Jessica drew in a shaky breath. Her hands trembled. Her heart pounded. She did not know what this man meant to do. He was a Duke, arrogant and powerful, and in comparison, she was no one. If he hurt her—or worse—no one would question it. Margaret would not care, and Jason was too young to do anything about it.
“Undress,” he commanded.
Jessica hesitated. She had never been unclothed before any man.
“Take off your clothes, Jessica.” The Duke’s tone was firm, allowing no disobedience.
She pulled the dress from her shoulders. It fell to the floor with a sigh. Her petticoat followed. Blushing hotly, she stood clad only in her stays, chemise, stockings and shoes. She fought the desire to cover herself.
The Duke indicated her shoes and stockings. “Remove those,” he ordered.
She did as she was told.
“Take down your hair.” Another order, spoken with authority.
Slowly, one by one, she pulled the pins from her hair and allowed it to cascade about her shoulders and down her back to her waist.
Finally, she was able to find her voice. “Please,” she whispered, “do not hurt me.”
At her words, the Duke stood swiftly. Jessica took a step backward. The Duke’s teeth flashed white in a smile.
“Contrary to what you may have heard, I do not make a practice of harming women,” he said as he advanced. “You need not be afraid.”
His hand landed lightly on her arm. Then slid down to her hand. The caress made her shiver. He tugged her easily toward him. Cupping her face in his hands, he softly brushed her mouth with his lips. This kiss was near to Jessica’s idea of love-making. She decided that it was rather pleasant. Perhaps this would not be so terrible, after all.
Damien was stirred by her more than by any other woman. She was an entrancing vision as she stood nearly naked before him. The swell of her breasts, her tiny waist, the curve of her hips created a perfect picture. Her thick lashes shaded her clear blue eyes, making them dark in her pale face. Her softly shaped lips had parted slightly. Whether she knew it or not, her whole being beckoned to be loved, softly, gently. So, his kiss had been tender.
He was vaguely aware of her apparent inexperienced response. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he was surprised. At Madame’s, she had been self-possessed and assured. He assumed she was experienced in intimate relations with men. But if not, she played the charade well, pretending to be an innocent. He did not dwell on the thought. He was too intent on the sensuous creature in his grasp.
His fingers tangled in the mysterious depths of her hair, holding her in just the right position as he deepened the kiss. He drank in the soft feel of her and the faint scent of jasmine surrounding her like an aura. He traced one hand down her back to her perfectly rounded bottom and pressed her close. His desire for her tipped on the verge of madness. He wanted to ravage her. But something warned him to go gently.
Her arms crept around his neck and she squirmed against him. It was not the move of an innocent. But he would play her game. She was too delicious to deny. When he raised his head, her eyes had darkened from her arousal.
His hand slipped from the tangle of her tresses, down the slim column of her neck, over her shoulder, to one rounded breast. He teased its rosy tip as he kept her gaze locked in his. Her breath came quickly through her parted lips. Her lids drooped languidly over her eyes.
He unlaced the strings of her stays and whipped them away. Then he pulled at the ribbons holding her chemise closed over her breasts and allowed them to come free. Glorious. His hand brushed across her softness as he pushed the thin material away. He leaned her back on his arm, and kissed his way down her throat, across her shoulder, to her breast. As his mouth closed on its tip and his tongue flicked at it playfully, her breath caught in her throat. Gratified at her response, he kissed his way back to her mouth. Her lips parted, allowing his tongue to ravage the sweetness within. She gave a little moan. Raising his head, with a little smile, he released her. She was his now. He stripped off his shirt and breeches.
Jessica felt bereft when he let her go. The feelings he had awakened in her were intoxicating. She wanted more, much more. As he discarded his clothes, she watched him in a trance. She swayed slightly as if she were drunk, because she was—drunk on the passion and desire he had aroused in her. Her body tingled all over. Her skin had come alive, responding to his every touch. She had never realized that the touch of a man could feel so magical.
