A Duke Changes Everything (The Duke's Den #1)

by Christy Carlyle

  “Come here,” she demanded, her voice husky and low.

  Nick settled between Mina’s spread thighs, but held himself aloft, hands braced on either side of her. He’d never been with a woman like this before, eyes locked, his body cocooned against hers.

  All his couplings were cloaked in darkness, with paramours who kept their backs to him more often than not. Standing, pressed against a wall, bent over a settee. The beast in him wanted Mina in all those ways, but this, the prospect of crushing her under his weight, terrified him.

  She stunned him by arching up on one hand and taking his mouth in an eager, open kiss, nipping at his lower lip, stroking him with her tongue. He groaned against her lips. Then she wrapped both arms around his shoulders and let go, pulling him down with the weight of her body.

  “What must I do to make you yield?”

  “That was a very good start.” Nick let her take a bit more of his weight, pressed his belly to hers, his cock nestling against her sex.

  “Yes,” she hissed, wriggling against him, as if she knew exactly where she wanted him to be.

  When he still held back, the torment of it made his muscles quiver.

  Mina smiled up at him, the most seductive grin he’d ever seen in his life. “I’m not afraid.”

  “There may be pain.”

  “It can’t be worse than waiting.”

  Nick dipped his head against her neck and chuckled. “My impatient hellion.”

  She ground her hips against him, his aching length sliding against her sex. Little by little, inch by inch, she drew him in. Nick licked her neck, nipped at her tender skin, then found her mouth. He thrust deeper as he kissed her, losing the fight to hold back and go slow. Every time she gasped or moaned, he stilled for a moment, fearing he’d gone too far. But then she stroked a hand down his back, skimming the ridges of scars, and reached for his arse. Grasping at his muscles, pulling him closer, bucking to get him deeper.

  “Don’t hold back,” she said raggedly, her breath coming in gasps. “I want every part of you.”

  Nick pushed deeper, giving her all of him. Her eyes widened, then she moved too, leading the rhythm, lifting her legs to get him closer. He took her mouth again and again as he buried himself inside all her heat and warmth, and he knew that she was where he wanted to be.

  Always.

  “Mina.” He called her name because he was lost. No more control. No more holding back. His release built inside him, but he needed her pleasure first. Reaching down between them, he stroked inside her folds, took her nipple into his mouth and suckled until she keened and trembled and melted against him. Only then did he let his climax crash in, a blinding burst of pleasure that left him dizzy and dazed.

  Nick realized a moment later that he was still tucked against her, his full weight bearing down. He rolled onto his side, wrapping Mina in his arms to pull her along with him. She draped a leg over his possessively, fitting her belly against his hip.

  Nick realized after a moment that his breathing was tight and shallow. He was waiting for it all to burst. For the bliss soaking his soul to fade away. For the odd wholeness he felt to dissipate like morning mist.

  This was the moment when he usually departed. Hell, he’d already have been dressed and gone by now. But here, with Mina, he wasn’t sure he ever wished to move again. Her arms around him, her fingers sifting his hair, the taste of her still on his tongue—this was more contentment than he’d ever known in one and thirty years.

  Far more than he deserved.

  Nick woke with a start, as he always did from his nightmares. But the usual demons weren’t fresh in his memory.

  Someone was gently rapping at the bedroom door. Normally, he would have shot out of bed or shot whoever dreamed of bothering him at—he squinted at the clock on the fireplace mantel—three in the morning?

  He braced an elbow on the mattress to push out of bed and felt Mina. Or rather, the absence of her warmth as soon as he moved away from her. She was curled up, her back to his side, hands tucked under her cheek. He couldn’t resist kissing her shoulder, running his fingers through a curling strand of hair lying across his pillow.

  He didn’t want to leave her. And more than that, he didn’t want her to wake and leave him, so he had to stop whoever was on the other side of the door. He pulled on his trousers and padded toward the threshold.

  “Spencer?”

  He was the only one with enough brass to bother him at such an ungodly hour.

  “We have a situation, sir.” Trouble, he meant.

