The kiss was delicious. The embrace firm, comforting and dangerous all at once. She let both continue and submitted to their power. His power. Wonderful sensations flooded her over and over, warming her, arousing her.
Even as her passion ascended and his own grew more aggressive, a corner of her awareness noted her physical changes with medical interest. The tipsy balance that forced her to embrace him too. The way she lost control of her physical reactions until they conquered her will. The sensitivity of her lips and mouth and all her skin, so that her body felt his through her garments and ached for more closeness.
He palmed her face, holding it while his tongue invaded her mouth. That startled her, but the intimacy caused new excitement to pour down her center and pool very low near her vulva, which now had a vitality that could not be ignored.
It was too wonderful to end it. She no longer heard the noise from the public room. She did not care that this was a terrible mistake. Even her mission and his opposition to it ceased to concern her. All of her, body, mind, blood and essence, only wanted to dwell in this pleasure.
He sat in her chair and drew her down onto his lap. Easier, then, to kiss without wobbling. The position gave him better purchase to her neck and ear and the skin atop her chest. He explored with hot kisses and bites. They remained close like that, but not as close as before, and her body ached for the contact it had lost, for the warmth and hard body and pressure against her breasts and hips. She placed her palm on his shirt, under his coat, but it was not the same.
He knew. His hand slid down her body to her knees, then up again in a caress that answered her desire for more contact. Each firm stroke created a path of new sensuality. Soon that was not enough either, and her need maddened her. She was helpless against the way her body urged her on.
Pleasure overwhelmed her. It enhanced her senses so she felt every touch and inhaled his scent and heard his heart beat. It blotted out her awareness of everything else. A new touch barely grazed her breast. A voice, low and quiet, barely broke the silence. May I? He asked for permission to—He wanted her to answer, to allow it, to put her frantic hunger into words. Yes, yes. Only she could not say it. She only tucked her face into the crook of his neck and nodded.
The first caress on her breast created a charge of pleasure that left her breathless. The next ones, subtler but more focused, devastated her. The power built in her until she was kissing him madly, trying to release it, dying from the torture but not wanting it to end.
Savage kisses, grasping holds, unbearable caresses. Their passion escalated until she almost cried from the way her body throbbed. More; there had to be more, her insane mind insisted.
That voice again merged into her mind. If it made a sound she did not hear it, but only absorbed the words. Come above with me.
Yes, yes. Only slowly, the meaning sank in and found a thread of rationality. Go above to a chamber, his or hers, and finish this. That was what he wanted. She wished he had not asked. She wished he had picked her up and carried her through the door and up the stairs and—
She buried her face in his neck again, trying to think. Why shouldn’t she? It was what she wanted. She had told him to find passion. Why shouldn’t she?
“I suppose so,” she murmured.
He stopped caressing her breast, but those long strokes resumed on her side and hip. “You suppose?” He turned his head and kissed her cheek gently. “You are not sure?”
She turned her head too, so he might be able to kiss her lips, and so her voice would not be so muffled. “I should experience this at least once in my life. Now seems an excellent time.”
She expected him to rise, grab her hand and pull her to the door. Instead, those caresses and soft kisses continued. She wanted him to touch her breasts again. She almost reached for his hand and moved it there.
“You are still a virgin.” A long exhale.
“You thought I was not?”
“You have lived an unconventional and worldly life. I can be excused, I hope.”
“It is a small thing.”
“Hardly. Gentlemen do not ruin innocents.”
“Nonsense. I’m sure they do all the time.”
“Not this one.”
She straightened and looked at him. He meant it. His expression still bore the signs of passion. His eyes still burned and his face’s planes remained tight. But he was not going to take her above. Enough of the most ducal duke had returned to his face for her to know that.
“Well, damnation, Your Grace. It is rude to seduce a woman, to get her into such a state, and then not—not—” Several scandalous words popped into her head, but none of the medical ones.
She scooted off his lap. “We will wait a short while so that you can get yourself in order.” She gestured at his lap. “You do not want to leave in high salute, I am sure. Fortunately, women do not give evidence of their arousal so easily.”
“You don’t think so? I wish there were a looking glass here.” He laughed out loud, then pulled her closer and reached to stroke her head. “One good thing about hair that length is that it does not appear disheveled after such an indiscretion.”
The playfulness died away, leaving them looking at each other wistfully.
“Was I supposed to tell you about my inexperience?”
“The misunderstanding was all my fault. I allowed myself to believe what I wanted to believe, so I could continue being a scoundrel.”
“Not a scoundrel. Do not think that. True, you gave no quarter, but I—well, I didn’t mind nearly enough for you to call yourself a scoundrel.” It had been wonderful, and she would not be a coward and pretend it hadn’t been. She suspected the woman in her would feast on the memory for months. Her body, not yet becalmed, still sent sparks into her blood. She wished she had never given him cause to become noble with her.