His body was magnificent, even to her naïve eyes. Broad shoulders tapered down to narrow waist and hips. The muscles in his arms and legs were hard and sinuous, and rippled under his skin when he moved. In spite of her embarrassment, she could not look away. She wanted to watch his every move.
When he turned back to her, her eyes caught on the thatch of golden fur covering his chest. A thin, white line, from shoulder to breastbone, marred the symmetrical beauty of it. Without thinking, she reached out and traced the scar. The soft, dark gold hair on his chest tickled her and she drew her hand down to his flat stomach almost to his— She jerked away, appalled at her boldness.
He huffed a laugh. “Don’t be shy, my sweet.”
Her cheeks flamed. “I…” Words failed her. She could not tell him she had never even kissed a man, and certainly never touched one there.
With a smile, he took her hand and kissed her palm. The feel of his lips made her melt. Then scooping her up, he deposited her gently on the bed.
He straddled her on his knees, leaned over her and kissed her again. His mouth made her insides fluttery and tingly. She held on to his shoulders, warm and firm beneath her hands. His tongue traced a line down her throat, between her breasts and over her stomach. His fingers intimately stroked her inner thigh. A sigh of pleasure escaped her when his tongue branded a tattoo in the same spot. But when he came too close to her secret place, she pressed her legs together. Fear made her stiffen.
Damien raised his head. That niggling voice came again questioning her innocence. He wanted to taste her desperately, but he would not force her. She would have to give herself freely. He stretched out beside her on the bed and nibbled at her ear. His hand claimed her breast and he rubbed his thumb across its rosy tip.
“Are you still willing to pay my price, Jessica?” he asked and swirled his tongue below her ear. He would give her every opportunity to back down, but he would persuade with every weapon he had.
Her lashes swept down. “Yes,” she whispered on a sigh.
Jessica did not allow herself to think beyond the immediate present. The Duke, so far, had been gentle, and what he had done to her made her feel wonderful. She had come this far. There was no turning back now. Surprisingly, she found the sensations he aroused far from horrible. In fact, she rather wished they could go on forever.
His hands and mouth roamed over her body. They teased and caressed, creating sensations deep inside her she had never felt before. She opened herself to him like a budding flower. She found herself moaning with pleasure, squirming and wriggling so his fingers touched here, his mouth sucked there. And then he lay on top of her, covering her body, pressing her into the bed. She marveled at the way their bodies fit together so intimately. His skin against hers made her tingle and want. She held him close and ran her hands over his back. He buried his face in her hair.
“You are a witch, Jessica,” he whispered.
Then he drove into her.
The sudden pain made her arch up and cry out. Confused, she froze, her eyes squeezed shut. She had been told she would feel pain her first time, but the Duke had aroused such exquisite sensations, she had forgotten. Now, the truth frightened her. Would she feel more pain if he continued? Would she feel pain every time? But perhaps, she would never lie with a man again after this night. Whatever the answers, she prayed this encounter would be over soon.
Damien, surprised at the barrier he’d broken through,
waited for her pain to subside. Her nervousness and shyness and unpracticed naïveté had not been an act. A pang of guilt surged through him. He’d seduced a virgin. Why had she said nothing? But perhaps the game she played was bigger than he first thought. Was she trying to entrap him? Was she out for herself, or was she connected to Fouché through Madame? Whatever her reasons, she’d made a fool of him, had cheated at the card table. His injured pride reared up. He had not forced her. And he wanted her. Something primal made him glad he’d been her first. He would make her remember this night.
His thumb found the hardened peak of her breast and he stroked it gently. Slowly, she relaxed. When his mouth took his thumb’s place and he sucked, she breathed out a moan. Hesitantly, she moved against him. He smiled. She might have been an innocent virgin when this night began, but she was becoming a vixen. Her wriggles and sighs fanned his need. Holding her hips, he thrust into her, savoring her hot sweetness.