  Nick slid the bolt and pulled the door open a crack to shield Mina from his factotum’s view. “Who is it? Can’t you get some of the men to deal with it?” They employed a handful of men to keep the club secure and members safe from themselves and others.

  “You have visitors, sir.”

  “Do you know the hour?”

  Spencer bowed his head a moment and said quietly, “The young lady’s cousin, Mr. Iverson, and Lord Huntley. They insist on speaking to you. I asked them to wait in your office.”

  Nick pinched the bridge of his nose and glanced back at Mina, who still slept soundly. He should have expected Fairchild to come after her when he’d failed to return her to Iverson’s. What his two business partners had to do with any of this, he hadn’t a clue.

  Most of all, he didn’t want to involve Mina in a scene that would cause her even a flicker of regret for the evening they’d spent together.

  “Give me a moment.” He closed the door when Spencer nodded and retreated.

  Donning his shirt, he approached the bed once more. Just the sight of her made him want her again.

  Instead, he left, closing the door quietly, and walked down the hall to face his trio of visitors.

  “Gentlemen,” he said as he stepped in the room, and only just ducked a punch flying at him from the right.

  Fairchild swung and missed and tried to swing again before Iverson restrained him.

  “That’s enough.” Iverson’s shout echoed in the low-ceilinged room.

  “Not nearly enough, Mr. Iverson. This man has absconded with my cousin with the claim of helping her and now he’s . . .” The young man swallowed and glared at Nick. “Ruined her.”

  Nick sighed heavily and glanced at Iverson, who looked as livid as Fairchild, and then at Huntley, who looked as worried as if Nick had been sentenced to the gallows.

  “This is badly done, Lyon.” Iverson spoke in that frighteningly calm way he did when he was seething beneath the surface. “Why did you not return Miss Thorne to my home last evening?”

  “How’s her ankle?” Huntley asked quietly.

  “Yes, is it broken?” Fairchild’s tone turned more concerned than wrathful.

  “Her ankle is fine.” Mention of any part of Mina’s body brought fresh memories of every part of her body to Nick’s mind. He felt his cheeks warm, and saw horror dawn on her cousin’s face.

  “My God, you have no decency.”

  “Of course I don’t. But I would never harm Mina. I promise you that.”

  Fairchild let out a little growl and surged forward, fists balled. “But you already have.”

  “Gentlemen.” Huntley came forward, a half smile on his face. “Would you mind if the duke and I have a word alone?” His voice was butter smooth, low and calm. His charming voice. The cajoling one he wielded so well.

  Fairchild and Iverson looked at Huntley as if he’d lost his mind.

  “Trust me,” he said with a sly smile that would inspire anyone with a whit of sense to do nothing of the sort. “Take Mr. Fairchild to the breakfast room, Iverson. The cooks are up early. Surely they can provide some repast or a strong cup of tea. Tea solves all problems, doesn’t it?”

  “No, it most assuredly does not,” Fairchild bellowed. “I want to speak to Mina. I’m taking her home.”

  Tinder struck the well of anger in Nick, and irritation sparked to life. “Mina decides where she wishes to go and when.”

  Huntley was done with
charm. He put one hand on Iverson’s shoulder, the other on Fairchild’s, and began shoving the men toward the door. Iverson pushed back. He and Nick and Huntley all fairly matched each other for height and weight, but Fairchild twisted around as if he was prepared to take them all on in a brawl.

  “Just go,” Huntley snapped. The sound of his usually mellow voice transformed to a fearsome bark stopped everyone in their tracks. “Bollocks, give us ten minutes.” He spoke only to Iverson, and finally his words had the desired effect.

  “Ten minutes,” their business partner warned as he shepherded Mina’s still-grousing cousin though the door. “Then we depart with Miss Thorne.”

  “They’re not taking her anywhere,” Nick said when he and Huntley were alone.

  “What if she wishes to go?”

  “You speak as if we’re not both returning to the same place.” Nick took a deep breath before adding, “I still have matters to attend to at Enderley.”