He stood. “That is good to know.” He cupped her face with his hands and gave her a final kiss, then released her. “Now you should go above on your own. I will wait a short while.”
She went to the door, hoping he would follow. Of course he didn’t.
“I suppose now we return to being enemies,” she said.
“That might be impossible. Let us be friends with different goals.”
Oh, how handsome he looked there, his gaze still warm and the corners of his eyes crinkling a bit with his vague smile. She looked long enough to keep the memory, then left the chamber and made her way to her empty bed.
Chapter Sixteen
When a well-ordered life veers off its cleanly marked path, there is normally a good reason. Eric decided it was all Scotland’s fault. He might have succeeded in releasing his frustration with that idea, except he had to acknowledge that he had kissed her first in England.
He should be proud of his restraint. Instead, he argued all night against the rules that demanded it. It seemed to him that Davina had been more rational than he. She perhaps felt life owed her the experience. That he was the convenient man for the purpose did not flatter him, but it damned well suited his own purposes.
Which were—what? That was the devilish detail that kept him from sleeping, and, as she so adorably put it, saluting. She was not typical of his women at all, which probably was her appeal. He could not simply dance a few dances, make a few calls, bring an expensive gift and require discretion. Everything in his world and hers said he should never have touched her, let alone driven them both to a point twelve stairs away from an irreparable blunder.
Yet he had. Nor did he regret it. He could not even swear he would not do it again if given the chance. It had been a long time since he had known mindless, driving passion. His sensuality luxuriated in having been given free rein for a while. It beckoned him all night to find a way to have a wild, adventurous rut with someone, if not Davina than anyone else would do.
She thought they could keep turning back time. That they could forget about that first kiss and now, after this, after being damned close to having each other on the floor of an inn�
��s dining room, they could go back to being enemies. That spoke to her inexperience as much as her artless embraces did. Which, if he were honest with himself, had told him she was probably an innocent, but hope and hunger conquered that notion in a blink.
Nothing much was resolved in his mind when dawn broke. When Davina came below with Miss Ingram, he received one warm, almost nostalgic smile before she guided the old woman to the coach. He climbed up beside Napier and took the reins. Driving the horses would give his mind something to do besides ruminate about Miss MacCallum, at least. Besides, Teyhill waited down the road, and he needed to prepare himself for a visit he did not want to make.
* * *
“You will stay here.” Brentworth announced the plan as soon as Davina stepped out of the coach. “The top floor has an apartment kept for me. You and Miss Ingram should be comfortable there. It has several chambers, and the windows look out on a little kitchen garden to the south. The smells from the yard are not bad up there.”
Mr. Napier removed all the baggage from the back of the coach, even the duke’s.
“Will you be staying here too?” she asked. “I would think you would stay at Teyhill.”
“If I were staying there, you would be too.” He did not even look her way, but watched Napier. Then he turned to her with one broad step. “I choose not to live there. That is why I let the top of this inn, so it is available should I ever visit.”
“Which you never do.”
“I will stay here,” he repeated evenly. “I will take a chamber and leave the top floor to you, unless you mind the stairs.”
“I do not mind, and Miss Ingram is not infirm physically.”
“Napier will arrange everything. Take your meal where you will. I will see you in the morning.” With that, he unleashed his horse from its tether at the back of the coach, mounted and rode away.
It had not been a promising conversation, and it had been the first of the day. She assumed he sorely regretted what had happened. Perhaps he was even embarrassed, although as a man he would never admit it. He had lost control. It was that simple. Then he had encouraged, even lured, her to do the same. It was not the kind of behavior for which Brentworth was known.
Mr. Napier handed their baggage to several servants, then brought them inside. She heard him mention Brentworth’s name several times. He insisted a woman be given over to the ladies for the length of their stay, to serve them exclusively. The innkeeper left the chamber and returned with a young woman who invited them to follow her up the stairs.
Miss Ingram turned her head this way and that all the way up, “Someone has changed everything. The panels on the wall used to be much nicer.”
“I don’t think you have been here before.”
“Haven’t I? Well, one inn looks much like another, I suppose. Will we be here long?”
“I don’t know.” It could be a day or so, or it could be a week or so. It all depended on Brentworth. She had no choice but to have him take her around. If he chose not to bring her somewhere she thought she needed to go, she would have to hire a conveyance. She wondered if this inn, which was so beholden to his largesse in permanently letting an entire floor that was never used, would help her do that.
By the time they arrived at the chambers at the top, she had half-convinced herself that Brentworth was putting her here so he could keep her from learning what she needed to learn. They may not be enemies anymore, but they were not of one mind either.
The chambers proved to be luxurious enough for a duke. Fine fabrics and furniture graced the large sitting room and three bedchambers. As he said, two of them overlooked the little kitchen garden and some trees. Miss Ingram, however, decided she preferred the third one, a small nook of a room on the other side with one window in the rear.