Jessica gave herself up to the insistent, driving desire that engulfed her. Her mind reeled, and she lost all sense of reality. There was only the man above her in her world. She felt as if she were in a whirlpool, being drawn deeper and deeper into the vortex. Down, down, they fell, clinging to each other, until the bottom gave way and the sudden, great release came. Never in her life had Jessica experienced anything like it. She thought she was going to die. As if he were her only lifeline, she grabbed at the man who held her.
As the waves of sensation receded, her world came back into focus. What had she just done? Tears threatened, and she strangled the sobs that constricted her throat. The Duke rolled off her and held her close. Despite her best efforts, those tears spilled down her cheeks and wet his chest.
His hand rubbed soothingly up and down her back. “Why didn’t you tell me you had never been with a man, Jessica?” he asked softly.
She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “You would not have believed me if I had.” She sat up quickly and pulled away from him. As if she did not care, she shrugged one shoulder. “What difference does it make now, anyway? The deed is done. You have your payment, Your Grace.”
He sat up next to her and with a finger beneath her chin, made her look at him. “Was it so bad, my sweet? Did you not enjoy giving payment as much as I enjoyed taking it?”
She had enjoyed it. Too much. But his arrogance made her furious. “You are despicable!” she spat at him.
He laughed. “And you are beautiful.” He pulled her down and rolled over her, balancing himself above her.
Jessica glared up at him. “Have you not had enough, Your Grace? You have deflowered a virgin and avenged your honor at the same time. Not every man can make that claim.”
Damien winced. “You are very blunt.”
“I am only speaking the truth,” she said. “You forced me into your bed.”
“I did not force you. I asked you. And I did this.” He swirled his tongue in the hollow of her throat. “And this.” His hand slowly caressed her breast. “And this.” He sucked gently where his hand had been.
In spite of herself, Jessica moaned as once more he began to fan the fires of her passion. A part of her brain told her she was crazy to succumb to him again, while the rest of it decidedly ignored its warnings. What this man did to her was exciting beyond belief, and she wanted more of it.
He made love to her again. And she let him. He brought her alive in a way she had never felt before. When it was over, she sighed, exhausted, contented, and fell asleep in his arms.
Jessica dreamt of green fields and her mother and father playing with her. She was a young girl again, and there was Braeleigh, and everything was right. But, then she was alone, and it was dark. She was lost. Her stepmother’s face floated before her. She was smiling cruelly. Her stepmother turned into Sir Percival. He was surrounded by faces she did not know. She was at Madame’s, and the faces were yelling at her. Get out! Cheater! Liar! Get out! A pair of mocking green eyes stared at her. She tried to run away, but she fell. Hands grabbed at her.
“Jessica. Jessica.”
Those eyes. His eyes.
She realized she was awake, and he was looking at her. Then she remembered where she was.
“Are you all right?” the Duke asked. “You’re shivering.” He pulled her close and smoothed her hair until her tremors stopped.
His warmth and gentleness comforted. In his embrace, she felt safe from Margaret and her cruel demands. But his protection was an illusion. He was a threat to her and her precarious existence. Slowly, her shivers stopped.
“I’m all right now,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. She felt foolish for being so afraid of a dream. She pulled away from him, turned in the bed, and glanced out the window. The sky had begun to brighten. “I have to go.”
“Go where?” he demanded. “Why do you have to go?”
She sat up, arching her brow. “I have to go where all creatures of the night go, Your Grace. Back to my lair. You did call me a witch, didn’t you?” She gave him a wry smile. “Or was I mistaken? Perhaps it was the Devil whispering in my ear.”
He ran his hand up her back under her hair and laughed. “It was not the Devil, my sweet, only a man bedeviled by your beauty.”
“Truly, sir, you are the Devil, for no mere mortal man could seduce a witch such as I so easily.” She slid out of the bed before she succumbed to his touch again and gathered her clothes.
