be married. You must go to her and tell her the truth. That I am to be your mistress—”
“I have always found it wiser by far never to lie to my aunt Elizabeth,” he assured softly.
“But you would not be lying in this instance—What on earth do you mean, Xander…?” Angelina now eyed him guardedly.
Alexander’s eyes glowed as he looked across at her. As he took in the glorious gold of her hair. The pale beauty of her face. The depth of her blue eyes, the sprinkling of freckles upon her tiny nose and the full and sensuous curve of her lips. As for the fullness of her breasts…! She really was the most exquisite creature.
St. Claire House, the place Alexander had called home all of his adult life, where he had always been perfectly at his ease, had seemed empty and cold today without Angelina’s warmth and laughter in it. All of which had told Alexander exactly what his future relationship with Angelina must—had—to be!
He drew in a ragged breath. “I mean, my dear Angel, that it is my intention to marry you at the earliest opportunit
y.”
She gasped. “Xander, you cannot possibly mean to marry me simply because your aunt expects it of you!”
He gave a pained wince. “I do not recall ever saying that was my reason for marrying you.”
“But of course it is the reason—”
“You claim to know my thoughts and emotions so well, then?” he mused.
Angelina frowned her consternation with his behavior. “Of course I do not,” she assured agitatedly. “But I have been…tutored, groomed, these past three years for the role of your mistress—”
“Not at my bidding, I do most fervently assure you!” he rasped. “Not that I am complaining, you understand?” he added gently as Angelina recoiled at his vehemence. “On the contrary—to date I have found your…tutorage more satisfying than anything I have ever before experienced. So much so, that after only a few hours of being apart from you, I find I wish to repeat it every day—and night—for the rest of my life.”
Angelina gave a confused frown. “I fear you must explain yourself better than that, Alexander.”
“You have only been with my aunt Elizabeth a matter of hours and already you are starting to sound like her!” His smile was rueful. “Yes, my dear Angel, I have no doubts whatsoever that you will make a formidable Duchess of Stourbridge,” he added appreciatively.
“Duchess—!” she gasped. “I—What on earth are you doing, Xander?” she protested as he fell to one knee in front of her.
His eyes glowed darkly gold as he looked up at her. “I believe, Angel, that I am endeavoring to propose to you. If you would be so kind as to allow me to proceed…?”
Chapter Eight
“Please rise and cease this nonsense at once, Alexander,” Angelina told him anxiously.
Not quite the response Alexander had been hoping for to his first attempt at a marriage proposal. His last, too, he hoped! “I assure you it is not nonsense, Angel,” he said gruffly, making no effort to stand. “It is perhaps a little soon in our acquaintance for you to know the state of your own heart—”
At the Duke s Service Page 3