  “Indeed, you do.” Huntley lowered himself into one of the chairs in the corner of the room, crossed his long legs, and positioned his tented fingers under his chin. “What of this matter, Nick?”

  The wave of his hand took in Nick’s disheveled state.

  “Did you have no thought for the lady’s reputation?” Huntley tipped his head. “You’re usually so careful with your dalliances.”

  “This isn’t a dalliance.”

  “No, clearly it’s not. So what is it?” Huntley smiled, not his usual smugness, but an expression full of understanding. Perhaps sympathy. “You and I are far too clever to fall into love’s snare.”

  Nick held his breath, working to keep emotion from his face, attempting to perfect that gambler’s mien that gave away nothing. Problem was, Mina had torn down all his facades.

  Huntley started to grin. Then his mouth fell open and he returned a gaping stare. “My God, you’ve been struck down. You’ve fallen.”

  Nick scrubbed a hand through his hair, scratching at the back of his head. He could not name what this was. Love? Maybe. Though he wasn’t sure the word meant to him what it meant to the poets and storytellers. It was nothing he’d ever aspired to. Nothing he’d ever sought. A strange, ephemeral thing he’d rarely felt.

  Love.

  Could this overwhelming certainty that Mina was his and he could never belong to anyone else be love? It felt titanic. Overwhelming. She was essential. Her smile, her stubbornness, her sweet, impulsive nature—he couldn’t live without them anymore. Only this—the fullness he felt with her—mattered. Only going back to bed and keeping her with him mattered.

  Love seemed too simple a term. He wasn’t certain what he felt for her could fit into the confines of a word he’d never spoken.

  “What the hell is love?” he finally asked.

  Looking at the horrified expression on Huntley’s face, he suspected he’d asked precisely the wrong person.

  “How should I know? You tell me. You’re in the middle of it.” Huntley had leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head hanging as if he felt ill. His skin had gone ashen. “Iverson is determined to find a wife. You’ve been felled by a fine pair of eyes and a perfect bosom. Will this madness come for me next?”

  “First, never mention Mina’s breasts again. Second, stop thinking about yourself for a moment, you selfish bastard.”

  “Yes, of course.” Huntley stood, nodded, and inhaled sharply. “I’m here for you, my friend. To help you out of this muddle.” He began ticking off items on his fingers. “First, we must find a way to keep Fairchild from murdering you.”

  “He’s just being protective.”

  “Indeed. The boy’s heart is in the right place, but he truly does loathe you at the moment. You’ll need to smooth that out. Apologize. Finance his thresher. Whatever it takes.”

  Nick rolled his hand, urging Huntley to go on. It was almost as if the man was beginning to make a modicum of sense.

  “Then we have to begin planning.”

  “Planning?”

  “Because of your title, everyone will expect something lavish, but you can do as you wish. The only requirement is haste. You do know you must marry her?”

  If mention of love put Nick in mind of traps, the word marriage felt like a noose tightening around his neck. Husband? He’d never imagined himself as such. And he’d known few men who hadn’t failed at the task. What if he failed Mina?

  He lived in the underbelly of a gambling club, in a room without windows. He was moody and unfriendly to all but three people. And now Mina, though heaven knew he’d behaved like a fool with her more often than not.

  “I take it this means you’ll reside at Enderley Castle on a more regular basis.”

  “No. Maybe.” His throat went dry. “I don’t know.”

  “What will become of the club?”

  “I don’t know.” Lyon’s was a part of him. His creation. His only true success.

  “My sister knows more of all this than I do, of course, but I suspect the first question will be whether you want a church wedding or something more private. What do you prefer?”

  “I don’t bloody know!” Nick hated not knowing. He always knew what his next step would be. It’s how he protected himself. How he ensured that no one could catch him off guard.

  Huntley bit the corner of his mouth but couldn’t keep his lips from twitching up into a grin.

  “What’s so damn amusing?”

  “This is how I know it’s true, whatever you feel for this Miss Thorne. You have no strategy.” Huntley stepped forward. “You claim you don’t have a heart, but I’m fairly certain you’ve just made a decision with the rusty old organ.”

