He teased and tortured, and once her hips came up off the mattress in response, she recoiled in humiliation. She’d put her lady parts so dangerously close to his—
Without hesitation, he grabbed her hips, positioning her just as he seemed to want her.
“Oh God, Eliza.” The tone of his voice had her struggling to sit up to see what it was he was looking at.
But he was looking at her. He was looking…there.
What could be so marvelous about there that he would—
But then he lowered his head, and she forgot about everything.
The pleasure bordered on pain, and she came up completely off the mattress, driving herself into his mouth. He groaned and took a firmer grip on her hips, pulling her toward him as she grasped at what was left of the bedclothes.
The tension built with every lick, with every suckle of his lips. She squirmed and tried to get away, but his hands held her firmly until she knew she could endure no more.
“Dax, please,” she begged, but he wouldn’t listen to her. He wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t take this any longer.
He shifted suddenly, and with one final caress, she exploded against his tongue, her body convulsing on a wave of pure energy that buzzed through each and every one of her limbs. Her scream was strangled as she tried to recover her senses, and when she thought she was lost to sensation, Dax gathered her into his arms, holding her more tightly than he ever had before.
Her heart rate slowed, her breathing evened out. Her arms remained weak, and there was a different kind of dampness between her legs.
“What…” But she couldn’t finish the question.
He pressed his lips softly to her forehead before tucking her head under his chin.
“That was pleasure,” he whispered, tightening his arms about her.
“I didn’t know,” she mumbled, her eyes drifting shut.
Another soft kiss flitted across her forehead.
“I know,” he said. “Now go to sleep.”
It was only as she let slumber take her that she remembered he still wore his trousers.
* * *
He had never had a problem acquiring the attentions of a good woman, and as he lay in the near dark, holding his satiated, sleeping wife in his arms, Dax knew he had never known pleasure like this before regardless of the number of women he’d had.
It frightened him.
It was true Eliza was not at all what society deemed acceptable, what a man would deem appealing, but to him, she was utterly perfect. Her breasts were small but pert and perfectly filled his palm. Her skin was the creamy paleness he thought only existed in the works of Renaissance masters. Every line, every curve, every dip of muscle and bone begged for his kiss, and he knew he would spend this summer discovering every inch of her body.
That was what frightened him most.
In the exploration, could he keep his heart immune to her charm? Could he keep his mind focused on the task at hand?
His plan had seemed so simple, so safe, but he hadn’t taken into account the possibility of actually enjoying his wife’s company. He had witnessed any number of societal marriages where the couple were little more than acquaintances who sometimes shared a bed when necessity dictated it. Such an existence was entirely delectable to his way of thinking, that was until he’d met Eliza.
He’d meant what he said. He did enjoy her company. Her wit and charm undid him. He’d laughed more in the week since meeting her than he had in nearly seven years.
Sebastian was right. It wasn’t his wife’s appearance that would be the threat. It would be her relentless personality. Eliza had a way with honesty that was refreshing and unburdening. He hadn’t expected that.
He swallowed and tightened his arms about her as he willed his body to calm. She was exhausted and needed her rest, but that didn’t stop him from remembering the way her body had reacted to him. The deep, involuntarily sounds she’d made as he’d tasted her skin, the way her legs had opened for him, how she’d responded to his touch, pressing into him as if she couldn’t get enough.
He closed his eyes. He had to stop thinking about it, or he’d never sleep.
Carefully, he eased himself out from around her and slipped from the bed. He padded over to the remnants of his dinner, and in a single gulp, finished the last of the wine. Henry continued to snore from where he’d fallen asleep beside the fire after his luxurious dinner, and the hearth crackled merrily behind the dog.
Finishing the wine, he returned the glass to the table and cast one last look back at Eliza, soundly asleep in the bed. The firelight reached just far enough to caress her in a soft glow of orange and yellow, illuminating her in the way he found so appealing. As if she were something not of this world, and he was unworthy of her presence.
He forced himself to turn away, and painfully, his gaze fell on the connecting door. He should leave her be. Retreat to his own rooms and relieve himself of the pressure in his trousers. He had no business spending the night with his duchess. After all, that was not at all a part of the plan.
But as he stood there contemplating that cold, unyielding connecting door, he realized he didn’t want to walk through it. All he wanted was to spend the night next to Eliza. He needn’t touch her. He needn’t wake her. He just wanted to be with her.
He expelled a harsh breath and raked his hand through his hair.
God, he was in danger. He was in very real danger.
He took a step toward the door, but he couldn’t make himself go farther.
Without thought, he spun and made his way back to the bed. Quietly, he shed his trousers and naked, slipped back beneath the covers of the bed.
He settled on the edge of the mattress, so far from his wife he might have fallen completely from the bed, but it was as if he were making a bargain with himself. He could stay the night, but he must do so with an insurmountable space between them.
It was a right proper plan until Eliza turned in her sleep, a single hand moving across the sheets toward him.
“Dax.”
