“How often has that happened to you?” she asked curiously.
“That I’ve been beaten?”
“That you have lost consciousness.”
“Oh. Ah… four or five times now.”
“Why do you look so unconcerned?” she asked, aghast at his nonchalance.
“I am always fine afterward. Though it seems to be happening more often now — nearly every good hit to the head results in it. At any rate, I didn’t want you to think that I had fainted as a result of your touch.”
Despite her concern for him, Rebecca couldn’t help a bit of mirth at his expense. The thought that a man his size, so masculine, so physically obvious, would faint at the mere touch of her lips…
“What?” he said, furrowing his brow.
“Nothing,” she said, but a near-giggle slipped out.
“You’re laughing at me.”
“I am not.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I believe you are.”
“Fine,” she said, the laughter spilling out now. “It’s just the thought that you could go rounds being punched in the face but then think that I would believe that I could fell with you one kiss… why, it is rather humorous.”
He finally broke a grin himself and chuckled slightly. “I see your point.”
“Although,” she swallowed her fear and took a step closer to him, “there is only one way to prove that was not the cause.”
“Oh?” he said, setting his drink down, his eyes becoming quite hooded as he lost all humor and returned her stare. “And just what would that be?”
“To try it again, of course,” she said, and he nodded slowly.
“That, Rebecca, is an excellent idea.”
He reached out and ran his hands along her bare arms until they locked around her hands, and then he slowly began to tug her toward him, until she was but a breath away.
“I think, if we are going to recreate this correctly, it was you who had kissed me,” he said slyly, and Rebecca’s breath caught in her throat. It was one thing to have kissed him when they were already in the midst of passion, but to be the aggressor from the outset…
Well, she best get to it.
She closed her eyes, leaned in, and pressed her lips against his.
Rebecca had thought that their kiss last night was the best she would ever have.
She was wrong.
Last night he had obviously only been semi-lucid. Today, with all of his faculties intact, he was something else entirely.
He kissed like he fought. She may have been the one to initiate the kiss, but he soon took over, thrusting and parrying without restraint. His tongue sought hers, caressing yet also promising what would await her should they go any further than this.
She moaned at the onslaught, her hands coming up to grip his shoulders as though she were drowning and he was her only chance of salvation.
When he tore his lips from hers, she sagged against him, entirely at his mercy.
He tilted her chin up to look at him. “See? Still lucid.”
She nodded jerkily. “I, however, am not.”
“Forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive.”
She looped her arms around his neck, now as desperate as he was. She needed more of him, wanted to be close to him. She was well aware that their time together would be brief. She knew that there was nothing for them in the future. But could she not have this moment in time with him? Being with him brought her close to someone in a way that she had never been before, nor likely ever would again. Why could she not have this with him, however fleeting it might be?
A small voice deep inside told her she shouldn’t allow it, for then she would only want more.
But his lips upon hers silenced that voice completely.
It was Rebecca who pushed his jacket off his shoulders. It was she who slipped the buttons of his shirt from their holes before lifting it over his head. It was also she who unfastened his trousers, though she wasn’t quite brave enough to actually slip them off.
Power coursed through her when his breathing became ragged. This giant of a man who would go toe-to-toe in battle with another fighter was so supple in her arms. She ran her fingers over the bruises on his chest and he didn’t even wince.
“Do these not hurt?” she asked, hearing the huskiness in her voice.
“Not as long as you don’t press too hard,” he said with a low chuckle.
She couldn’t help herself. She pushed ever-so-gently on one of them.
He growled.
“Did you just growl?” she asked, her eyes wide.
He pinched her bottom.
“Ouch!”
His eyes glittered. “How do you like that?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, but before she could utter another word he had swept her up in his arms and deposited her on the sofa next to them. He ran his hands up and down her sides before he lowered them, lifting her skirts and slowly beginning to run his hand up her leg. She shivered involuntarily at his touch.
His fingers crept even higher still until they were near to circling the very center of her, and she found herself arching toward him, wanting more.
When he finally stroked her, she nearly jumped off the couch. He smiled wickedly.
“And how does that feel?” he murmured in her ear.
“Better than a pinch.”
He chuckled once more, the low timbre of his voice amplifying the thrills that were already coursing through her from his touch.
“Very well then,” he said.
She reached for him, but he stilled her hand.
“This is for you,” he said. “Let someone do something for you, for once.”
His words caused her to stop for a moment. He was right, she realized. She couldn’t remember the last time she had surrendered and allowed someone to do something for her instead of the other way around.
So she let go — she threw her head back and gave herself over to the sensations of his fingers on her center, his mouth and his other hand on her breasts. She was climbing higher and higher toward something, and she knew instinctively that she wanted to reach that pinnacle with him.
She tugged at his trousers once more, and he caught her hands in his.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his words stilted, his breathing ragged.
