A Daring Deception

by Trentham, Laura

Jessica awoke with a start, her heart pounding. Had she been dreaming? Maybe, but not the same nightmare that usually stalked her. She lay in bed with her cover clutched to her chin. A rap at her window had her gasping and sitting up, her gaze fixed on her curtains.

  Was it a bird or a rat? She was being silly. Animals didn’t knock. She slipped out of bed and opened the curtains just enough to poke her head through. She nearly screamed. The wavy figure of a man was perched on her window ledge.

  A duke was at her window. Her third-floor window. Perhaps she really was dreaming.

  The apparition pointed to the latch, his words barely penetrating the leaded glass. “May I come in? Please?”

  Her sleep-addled mind cleared, and she fumbled with the latch, finally able to fling the window open. The edge caught Simon in the shoulder and sent him careening to the side. She let out a little scream and grabbed his jacket.

  A cold breeze with scattered rain drops whipped around them and snatched his hat. She watched it tumble a long way to the ground. Her hands on him became more frantic as she imagined him following it to a sure death. Between her pulling and him scrambling for his footing, he managed to get one leg inside.

  He ducked through the window and closed it behind him. It was dark in her chambers, the only light coming from the dying embers in the grate. His ragged breathing slowly calmed in the ensuing silence.

  No, she was the one who was breathing hard and whose heart was ready to explode. He had risked life and limb to see her. Throwing herself in his arms would not be an appropriate greeting.

  How else did one welcome a duke to their chambers in the wee hours? A curtsey? She stifled a spate of inappropriate, panicky giggles. It was simply unbelievable he was standing an arm’s length away when she hadn’t been sure she would ever see him again.

  “Why are you here?” she whispered even though Goforth’s chamber was on the floor below and at the front of the house.

  She feared what Goforth might do if he caught Simon in their town house. Goforth had grown positively zealous in his hatred for the duke. Blood would be spilled, and she didn’t want to see Simon hurt or in Newgate for murder.

  “I was sick with worry. As far as I can ascertain, you haven’t been allowed to leave since the ball. Have you been mistreated?” He approached her with the care one would give a wounded wild animal.

  “I’m well enough. Bored mostly. Except for Abby, I’ve seen no one. Goforth was very angry with me.” A vast understatement she wouldn’t elaborate on for fear Simon would haul Goforth out of bed and do something rash. “He is making plans for me, but I don’t know what yet.”

  “Marriage?”

  “Perhaps. Or something more humiliating.” Embarrassment kindled a blush. After what Sir Benedict insinuated, she would put nothing past Goforth.

  “Wouldn’t anything but a respectable marriage bring censure down upon him?”

  “I’m not sure he cares anymore. He is a man possessed.” While her stepfather had never loved her—or even liked her, for that matter—he had never regarded her with the level of disgust and hatred he directed at her now.

  “Any idea when he will make his move?”

  “Soon. He visited me this afternoon and was practically vibrating with excitement. Yet when I asked, he put me off.”

  Simon hummed and began to pace. She tugged him to a stop. “If you’re going to do that, you should at least remove your boots before the clomping draws attention.”

  He covered her hand gripping his jacket and smiled down at her. “I would be happy to remove whatever clothing you deem appropriate.”

  He sat on the only chair in the room and pulled off his boots. Seeing his stockinged feet was strangely intimate. It was at that moment when she became aware of her own state of dishabille. While her night rail covered her from neck to toes, it was an older garment, the fabric worn soft and thin.

  “I should retrieve my dressing gown?” Why had she turned what should have been an emphatic statement into a question?

  “Or not. I’m here to check on your well-being.” Simon rested his hands on her shoulders, the warmth and weight a steadying force. But then his hands trekked down her arms, his touch setting her heart to quaking. The slight friction of the soft muslin between her skin and the heat of his hands started a delicious ache in her belly. One she recognized.

  “As you can see, I am perfectly fine.” She had become breathless, lending her voice an unintentionally provocative quality.