  “I want her.” Words welled up, like a confession he couldn’t hold back any longer. “As I’ve never wanted anyone—or anything—this much.”

  “Well, then I’ll leave you to it.” Huntley gave Nick’s shoulder an encouraging pat.

  Yes, leave. If everyone would just leave, he could go back to Mina and the indescribable joy of being with her and locking out the world.

  “Now go. Your next step is the most daunting of all,” Huntley said before he headed toward the door.

  “Is it?” Nick frowned. His next step was going to be returning to bed with Mina and making love to her again before the sun came up, if he had anything to say about it.

  “You need to go and ask Miss Thorne to marry you.”

  Nick’s frown deepened to a glower.

  “Good luck,” Huntley said from the threshold, adding a wink. “Ladies are changeable. One never knows what they’ll say.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Colin, please calm down.” Mina emerged from the dressing room she’d found through a low, concealed doorway hidden behind part of the red velvet drapery in Nick’s bedchamber.

  Her cousin had woken her with a series of knocks loud enough to bring the entire club to attention. She was only grateful that he’d brought the traveling gown she’d worn to London. Taking a few minutes to wash and change into the skirt and bodice had given her an excuse to escape her cousin’s tirade.

  “How can you be so serene? Your reputation—”

  “You keep saying that word as if I’m some debutante. No one in Barrowmere will care how I spent my evening.”

  He blushed so fiercely, she thought he might catch fire.

  “Certainly no one in London cares what I do.”

  “What of the duke? Will London not care that the Duke of Tremayne kidnapped an innocent from a Mayfair dinner party?”

  “That’s not at all what happened and you know it.” If not for Colin’s already riled state, Mina would have laughed. “What’s gotten into you? Do you secretly read scandal rags when I’m not looking?”

  “No, but if I did, I’ve no doubt you and Tremayne would get a mention in this morning’s edition.” He stalked past the fireplace and then dropped onto one of the gold damask settees, lowering his head to his hands. “I should have protected you.”

  “I’m not a child, Colin. I’m
older than you are, for heaven’s sake. A spinster, most would say.”

  “Let’s just go home.” He glanced at her, and she’d never seen him more forlorn. “The next train leaves in less than an hour.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until I speak to him.” In the last few hours, she’d slept in Nick’s arms and been closer to him than to anyone she’d ever known. Even if they’d never have more than those hours, she wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.

  She’d hated waking alone in the enormous bed, the sheets still warm where Nick had slept. According to Colin, he’d brought Mr. Iverson and Lord Huntley to confront Nick, and she wondered if he’d hated leaving her as much as she disliked waking without him.

  “The man is a scoundrel, Mina.” Her cousin stood and faced her, his gaze bleak and beseeching. “Please don’t set your heart on him.”

  “It’s too late for that,” she admitted quietly. Far too late.

  “I don’t want to see you hurt, as you were before.”

  “That was infatuation.”

  “And this? What’s different about Tremayne?”

  “Everything.” She couldn’t catalog her feelings or sift them. They were too fresh, and Colin wasn’t in any mood to understand.

  “Well, then we must hope Mr. Iverson and Lord Huntley can convince him.”

  Mina ignored her cousin’s bluster and busied herself collecting the gown she’d borrowed from Mr. Iverson. She laid the red velvet dress on a side table, smoothed out the wrinkles, then bent to collect Nick’s dove-gray waistcoat. A flash of color caught her eye, and she kneeled to examine a long pink ribbon that had fallen from the pocket.

  Her ribbon.

  A burst of warmth filled her chest. He’d kept her ribbon, tucked it away, right against his chest. That’s where she would have happily remained all day if Colin hadn’t arrived.

  She smile, picked up the strip of satin, and tucked it back into Nick’s waistcoat. As if she’d emerged from a daze, Colin’s words finally registered.

  “Convince the duke of what?” A twisting queasiness filled her stomach when Colin looked at her as if she’d gone daft.

  “To marry you, of course.”