His name, so sleepily, slipped between her lips, and for one unutterable moment, he hung suspended on a precipice. He knew this was a moment of decision even as he didn’t know. It was only his wife, reaching for him in her sleep only—
Her eyes opened with a soft flutter, and she blinked, as if taking in her surroundings and trying to recall where she was.
He moved, no longer able to help himself.
“Shhh,” he whispered, sliding back into his place beside her as he gathered her into his arms. “Go back to sleep. You’ve had a long day and need your rest.”
He expected her to drift back off, but instead, a mischievous smile came to her lips. She lifted her hand and placed a single finger in the cleft of his chin.
“I’m not sleepy,” she murmured.
He couldn’t stop his own smile nor the surge of lust that swept over him as she touched him. It happened every time she laid a hand on him, but unlike the timid caresses she’d given him before, now her hand was sure, confident. It slipped from his chin and began to explore, and it was all he could do not to roll on top of her and finish what he’d started. Her hand slipped lower, tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his neck.
“I’ve always wondered what that felt like.”
He sucked in a breath. “What what felt like?”
“A man’s beard. I’d always wondered. All the wallflowers used to speak of it.”
He swallowed. “Oh?”
She nodded, her hair tickling the underside of his chin. “When you know you’ll never have something, it’s hard not to think of it. Every wallflower imagines what it would be like. To have someone. To not be so alone.”
He didn’t want to keep having this conversation. He didn’t want to hear about the life Eliza imagined. He didn’t want to hear the echoes of her loneliness. He didn’t want to fall that much more in love with her.
“What did you imagine?” The question was hardly a whisper, escapin
g his lips before he could stop it.
Again, she shook her head. “I didn’t. I couldn’t bear to think about what I would never have.”
He captured her wandering hand and turned, pivoting until he was atop her, and he had her hand pinned above her head. Her eyes opened fully, and what he saw there ended him.
Longing. Disbelief. Acceptance. And the worst of all, hope.
“Eliza.” Her name was an oath just before he bent his head and kissed her.
It wasn’t like any of the kisses they’d shared before. That had just been physical. This was so much more. He poured everything he had into the kiss, everything he could give her and everything he was afraid to.
She struggled against his grip, and he let her go. Her arms came around him with a ferocity that tightened his chest, and he pulled her even closer. He savored her, worshiped her, deepening the kiss until she moaned against his lips.
He hadn’t meant for anything more, but then she entwined her legs with his, running a heel up his calf.
He tore his mouth from hers. “Eliza.” He saw the hurt that flashed in her eyes, and he knew she once again thought she’d done something wrong. He cradled her face in his hands. “Every time you touch me I can’t bear it. Do you understand that? Your touch sets me on fire.”
Her eyes widened, and her lips parted. “It…does?” The hesitancy in her voice broke his heart, and he dipped his head, capturing her lips once more.
“Let me show you.”
He found her still wet, and adjusting ever so much, he slid inside of her. He closed his eyes against the sensation, gritted his teeth until he was in danger of breaking a tooth.
“God, Eliza. You torment me.”
When he opened his eyes again, he found that mischievous smile once more on her face.
“You’re enjoying this,” he accused her, and of all possible miracles, she laughed, the sound soft and wholesome, and he could not for the life of him think of another time in which he’d laughed while making love to a woman.
But he’d never before made love to a woman like his wife.
He growled and kissed her again as he began to move. Like before, she arched against him, and it took all his strength not to come immediately. He wanted her to enjoy this. He wanted her to know what love really was.
The thought sent shivers down his spine, but all too quickly, they dissipated, leaving him with only the sheer knowing that he wanted this more than anything.
He couldn’t hold on. She was so tight and clung to him in undulating caresses. He reached a hand between them and found her sensitive nub. He flicked it, and when she cried out against his mouth, he soothed it with a gentle stroke.
This time she broke the kiss.
“Dax.” His name was a question and a declaration all at once.
He stroked her again as he quickened his pace. Her body coiled around him, and it was as if he could feel the anticipation of her release, and it was too much.
“Eliza.” The word carried with it the last of his restraint, and he let go.
When she came, it was too much, and he lost himself in the waves of pleasure that washed through her and thus through him.
He tried not to crush her when he collapsed, but her arms had tightened around him and pulled him closer. He shifted, falling to the pillow beside her and dragging her into the crook of his arm to keep from breaking her hold on him.
He didn’t know why, but he wanted to hold her now. Never before had he lingered after the sexual act, but he was coming to understand things would be different with Eliza, and right then, the county militia couldn’t have ordered him from the bed.
“Dax.” Her voice was tentative, and alarm coursed through him.
“Yes?”
“Dax, is it always…” In the pause, he filled the sentence with any number of things he feared she may end it with, but then she said, “Is it always like that?”
He smiled against the top of her head.
“No.” He spoke the word with an assurance he didn’t realize until he felt it escape him. “Only with you,” he said.