  “I fear I must assure myself you are unhurt before I can take my leave.” A wickedness lightened his words and made a thrill zip down her spine.

  “How can I assure you?”

  He left her to light a brace of three candles in the remains of the fire. While the wavering circle of light was soft, it was a shock after spending so much of their time together in the shadows.

  A slight laugh burst out of her. His attire would be better suited for a dockside worker. “What on earth are you wearing?”

  “Courting clothes.” He set the candles on the stand by the bed, took her hands in his, and drew her closer. She didn’t protest in word or body, and even tangled their fingers to hold him tighter. He lifted their joined hands for an examination.

  “Such delicacy and strength.” He proceeded to kiss the tip of each finger one by one. The sweetness of the gesture was nearly her undoing.

  “I feared you’d never be able to forgive me.” It was hard to get the words past the lump of tears in her throat.

  He dropped one of her hands but retained the other to press against his heart. “I was angry—very angry—but I’m old enough to understand not everything is black and white. Speaking of forgiveness, I’m surprised you didn’t wallop me for asking you to be my mistress.”

  “I’m surprised I considered the offer. If it hadn’t been for Blake, perhaps I would have.” She gave a little laugh and looked at their joined hands. “Since we’re being perfectly honest now, escaping Goforth and putting myself in your care sounded heavenly.”

  He tugged at the ribbon drawing her sleeve closed at her wrist and pushed the loosened fabric toward her elbow with the slide of his hand. His calluses from riding rasped erotically against her skin, inciting a shiver of goose bumps.

  “I can say with equal honesty that I have dreamed of taking care of you in and out of my bed every single night during and since the house party.” He raised her arm and kissed the inside of her wrist. Could he feel the flutter of her heart?

  “I have dreamed the same,” she admitted on a gasp as his lips found a particularly sensitive spot in the crook of her elbow.

  “I am thrilled to hear it. Would you like another of my confessions?” He moved to finger the ribbons holding her night rail closed at her neck.

  “I would hear it with an open heart.” Her entire body trembled in anticipation, yet he didn’t unfurl the ribbons.

  “I love you, and I would make you my wife. If you will have me, that is.” He dipped his head so he could catch her gaze.

  The wavery candlelight reflected only his honesty. The shadows of the night stripped away all the pretense and complications of their lives and stations, just as it had at Wintermarsh. She was his equal, and if she said no, he would abide by her decision. She didn’t want to say no though.

  “I love you too.” Her voice was thick with emotion. “In fact, I think I’ve loved you since the first time we met at the inn.”

  “You didn’t even know me then. Not really.” He wrapped his hand around her nape and stroked her jaw with his thumb, tilting her head back so he could search her eyes.

  “I knew you were honorable and brave. You stood up to Goforth to protect a stranger. I never forgot what you did. I followed news of you for years. When we finally met, you far exceeded any of my girlish fantasies.”

  “I was a cad. A duke shouldn’t pursue, much less dally with, a lady’s maid.” His guilt was palpable.

  She popped to her toes and planted a brief, hard kiss on his lips. “Pleas
e don’t feel guilty. I could have walked away, and you would have let me.”

  “As much as it would have hurt, I would have let you go.”

  She smiled up at him, feeling lighter than she had in weeks, months, years. A tiny seed of hope had worked its way into her heart to bloom. He loved her.

  He wrapped an arm around her waist and snugged against the length of his body. “Will you marry me, Jessica?”

  “Of course I will.” Her happiness dimmed along with her smile.

  “I sense a but. What’s wrong?”

  “How can you even ask that? Goforth will never give his blessing.”

  “Then we’ll elope. Tonight, if you wish. I’ll procure a special license first thing in the morning, even if I have to wake the archbishop, or we can make a mad dash for Gretna Green.”

  She wanted to beg him to sweep her away like a fairytale prince. Instead, she said, “I can’t.”

  “Is it your brother?”

  She nodded wordlessly.

