He watched as indecision tightened her face. “To be a man’s mistress…”
He supposed he understood. But her fingers fluttered and she shifted as though the answer made her uncomfortable or she wasn’t being truthful. “A duke’s paramour holds more sway than being Mrs. Winterset.”
She took another swallow of wine and didn’t answer. But he saw it again. The way her face twinged. Did she do that every time he used her married name?
“Dinner is served,” the butler called from the door.
He held out his elbow. “You know,” he started, “if we’re going to get to know one another, we might as well be honest.” She jolted, the shudder reverberating through his coat.
They followed to the dining room, silence settling about them until they’d been seated. Her gaze had cast down at the table and he itched to lift her chin again. Instead, he cleared his throat. “The scar is from a red-hot poker. Wielded during a fight with my former fiancée.”
She gasped, one of her hands clunking against the table. “A woman did that to you?”
He quirked a brow. “Any man worth his salt is at a woman’s mercy.”
“How so?”
He waved a hand in the air. “Even with my face on fire, I’d never strike back.”
A little something in her melted. He held an air of danger but those words…they put her at ease. “So, what happened with this woman?”
A muscle in his jaw ticced. That was a story he’d not delve into. “We parted ways shortly after.” But he’d hoped he’d accomplished his mission. He’d wanted to share so that she might. He’d like to know exactly what held her back from accepting his terms. And from life in general. He knew, of course. Despite the financial freedom he offered, a woman’s very security, her identity was tied into the match she made. But, somehow, he sensed something else also held her back. “Now it’s your turn. You married to be a good person.”
The soup was served and he watched as she stared into beef broth. “My husband. He was ill when I married him. He never seemed able to breathe right. Every winter it got worse until the last…”
His brow drew together. His chest tightened both in admiration and, honestly, regret. It was a difficult choice she’d made and one that had lasting ramifications. She wanted to be a good person so she’d married a sick man. “You married him to be his nurse.”
One of her shoulders raised. “That was part of the reason, to be certain.”
He grimaced. He’d sensed that she was kind. And he had his evidence but now he wondered, would a woman who married a sick man consent to being a temporary fixture in his life? Was he a complete cad for even asking? He didn’t want to feel remorse. He’d help her. Make her life better and ultimately give her choices. With the money he’d provide, any number of men would wish to wed her. But a woman with that sort of moral compass…
His gut clenched when he thought of her refusal. He wanted her more than he’d wanted anything in quite some time.
He cocked his head. Surprisingly, she’d make a good duchess. She had a quiet calm presence about her. And she possessed an inner dignity and reserve suited to become one. Not to mention her sweet and alluring beauty.
But he’d never marry a woman to whom he was so attracted. After what had happened to him years ago, a relationship filled with this sort of passion would need an exit strategy.
She looked up at him. “You’re doing it again.”
“What?” Then he realized. He’d cocked his head again and he nearly grinned. “I was wondering what your lineage is?”
She picked up her spoon, delicately dipping the utensil into the warm liquid. “I am a vicar’s daughter. My husband was the first son of the second son of the Viscount of Cloverly.”
Intriguing. She was related to the peerage and educated enough to be suitable. Not that he was considering a proposal.
“And what is your fear? Entering into a bargain with me?”
She gave him a rueful smile. “There are too many concerns to count.”
“Try.” He leaned in, not bothering to even pretend to eat.
She took a breath. “My mother would turn over in her grave.”
“It’s a mother’s entire job to be disapproving.” He waved his hand to dismiss her comment.
She shook her head, setting the spoon down again. “I thought for a time that I was everything I was supposed to be. The good daughter doing God’s work.”
He grimaced then. She was meant to be a wife not a mistress. Even a fool could see it was true. He hated himself a little. He fisted a hand under the table. Or perhaps he hated his past that hardened him against such a woman. “And the reasons you are tempted by my offer?”
She fiddled with the corner of her napkin. Her slender fingers and tapered hands touching the napkin with a gentleness that made him imagine them dancing over the skin of his chest in just such a way. “As we’ve already discussed, financial stability.” Her hand fluttered. “A certain level of independence.”
So…there was hope. “Both true. You could choose to marry or not, socialize or not. Very few women will have as much choice as you will.”
She nodded. “That is true, I suppose. It leaves me with a great deal of options.” She reached for her spoon again. “And oddly, the safest route before me, I would guess.”
Now that was a bizarre comment to make. “Now I am not sure if I should be insulted. Very few women consider me safe.”
Chapter Four
His words were undoubtedly true. On the surface, there was little about this man that appeared safe. From his scar to his proposition to the sheer power he possessed, right down to the intensity of his stare, he was a force to be reckoned with.
She was aware that he did not need to offer her a home and money. He need not calmly discuss the pros and cons of entering an arrangement with him. Many men in his position could just take her without asking. It was a sad fact of life. And she believed him when he’d said he’d never hurt a woman. The evidence was before her every time she looked at his ravaged face.