He could feel her smile against his neck, and she snuggled closer to him, sending his heart into a spiral dive.
“Then I’m very glad you removed your trousers.”
He couldn’t help it. He laughed.
Chapter 10
When she woke, the bed was empty beside her, and she allowed a terrifying moment of insecurity to swamp her. She sucked in a breath and pushed the hair from her eyes, scanning the empty room around her.
Completely empty.
Henry was gone as well.
Insecurity was replaced with curiosity.
She turned to the bank of windows on her left and saw the edges of the drapes outlined in yellowy sunshine. She scrambled out of the bed only to realize she was utterly naked when her bare feet hit the floor. She spun around, trying to find her dressing gown while also trying to shield her more private bits. Whom she was shielding herself from she wasn’t sure, but an inordinate surge of modesty suddenly overcame her.
Finding her dressing gown, she slipped inside of it and tightened the belt more than was necessary. She wanted to discover what lay behind those drapes, but she knew there were other necessities. Making her way to the corner, she pulled the corded bell pull to summon her maid, unsure where anyone was in the house nor what time it was. Only then would she allow herself to tug at the heavy drapes and pull one aside.
She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but what greeted her took her breath away. The ocean was a magnificent beast that roared its majestic head into cresting waves against the rugged coast that fell away behind the manor. The landscape was rough and ragged, so unlike the gently turned gardens of London and the carefully manicured grounds of country houses. This was something else. This was ethereal and confounding, terrifying and beautiful all at once.
The sound of the door opening behind her cut her perusal short, but she was pleased to see Lucy sweep into the room with a tray of tea.
“Good morning, Your Grace.” Lucy was ever chirper no matter the situation, and she presented Eliza with a steaming cup of tea and a bright smile. “I should say the kitchens are right organized here. I wouldn’t be surprised if Cook had taken a turn in the local militia.”
Eliza couldn’t help but to return her smile. “Where’s Henry?”
“He’s in the gardens with His Grace.” Lucy disappeared into the dressing room off of Eliza’s bedchamber and returned with a freshly pressed muslin gown of lavender and pink sprigs. “Do you know I don’t think the duke’s ever had a dog? They’ve been out there for some time, and I would hazard to say he’s almost acting like a schoolboy.”
“Henry or the duke?” Eliza couldn’t help herself.
Something about the possibilities of the day, the newness of everything around her, had her normally pithy tongue at an extreme advantage that morning.
Lucy laughed. “Both!”
Eliza dressed quickly in between sips of tea and before long, she’d made her way back down to where she’d come in from the carriage the night before. From there, she had entirely no idea where to go.
A footman took pity on her. “His Grace is in the east garden.” He gave a neat bow. “I’d be happy to escort you, Your Grace.”
She smiled. “Thank you…” She waited for the footman to introduce himself as she could not at all recollect any of the names she’d been given the previous night, and it was curious to find him blushing.
“It’s George, Your Grace. I’m here to serve in anything you might need.”
She followed helplessly as George wound his way through endless corridors and vexing turns. For a moment, she feared she’d never learn her way about the manor house, but then they passed an exquisitely carved grandfather clock in one of the many drawing rooms they passed through.
“It is truly after ten?” She turned a worried gaze on George who halted abruptly at her outburst.
“It is, Your Grace.”
“But where is everyone?”
George’s smile was assuring. “His Grace asked that the house remain quiet until you were about. After your long journey, he wanted you to rest.”
She warmed instantly at George’s words and had to turn away to hide her blush. It wasn’t the long journey that had exhausted her. Dax had kept her awake most of the night with his lovemaking.
She cleared her throat. “That was rather thoughtful. Thank you.”
George bowed. “Of course, Your Grace.”
He turned once more and continued their journey through drawing rooms and corridors. Finally when she was sure at any moment they would topple directly into the ocean, George indicated a final door with a bow.
“It’s straight through here, Your Grace. You shan’t miss the doors leading into the gardens.”
She thanked him and pressed on. She’d expected another drawing room but faltered when she came into a dark study with resplendent bookcases of warm wood and deep inviting furniture. Along the wall opposite were tall doors of glass panes, thrown wide to the morning sunshine. Salty air spilled in and shook the curtains into a whirl of soft fabric.
This was Dax’s study. She didn’t know how she knew, but she could sense it. The rest of the rooms had been so impersonal, but not this one. The furnishings were carefully chosen with an eye toward comfort rather than appearance. The morning papers lay scattered about the ponderous desk set to one side, and a half-finished game of chess lay abandoned on a table before the dormant fireplace.
Carefully, she proceeded, suddenly feeling as though she were invading Dax’s privacy. She’d traversed half of the room before coming upon a basket tucked against the side of a chair. It was filled with toys. Curiosity had her bending ever so slightly to take in the worn blocks and carved horses, scarred with age and use. She touched a single block with only her fingertips and realized how much she did not know about her husband, and yet she had never been more intimate with another in her life.
The Duke and the Wallflower Page 13