  “I’m a duke and not without influence, my love.” When it was clear she was unconvinced, he added. “If you won’t leave with me tonight, will you trust in me to find a solution to the problem of your brother? Then we can marry.”

  She wanted to trust him, but deep down she worried there might not be another chance for them. What if this night was their only night?

  Rain pattered against the window. “It’s raining,” she said inanely.

  “Indeed.”

  “You should wait for it to pass.”

  “Should I?” He treaded his fingers through her hair, fisted his hand, and tugged her head back. “What should we do to pass the time until the weather clears?”

  She gasped at the prickly pleasure in her scalp. “You have promised to wed me, have you not?”

  “On my honor, I will see it done.”

  “I want you to bed me.”

  He blinked, and his lips parted with a sharp intake of breath. His shock made her laugh. She had a feeling it wasn’t often he was caught flatfooted.

  “It would be my pleasure. Literally.” He daubed his tongue along his lower lip. “Are you certain?”

  “I was certain the night in the gazebo. I was ready to bed you then. Please don’t make me wait any longer.” She would wring as much joy from the experience as possible.

  “If you weren’t next to your bed in a night rail I can see straight through in the candlelight, I might have the strength to deny you.” He shifted her until he sat on the bed and drew her between his legs.

  “You can’t see—” She looked down at herself. Dear Lord, he could see everything.

  Her nipples were peaked shadows against the thin muslin. She crossed her arms over her chest even though he’d seen her breasts and suckled and squeezed them. Realizing how silly she was being considering her most recent request, she dropped her hands to rest on his thighs. His muscles there twitched at her touch.

  He rumbled a laugh and went to work on the ribbons at her neck, this time not pausing until they were unfurled and the edges of her night rail parted into a vee ending a few inches above her belly. The inside curves of her breasts were on display in the wavering candlelight. A flush heated her and pinkened her skin.

  “We only had the moon all the times we met before,” she said softly.

  “How many times I cursed the shadows.” He ran his fingertips along the edge of the night rail until he reached the undersides of her breasts. The gentle touch nearly took her out at the knees. She clamped his thighs tighter.

  “You should have thanked the darkness. It was the only way I could have met you. Otherwise, you were sure to recognize me.”

  “I was a fool for not realizing long before who you really were.” He tugged her closer and nuzzled the night rail to the side until her right breast was exposed.

  His eyes were half closed as his lips found her nipple. A honeyed ribbon pulled taut in her lower belly, the feeling decadent yet faintly uncomfortable. Simon had the ability to appease her appetites, yet he appeared in no hurry to satisfy her as he had in the gazebo.

  She shuffled closer and skimmed her hands farther up his thighs. He gasped around her nipple. A niggling sense of power accelerated her breathing. His experience gave him the advantage, but he wasn’t immune to her touch. She claimed another inch of his thigh and another until her thumbs grazed the hard length of him pressing against the wool of his trousers. His head fell back with a groan.

  If she was going to her ruination, she didn’t want to merely submit to him. She wanted to bring him equal pleasure. With trembling fingers, she slid his trouser buttons free until his fall did just that.

  He lifted the tails of his shirt out of the way and leaned back. The candles were bright enough for her to see him. The hard length of him jutted from a thatch of blond hair a few shades darker and coarser than the hair on his head. The thick staff boasted a flanged end with a glistening slit across the top.

  “May I touch you?”

  He blew out a slow breath before responding on a raspy laugh. “I have craved your touch for too long. I hope I won’t embarrass myself.”

  “How could you possibly embarrass yourself?” Her gaze rose from his intimidating staff to his eyes. “You have done this before, haven’t you, Simon? I assumed based on our past interactions that you understood the basics of what we are about to engage in, because—”

  The affection in his laugh this time kindled a different sort of fire inside her. One she hoped would burn forever. “I have done this a few times over the years, yes, but never with someone I wanted to please so badly.”

  She had the feeling he’d done this more than a few times with more than a few women. “With Lady Herriot?”