Which strengthened the case to accept his offer.
The staff served the next course and each began to eat the roasted duck with delicate au gratin potatoes and asparagus as silence fell between them.
She didn’t mind the quiet, in fact, it was nice. Companionable, easy. Neither word at all what she’d expected from this man who had practically stolen all the air from the room the moment he’d entered it.
He took another sip of his wine, then held up his glass. They sat across from one another, the head of the table empty. “May I offer another toast?”
She reached for her glass, eyeing him as she held the bowl between two fingers. “What are we toasting to this time?”
“The future.” He clinked his glass to hers.
She gave him a long stare before she asked, “Our future together or the one after that?”
“Well, I hope it’s together.” He winked then, but she shook her head.
“Whether I accept your proposal or not, the future is not ours. That’s the point, isn’t it?”
He set down his glass, his eyes narrowing. “Does that bother you?”
She shook her head. “No, not at all. I’d consider it one of the pros.”
He tilted his head to the side, a flicker of interest crossing his face. “Explain.”
“Again?” A small smile tugged at her lips. “Is that what being with a duke entails? A great many explanations?”
She felt the change in him. His energy went from relaxed to hungry in a moment as every line in his body tightened. “No. That isn’t what it would entail at all.”
Her own breath caught and not sure what to do with herself, she picked up her fork and took another bite of her succulent duck. His change in demeanor was both exciting and intimidating all in the same moment and she didn’t know quite how to respond.
Silence fell again but this one far more tense than the last. Several more courses were delivered. A fish course, a
vegetable course and then a custard. She barely ate and certainly didn’t taste what she did.
After they set down their silverware and their plates were removed by the unobtrusive servants, Damian pushed back his chair. He moved around the table and offered his arm. “I think we need to have a more private conversation.”
“Private?” she asked, her lips trembling. “We were the only two people at dinner.”
He eyed the butler, frowning. “We were not.”
She hesitated, her hand hovering near his arm. “I’m not certain this is a good idea.”
He made a sound deep in his throat. Was he irritated? She dropped her hand. A woman on her own had to be careful. And now that he’d started making a list, that was a check in the column of reasons this was a bad idea. The energy pulsing between them had a dangerous edge.
She knew the emotion she felt wasn’t akin to fear, but she also sensed he was a threat to her for different reasons. Her reaction to him, for example, would color her ability to make a sound decision.
He shifted, bending lower. “I have something I’d like to show you.”
“What?” she asked, still hesitating.
He dipped closer to her ear. “Another reason to accept my offer.”
His suggestive tone washed away her last bit of hesitation. Frightened as she was, she was more curious. She slipped her hand into his arm as he gently pulled her chair back. But the moment her fingers touched his skin, tingling started dancing down her arm along her spine and straight to the junction of her legs.
She’d never experienced pleasure with a man before, but this made her wonder if it was possible.
If she were a different woman, she might have asked the duke currently escorting her out of the dining room. She was certain he knew the answer. Her mother’s education on the topic had involved a discussion about how she must bear a man’s touch and to try not to cry or push him away.
She shook her head. The advice had not served her particularly well.
In fact, she’d been woefully unprepared for the marriage bed.
She nearly tripped on her own feet and he caught her, steadying her with one muscular arm. Could this man teach her how to make a future husband happy? Perhaps being his mistress could actually prepare her for a successful marriage after all.
She’d hated how angry John had become over the course of their marriage. The way he’d thought of her as a failure in their marriage. Their marriage bed.
She’d been a failure as a wife.
She shook her head as Damian led her back through the music room and out to the terrace. They moved past the ring of light and into the shadows at the back of the garden. “You really did mean private.”
“I don’t want to be interrupted.”
Her hand shook a bit as it rested in the crook of his arm. Was she scared or excited? She wasn’t entirely certain. “What are we going to do that requires this level of privacy?”
He stopped then, next to a waist-high stone wall that surrounded a stone terrace. “I’m going to kiss you again. But this time, I’m going to be thorough. I’m going to make you understand the level of passion that could develop between us.” And then his mouth swooped down and captured hers.
Never, in all her life, had one set of lips said so much without uttering a single word.
His mouth was firm, warm, commanding as his lips moved over hers. She met him touch for touch, losing herself in the pleasure he evoked. And when he pressed open her mouth to swipe his tongue across hers, the ache that had begun inside her throbbed with a greater need. A desperation for so much more than she’d imagined possible.
He pulled her close to his body and she fit against it, the feel of his lean muscles somehow satisfying and intensifying the passion growing within her. Cassandra wrapped her arms about his neck, wanting to draw him closer.
Over and over he kissed her, ravaging her mouth in a way that only made her want more than his mouth on hers, but on every inch of her skin, which fired longing to her core. And when he finally lifted his head, her mouth followed his, not sure she wanted the kiss to end.