“It will get the northern light,” she said. “That is best for reading. No glaring sun during one part of the day.” She bent down to pick up her valise. The servant snatched it first, carried it into the chamber and began to unpack the books.
Davina chose her own chamber, one that had a small entry before it spread along the exterior wall. The afternoon sun did glare in, but the trees kept it from being too harsh. The bed felt soft, and the white walls made a cheery contrast to the red fabric draping the windows and bed.
She opened the windows, although the weather had cooled, and moved a chair near one so she could look out on the last growth in the garden below. She settled down to make plans for the days ahead. Memories of Brentworth’s seduction tried to invade her mind. She concentrated on her mission in order to keep them at bay, as she had most of the day. This time, however, as the lowering sun made mottled patterns on the windowpanes, she found she no longer had the strength of will to succeed. She closed her eyes, crossed her arms to hold herself and succumbed to echoes of that delirium.
* * *
He could not stay here forever, on this rise of land, looking at that house and the mountains looming not far behind. Yet he did nothing to move his horse any further.
The damage was not too apparent from this angle, but charred stone could be seen on one corner. When viewed from the front instead of back here, he knew the whole west wing remained a black ruin of walls.
Fire. Screams. Horrible fear and finally devastating reality. His fault. He had never been able to argue away his culpability. Ignorance did not excuse him. He had not known because he did not want to know.
He had been so blinded by passion that he had not known what he had in her. Had not recognized that mercurial temper for what it really was. He had not wanted to, because he had been freer than he had ever been in his life. No rules, no borders, no restraint. He thought of Davina’s scold last night, that he needed more passion in his life. Once I knew passion untold. Primitive, scandalous passion, and it almost consumed all that I am.
Down below, a rider appeared, growing larger as he galloped toward the rise. An arm waved as the horse came closer. Roberts, his steward here, reined in the horse twenty feet away. “Your Grace. I thought it might be you and so I decided I would come and see.” His accent marked him as native to the area, as did his blond Celtic appearance and strength. Brentworth would recognize him anywhere, even if it had been almost ten years since their last meeting. But then, of course, Roberts knew everything. No one else did.
Roberts looked over his shoulder at the house. “It has been some time.”
“A long time.” He had intended it to be much longer yet, but Davina had changed those plans, hadn’t she?
“On receiving your letter that you would visit, I had the good chambers prepared.” He meant the ones in the part of the house that had not burned. Not the ducal chambers. Those were ash now.
“I will be staying at the inn. I came with guests, and even the good chambers would not be suitable for them. They are ladies.” He added the last to make his case, even though the chambers in question would suit Davina fine, and Miss Ingram would never notice.
The truth was, he did not want to stay here. Not even one night.
“Will you come down and see how things sit, Your Grace? The servants, though few, would be honored.”
Damned if he wanted to go down there, but some duties, though small, mattered to others besides himself. “We will go now and you can call them together.”
Roberts smiled broadly and turned his horse. Brentworth moved his mount to a canter. Through sheer force of will, he did not see the flames reaching toward a night sky.
* * *
The coach rolled over hills and through shallow dales. Davina gazed out the window, beset with excitement. She had been here with her father once, and she was sure she recognized this road and the low cottages visible across some fields.
The road widened as they went up a low hill, then turned at the top. From her window, she saw Teyhill below. The ancient ruins of a tower house served as a sentry to the approach to the current building. It would be handsome, even impressive in its stone four stories, if half of it were not a ruin too.
A fire, they had been told by their servant girl. A huge fire one night, one so hot it cracked stones and gutted the entire interior of everything there. Only a heroic effort by the servants had spared the eastern half, but even there the smoke had ruined most of the furnishings.
She stretched her neck so she could stick her head out the window. Up ahead, Brentworth rode his horse silently. They’d had a row last evening, when she insisted on seeing the house, and accused him of trying to keep her from it because he did not want to admit it had burned and he had simply left it that way.
There is nothing of use to you there, Davina.
Perhaps not, but she demanded to see it anyway. It was hers, after all. Or should be. Did he really think she would come here and not even gaze upon her ancestral home?
Steel and ice, that was what he had become when she had pestered him on the point. He’d left dinner in the upper apartment abruptly in his pique. Then, this morning, a servant had brought the note that said they would leave at ten o’clock to visit the estate.
She feasted her eyes on the building she had only seen once before, sneaking about with her father. There was nothing fancy about it. A big block of gray stones, it rose high over the treeless land. There had been a garden in the back when she last visited. She hoped that had not been left to ruin too.
The road became a drive and curved toward the house. She scooted to the other window so she could watch. The fire’s devastation became visible soon. No roof and black stones and splintered, long wooden beams sticking every which way. No one had even cleaned it out. Brentworth had left it the way it was when the last embers died.
Despite its state, her heart warmed just on viewing it. A new contentment settled in her heart. She knew then that any misgivings she might harbor about her cause were misplaced. She belonged here. She knew it in her soul.
Never Deny a Duke Page 16