“More than anything,” she managed. “You are right about one thing. I should do something that I want, make a memory that I will always cherish. And I want to do that with you.”
His expression was both pained and ecstatic, if it were possible.
“I don’t know…”
“Please?”
16
She could have no idea what she was currently doing to him. For he didn’t believe she was that cruel, to torture him on the highest order. He knew that while she wasn’t a lady in title, she was one in every other way. He shouldn’t take her on the sofa, as a one-time event. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t done.
But the way she was looking at him, with such pleading on her face, was his undoing. He asked her once more if she was sure, and the glare she sent his way said more than words.
He was sunk.
He buried his hands in her long, silky dark tresses, which rippled over his fingers like water. He tasted her once more before dipping a finger into her lush folds to ensure she was ready for him. It took him but moments to rid himself of his trousers and her of her dress and chemise, leaving nothing between them. He positioned himself between her legs, finding her arching up toward him, more than eager.
“Are you ready?” he asked in a guttural tone, and she nodded, one of her long, soft hands coming up to cup his cheek.
He guided himself into her slowly, but she lifted herself up toward him so that they were joined much swifter than he would have imagined.
“Rebecca!” he moaned her name at her sharp intake of breath, but when he pried his eyes open, hers were clear and free of pain.
“I’m fine,” she said.
Yet he couldn’t help but ask, “Are you sure?”
“If you ask me that one more time, I am going to punch you myself,” she threatened, and if he could have laughed, he would have, but at the moment he could do nothing but focus on keeping himself in control.
He was trying to give her time to adjust to him, to stretch to fit him, but when she began moving, he was lost. He began to pump into her in a rhythm as old as time itself, though Valentine didn’t think it had ever been so perfect between a man and woman before.
Knowing he couldn’t keep himself from finding fulfillment much longer, he reached down between them and began to stroke her until she was trembling around him, squeezing him even tighter than she had been before.
He just managed to pull himself from her before expending himself onto his shirt next to her. Replete, he had only enough energy to sink down onto the sofa next to her, drawing her into his arms. She lay her head on his chest, and he lifted his jacket to place it over top of her.
Guilt began to creep into his soul.
“That was poorly done of me,” he said, looking around them. “Your first time should have been on your marriage bed — or, at the very least, on a bed, for goodness sake. I am sure that is what a proper duke would have done. I, however—”
“You are magnificent.”
He snorted. “I would hardly say that is a fitting description.”
“Were you on the other side of this encounter?”
“I suppose not.”
“Then you will have to trust me. It was… more than I ever could have asked for.”
Her serene smile finally convinced him, and he held her closer toward him, closing his eyes, basking in the moment. If only he could hold her like this forever — for he didn’t see how, after her, another woman would ever do.
He rested his chin on her head and closed his eyes.
Then drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Light began to filter through Rebecca’s eyelids, which was rather odd. She typically closed the drapes tightly against the outside, whether she was at home or here at Stonehall Estate. Her room was rather sumptuous, if dated. The heavy brocade navy curtains kept the room quite dark, just as she liked it for sleep, but the cream walls and large windows allowed for the light and beautiful view of the hills beyond to filter in and bring the lightness to her soul that she always strove for when designing.
She opened her eyes and gasped. She wasn’t in her room.
She heard a snore.
And she wasn’t alone.
“Valentine,” she hissed, shaking him, and he groggily opened his eyes as well.
“Rebecca?” His eyes focused. “Rebecca!”
She looked around her furtively to ensure no one was about, and then leaped off him and began to hurriedly dress in her chemise and her gown.
“I cannot believe we fell asleep!” she exclaimed, though she kept her voice just above a whisper, for if there was light it would mean, at the very least, servants were already about.
“Well, it was rather late,” he said, swinging his legs over the edge of the sofa and rubbing his eyes.
Rebecca paused for a moment, unable to miss the opportunity to catch a glimpse of his magnificent body.
He ran a hand through his hair, seemingly unconcerned. It wasn’t as though the sofa had been overly comfortable. It had just been so comforting to be held, to give herself over to someone else for once.
But now she was suffering the consequences for that.
Thankfully she was used to readying herself alone, and she was able to slip the larger buttons through their holes without his help. While he had been of assistance last night to undress her, a look at his sizeable hands, still swollen from his fight, had her wondering whether or not he would be of any help this morning.
“Val?”
Rebecca froze in the midst of her dressing, her eyes meeting Valentine’s, and he jumped to his feet, though when he did he was fully naked once more. And, she noticed, erect.
He followed her gaze and then shrugged with a smirk, and she rolled her eyes at him.
“Seriously?” she hissed. His sister called his name again from out in the hall in search of him, and then Rebecca heard her father.
“Miss St. Vincent, good morning.” His voice carried through the door. At least he knew who Jemima was this morning. Sometimes he didn’t, though Rebecca always managed to cover his forgetfulness. “Have you seen my daughter yet?”