Her mind was fuzzy with need and as her eyes fluttered open, she swiped her tongue across her swollen mouth. “That did answer several questions, I believe.”
“Which ones?” he asked, keeping her body pressed to his. “Did you decide to accept my terms?”
Bloody hell, Damian thought as he looked down at the beautiful woman in his arms. The moonlight danced off her dark hair. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes dark and sultry with desire, her body fit to his.
She had to accept his offer. He needed this woman in his bed. Desperately.
She licked her lips as she glanced up at the sky. “No. Not that,” she answered. “But I had wondered if it was possible to…” then her head dipped down as her words tapered off.
What was she going to say? “Tell me.”
“I’ve never.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’ve never felt such…” She paused again. “Need. I wasn’t sure I even could.”
She’d never finished? A woman with her passion just below the surface had never experienced pleasure at a man’s touch? A new desire roared through him. He wanted to be the man who showed her. “You can.”
“Really? Do you know that for certain?” Her nails bit into the back of his neck. “I’ve been worried that I—”
He didn’t let her finish. The best way to explain was to show her and so he dipped his head, capturing her lips again even as he wrapped his arms below her behind, and picked her up. Her legs naturally wrapped about his waist and he wished there weren’t so many clothes between them.
But they were out in the garden and it was early yet. He’d see her without them soon enough. Right now, he wished to show her what he already knew. She was capable of passion, lots of it. And he was the man to show her.
With that in mind, he ran his hands up and down her back even as he set her on the wall behind them. His cock was cradled between her legs and he pushed their hips closer together, pressing as much as he could. Despite all her skirts, she felt the pressure and moaned into his mouth. Good.
Damian slid his hands to the front, massaging up her belly and over her breasts. They filled his hands nicely, despite her trim frame and he gave the flesh a squeeze even as he ached with want. She arched her back to silently beg for more of his touch.
He let out a low guttural noise deep in his throat, moving his hand down her body all the way to her ankle before he flicked up her skirts, sliding his fingertips over her stockings and pantaloons.
As he reached her thigh, her pulse, already racing, quickened until it was pounding against his, her hands threading into his hair.
Damian parted the slit of her pantaloons and slid the tip of one finger along her seam. She cried out, thrusting her hips toward his hand and he grinned against her mouth. She was on fire, burning for him and he loved every second. He could only hope that she melted him down and reformed him again.
It had been so long since a woman had wanted him this way and he’d savor every second, the feel of her silky flesh, the need pulsing in him.
“What’s your given name?” he whispered in her ear.
“Cassandra,” she answered, her voice breathy and perfect.
“Cassandra,” he repeated, loving the feel of the name on his tongue. Desire throbbed through his body as he squeezed her behind, pressing her closer. He was going to love something else on his tongue even more. He slid his finger along her seam again, spreading her a bit wider, her slick heat enveloping his finger. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
“Yes,” she murmured, turning her face back to his.
He did kiss her then, light and tender before he pulled away and dropped to his knees. Her fingers tightened in his hair.
“Damian?” she asked, fear lacing her voice, even as he pushed her skirts higher.
“Don’t be afraid, love. You’re going to like it, I promise.”
She didn’t answer as he slid unde
r the fabric, finding her center and reached out his tongue to follow the trail his finger had just blazed. He heard the muffled sound of her gasp, felt her shudder as he repeated the movement.
Cassandra tugged at his hair, even as he circled her nub of pleasure with the tip of his tongue. Her moan told him he’d hit the right spot and he circled again, sliding a finger inside her hot channel. She was molten and he was melting for her.
Her thighs shook as he increased the pressure, giving her no repose. She tightened around him, her body’s tension building higher and higher, her moans taking on a keening pitch.
She was close. Damn if he didn’t love that sound. Her reaction couldn’t be faked, there was no artifice here. Just passion. And he’d have all of her before he was done.
Finally, she broke against him, crying out his name. He kissed the inside of her thigh before he pulled out from under her skirts. He was rock hard still but somehow completely satisfied. “Are you done worrying about whether you’re a woman of passion?”
“What?” she asked, looking down at him where he still knelt on the hard stone.
“You were concerned that it wasn’t possible for you to finish? Have I answered your question?”
“Oh yes,” she answered, combing her fingers through his hair. “Though you’ve created several more questions.”
“Such as?” he asked, cocking his head to the side to study her.
She shook her head. “Was it better or worse when I didn’t understand?”
“Why would it be worse?” he asked, slowly rising until he could capture her mouth with his own. She was soft and so pliant under him that her next words caught him completely off guard.
“I wasn’t supposed to want you. Not like this.”
Chapter Five
Cassandra was likely going to hell. She wasn’t certain she cared.
In the early days of her marriage, she did. She’d resisted any passion that rose between her and John. Not that it had been difficult. Their interludes were few and far between and when they did happen, they were over before they’d hardly begun.
Romancing the Rake: Seven Regency Romances Page 58