Jessica glanced up to find his eyes on her. She wore not a stitch of clothing, and she quickly donned her chemise. Her dress was slipped from her grasp before she could put it on. The Duke stood with the ripple of blue silk dangling from his hand.
She held out her hand. “Please, Your Grace. My dress.”
His eyes held determination. She was just as determined that he would not have his way with her again.
He held her dress away from her. “Not until you stop calling me ‘Your Grace’. My name is Damien. Say it.” His arrogant command allowed no disobedience.
Jessica’s eyes widened. Even after a night of love-making, he still intimidated her. He was the powerful Duke of Wyndham.
“Say it, Jessica,” he said in a softer tone.
She swallowed. “Damien,” she whispered.
He smiled. “Was that so difficult?”
When he smiled at her like that, her resolve melted. Then she remembered how she had come to be where she was. She meant nothing to him beyond a single night’s enjoyment.
With her emotions well under control, she allowed him to slip her dress over her head. He turned her around to fasten the back. Pushing her hair aside, he brushed his lips across her nape. At his caress, she moved away, but was stopped by his hand on her arm.
“Don’t be so skittish.” He laughed softly. “I promise to behave.”
When he finished doing up her dress, she thanked him and walked to the mirror. Her hair was a riot of tangles.
“Will this help?” he asked as he held his brush out to her.
“Thank you,” she murmured shyly and began brushing her hair. Using his brush seemed very intimate, even after their night of love-making, but she could not leave looking like a wild woman.
While she was occupied, Damien dressed quickly. When she had finished, he held the door for her. They descended the stairs in silence. He collected her cloak from the floor of the salon.
As he placed it about her shoulders, he asked, “Will you come again tonight?”
Jessica stepped away and whirled to face him. He had received double his due for the injury she had done to him. His pride should have been soothed many times over. She was not about to pay any more.
Her fists clenched at her sides. “Do you think because you have stolen my maidenhood that I will come meekly to you whenever you ask? I have paid your price for silence. I am not your whore.”
Surprise flashed through his eyes. His tone was level as he said, “I am not
asking you to be a whore. I am asking you to be my mistress, my lover.”
Her chin went up proudly. “It is the same thing. I will be no man’s mistress.”
“An adventuress has few options.” His words whipped at her. “What man will have you for wife when he finds out that you are no longer a virgin? Or did you plan to never marry and become an old maid, to sit at home and knit for no one but yourself?”
“Who would know that my maidenhood has been taken?” she demanded. “I would not be stupid enough to let on.”
The Duke’s answer was merely the lift of an eyebrow.
Jessica felt as if she had been struck. He would not, could not ruin what little reputation she had. He could not possibly be so cruel to gossip about what had occurred in his house this night. Fighting back the tears, she struggled to answer in a level tone.
“I cannot keep you from speaking about this night if you wish to do so. I will not beg you to keep silent. I have given you my most precious possession in payment for your silence on another matter. I cannot give you anything more.”
“Give me yourself, Jessica,” he said softly.
His words tugged at her. But she would never become any man’s mistress. “I cannot. Why do you want me? There must be hundreds of women in London who would gladly tumble into bed with the powerful Duke of Wyndham. Please, let me be—”
“I do not want hundreds of women,” he interrupted, “I want you.”
“No.”
“I will have you, whether you want it now or not,” he went on as if she had not spoken. “Jessica, the Lady Fortuna, will be the sole property of Damien Trevor, Duke of Wyndham. I will make you want it.”
His arrogance made her furious. First, he wanted her as his mistress, and now she was chattel, his property. The man was unbearable. What would he ask of her next? She decided not to wait to find out.
“You presume too much, Your Grace,” she answered haughtily. “You know nothing of my life, nor why I came to you tonight. But I will be considered the property of no one—not even you. Now, if you will excuse me, I will be leaving. I am taking an early coach out of London, and I have much to do.”
The Duke Who Loved Me: On His Majesty's Secret Service Book 1 Page 5