  He cupped her cheek with his hand, his smile rueful. “Since I spied you at the pond, I haven’t even thought of another woman, much less been with one. I worry I’ll spend before I satisfy you.”

  While he didn’t directly answer her question, her spike of jealousy dissipated like mist. Too many unknowns riddled their path. Instead of worrying about the past or future, she would enjoy the moment. Thoroughly enjoy it.

  She ran a finger from the tip to the base, the skin velvet over iron. “Oh, I see. Your staff isn’t always so robust, or you wouldn’t be able to conceal it in your trousers.”

  His eyes twinkled with a devilish tease. “It would be quite awkward to walk around with a cockstand all day and night.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  “My trousers are smoldering from the look in your eyes, my love.”

  “I wouldn’t complain if they burned to ash.”

  “That would make my walk home rather embarrassing. Why don’t I simply remove them instead?” He stood, and Jessica shifted back to give him room and, if she were being honest, to have a better view.

  Jessica had never heard her mother and Goforth engage in flirtation even at the beginning of their courtship. While she did not know—and didn’t want to know—anything of the state of their marriage bed, she couldn’t imagine them engaging in the sort of banter she and Simon were enjoying.

  He peeled off his stockings and then stood to shuck his jacket, neckerchief, and shirt. The veneer of a ton gentleman was stripped away with every item of clothing he removed until he stood before her with only his trousers between him and his natural state. So slowly she decided he was teasing her on purpose, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband, stripped his trousers off, and kicked them aside.

  She didn’t know where to look first. His shoulders were broad and muscled. His upper chest was furred with blond hair that thinned into a sparse line leading to his gravity-defying cockstand. The differences in their bodies were stark and arousing.

  With a small smile tipping his lips and a hooded, sensual look around his eyes, he was silent, waiting for her judgment.

  “You’re beautiful,” she said breathlessly.

  “That’s not a compliment I’ve ever been paid before. Your turn.” He grasped the top of her night rail
and peeled it off her shoulders.

  Turnaround was fair play. Still, she tensed as the soft muslin caressed its way down her breasts to flutter around her feet. She kept her gaze lowered yet could feel the touch of his eyes down the length of her body. Amazingly, his staff jerked and stood even higher. Was it because of the sight of her body? Her mortification faded in the heat of her arousal.

  He wrapped a hand around her nape and an arm around her waist and pulled her flush to him. Her lungs forgot to do their duty, and she grew breathless. He didn’t give her time to acclimate to the feel of his hard, hairy body against her. He kissed her.

  Not a gentle, wooing kiss, but an aggressive domination. She gave herself permission not to think or question his actions or her responses. She moaned into his mouth and wrapped her arms around his neck, her aching breasts against his hard chest granting her gratification.

  He clasped her bottom and shifted her to her toes. Cradled against her belly, his cock throbbed a matching beat to her own needs. She was wet and ready for him. He pushed her to lie crosswise on the bed, her legs dangling off the edge. He shifted her knees apart and lowered himself over her. The tip of his cock slipped over the sensitive flesh between her legs.

  Her breathing hitched, and she closed her eyes. This was it. He would breach her. Claim her. A moment’s trepidation at the thought of his impossibly thick, long cock stretching her made her tense up.

  Instead, Simon claimed her mouth in a long, drugging kiss. Her hands found their way to his flanks to explore the ridges and dips. He loomed over her, propped on his forearms, seemingly in no hurry.

  “Aren’t you going to finish things?” she asked when he broke away to look down at her.

  His eyebrows cocked. “Sweetheart, we’ve barely gotten started.”

  He slid down her body only far enough to flick his tongue across first one nipple and then the other. She arched her back and weaved her fingers into his hair. Her experience with the final act was nonexistent, but she was intimately familiar with this pleasure.

  She raised her legs, set her heels on the edge of the mattress, and clamped him around the hips with her knees. After sucking her nipples until they were hardened points begging for more, he trekked farther down her body, laying kisses along the soft curve of her belly.