“I haven’t,” she replied, her voice still far down the hall but coming closer. “She must have slept late.”
“May I escort you down the hall to breakfast?”
“That would be lovely.”
“Jemima!” Oh, goodness, it was Mrs. St. Vincent now. Her voice certainly had Valentine moving, as he began to gather all of his clothes in his arms.
“Aren’t you going to put them on?” Rebecca whispered.
“There isn’t time,” he murmured back. “Besides, if I do manage to get them on, I’ll just look as disheveled as you and that certainly won’t help anything.”
“Neither will the two of us being found in here with you completely naked!”
Then she was suddenly reminded of something. “Through the passage!” She crossed the room in a few quick strides, waving him over. “Hurry!”
“Rebecca will likely be awaiting me in the long gallery,” came her father’s voice, just steps away now, and Val sprinted across the room. Rebecca grabbed the shelf, and just as footsteps drew near, the wall turned and they were on the other side.
They looked at one another, utterly relieved, and began to laugh. Rebecca fell in his arms and Valentine kissed the top of her head.
“Now,” he said, after taking her hand and drawing her up the stairs where he pushed open the dressing room door, “what do you say we—”
Rebecca peered around him to see what had brought a halt to his words.
There stood Archie through the door of the dressing room.
“Well,” he said, his blue eyes lighting up and a smile stretching across his face. “Good morning, your grace. Miss Lambert. Now, just where have the two of you been?”
His eyes flicked up and down Val’s naked body, and Rebecca heaved a sigh of relief that, at the very least, her clothes were on, as wrinkled and disheveled as they may be.
“I’ll, ah, I’ll just be going then,” she said, edging around Valentine and then Archie, but Archie took some pity on her and held up a finger.
“Just a moment, Miss Lambert,” he said. “Let me see if there is anyone about.”
Rebecca could have told them that everyone was currently downstairs, but she supposed there could be a servant or two in the corridor. Archie looked outside, then held the door open for her.
“All is clear,” he said, and then nodded at her, though the look of amusement hadn’t left his eyes. “Good day, Miss Lambert.”
“Good day, Archie,” she said, with one final look behind her at Valentine. His eyes, however, were not amused — they were smoldering. And she was well aware why.
* * *
The passageway between the long gallery and Valentine’s bedroom was well utilized over the next two weeks. Valentine hadn’t wanted Rebecca to feel obligated to come to him again, but when she appeared in his dressing room the night after their first liaison, he certainly hadn’t been disappointed.
She was everything he could have asked for in a woman. She was a beauty, to be sure, but it was more than that. She cared for others more than she did herself. She certainly looked after her father, who was so scattered it was difficult to imagine how he had come up with such intricate, impressive designs. For it was not only his creativity that impressed Valentine, but also that the modern conveniences and the practicalities he incorporated seemed so innovative. It was hard to reconcile them with the man who often seemed to think he was elsewhere and spent most of his time reminiscing about the past.
In fact, it seemed like a foolish thing to even consider, but
the designs reminded him somewhat of… well, of Rebecca. Practical yet with an appreciation for the aesthetic. Striking yet simple. He was about to say as much to her but then thought he would sound like the uncultured man he was, so he let it pass.
But as they gathered around the dining room, where Mr. Lambert and Rebecca had laid out his plans, he was reminded of his thoughts again. While he should have been focused on her father, Valentine couldn’t help that his gaze continued to wander over toward Rebecca, who sat across from him in a deep-green gown that brought out the highlights in her eyes.
Mr. Lambert had just finished explaining how he had tied in the various styles of the house from over the years with his current neoclassical style, and was now reviewing the additional wing he would add to the estate. Rebecca then chimed in, pointing out the innovations her father had added — a shower off of Valentine’s bedchamber, moving some of the servant’s areas so that they would be closer to the rooms they served.
“I love it,” Mrs. St. Vincent said with a wide grin, and Valentine nodded, though he was not quite as thrilled as his mother was. It was masterly, to be sure, but there was no way to pay for any of this without sending the dukedom even deeper into debt. His mother didn’t seem to care, but then, why would she? It was not her responsibility to look after his properties nor his finances.
He scratched his head, trying to find the best way to put into words what he needed to say without Mr. Lambert thinking he was being insulting.
“It is very fine work, Mr. Lambert,” he said. “I am much impressed.”
Rebecca eyed him, raising an eyebrow. He knew her expressions well enough now to know she was asking him what the “but” was.
“I am simply unsure if we need it all to be quite so impressive,” he said. “Such as the additional wing. We don’t even use all of the rooms we currently have.”
Mr. Lambert stood, pushing back his chair, a frown twisting the corners of his lips.
“You said you wanted an extra wing! It was no small feat to design.”
Designs on a Duke: The Bluestocking Scandals Book 1 Page 11