by Eva Devon
Kate refused to hesitate, even though, at this moment, he looked as if he might sink his teeth into them both and not out of desire. Well, if she had her way, he would, indeed, have his mouth upon her, but out of need. The need she had seen light his eyes on more than one occasion.
They paused a mere foot before him but he, instead of looking at them, returned his gaze to the floor.
Slipping her arm away, Mrs. Barton smiled. “I do believe Mrs. Darrell should like to know you. I’ve few doubts you will be just as pleasured to know her.”
The duke inclined his head but remained seated.
Mrs. Barton shook her dark head and walked past him. As she did, she rested her hand on his shoulder. “Do play nicely, Your Grace.”
With that, Mrs. Barton disappeared down the hall and into the duke’s box.
Standing right before the Duke of Darkwell, Kate could feel her skin heating to a fever in anticipation. Only his touch was going to ease the growing hunger inside her. The silence and unspoken desire stretched between them. Her breasts pressed tightly against her corset as her breath shortened with desire.
Kate licked her lips and then uttered words she had never said before. “Your Grace, I do believe it is my turn to pleasure you.”
Chapter 8
If Ryder had been a man who believed in signs, it would be an indisputable dictate from the gods that he was to bed Mrs. Darrell. Or perhaps the gods just kept shoving her into his path as some sort of cruel punishment.
All he wanted was peace and quiet, and respite from the box that had been such a place of happiness for himself and Jane. And now, here Mrs. Darrell was, the one person he wished to avoid.
With renewed determination, Ryder stared at the garish carpet, refusing to look up into the pale, enigmatic face. Perhaps if he ignored her, the damn chit would leave him be because, quite frankly, he only had so much self-control and it was already a thread that was fast unraveling.
“Does His Grace find the floor to be particularly fascinating?” The toe of her teal slipper peeped out from beneath her skirts and she rubbed it along the burgundy-colored carpeting. The action exposed her silk-stockinged ankle. “I find it rather uninspired myself.”
His lips twisted, fighting back amusement and the desire to reach out, take that delicate ankle in his grasp and stroke upward. “Do you make it a habit of studying floors?”
“Good Lord no, but it does seem to interest you.”
He couldn’t tear his eyes from her shapely ankle. Damnation, but he wanted to circle it with his hand and prop her foot on his thigh. From there, kiss his way up her leg till he met her soft flesh and then—he blinked. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be hard as a ship’s mast in a moment. “You wish to discuss my interests?”
“I do.” Her voice dipped, touched with huskiness. “In fact, I have every intention of finding out what pleases Your Grace.”
“Indeed?” This was fast heading to him sliding his hands up her skirts and he was certain that, once committed, he would be unable to untrench. “What if my principle interest is solitude?”
She took another step closer till her skirts brushed his muscled thigh. “Does Your Grace intend to become a monk? Along with solitude, will you take the vows of poverty?” She lightly bit her lower lip. “Of chastity?”
A dry laugh rumbled past his lips and he shook his head. Oh, what was he doing? He was holding on to honor with a faltering grasp, that’s what the bloody hell he was doing. Yet, to his own shame, he wanted to see how far she would go. Would she truly play this game out to the end? “You are the second person to ask me that in a very short space of time.”
“Is there any truth to it then?” Her delicate hand, studded with a pearl ring, very lightly brushed his arm. “I should be very sad.”
Lust slammed through his body at the not so innocent touch. Her hand was so light and yet firm upon his body, he could only imagine those slender fingers wrapped around his cock. “Why should that sadden you?”
“I should be bereft of that marvelous body of yours.” She stroked his arm, bending ever so slightly, so her breasts pressed against her corset into two delicious rounds. “But then, I could go to you for my confession.”
It was tempting to look up and see if her angelic face was flushed with need, but he forced himself to stare straight ahead. The carpet. He could focus on the carpet. Not on her hand, tracing over his arm.
“Confession?” he prompted, damnably curious to see her in this new role of seductress. She was doing a remarkably good job so far.
“I have a great deal to confess,” she breathed.
Somehow, he resisted the urge to shift on his chair, but blood was rushing straight to his groin and, by the second, he was growing harder. Still, he wasn’t going to let her know how very much he was enjoying this game. “You were not given to sin before?”
She trailed her hand down from his shoulder to rest upon his bicep. Her fingers curled at his muscles. “Not until very recently.”
It was instinctual. Ryder flexed his muscles, developed from hours and hours of training. He wanted her to know he was strong. “What is the nature of your sins?” he asked quietly, his voice half-invitation.
“Lust. I lust for a man I should not.”
Damnation. She wanted this as badly as he, but soon this game would go too far. “But I am not your confessor,” he said quickly. The last thing he wanted was a detailed account of her desires. He’d go mad and there’d be no holding back.
“I’m glad for it,” she said softly, her voice a caress that threw oil onto the fire that was burning inside him.
At last, he looked up and met her gaze. It was a mistake. A damned idiotic error and he was determined to rip his gaze away and leave her, once again, standing alone. He couldn’t do it. The hunger in her blue-gray eyes compelled him to see what she would do next in her quest. Worse, there was no calculation in her gaze, only a longing mixed with absolute determination.
“This is what I want,” she whispered as she lifted her hand to his face.
Her silken fingers cupped his cheek with gentleness, but it was heightened with desire as she bent and let her mouth linger over his. For one brief moment, he was certain she was going to kiss him, but she didn’t. The scent of cinnamon and roses surrounded him and her curled hair brushed his cheeks and shoulders. She was waiting. Waiting for him to give in to their mutual pleasure. God, he wanted it.
Why not? Why could he not have one moment of heaven in his eternal damnation? Swallowing a strong mix of self-loathing and regret, he worked at the ribbon around his wrist. His fingers shook as he plucked at it. At last it came free and, gently, he tucked it into his pocket. Her lips pressed together at his movements and he knew she wanted to know why he did what he did. But he couldn’t let himself think or mention Jane’s name. Not at this moment.
Not when he wanted this woman before him so much. Indeed, after so much pain, he did deserve just a taste of her.
Before he could think further or let reason test his shaky argument, he slid her onto his lap. He tilted her head back and, for a moment, traced his thumb over her lower lip. Winding his fingers into the curls at the nape of her neck, he lowered his head. . . and gave her the softest of kisses.
She gasped into his mouth and arched towards him. The faint touch of their lips was almost cruel considering how much he wanted her, but they were going to enjoy every moment they had.
Tilting her head further back, he devoured her mouth, sucking gently on her tongue. He fed her kiss after kiss until her hands were grasping his coat. His body was tense, more than ready for her, but he controlled himself by smoothing the line of her throat, moving lower and lower until his lips met the plump rounds of her breasts. He slipped his hand into her corset and lifted her breast so he could swirl his tongue around her nipple. So sweet and soft, it drove him further down the path of no return.
She moaned and leaned into him. He smiled as he drew the soft flesh into his mouth and ever so slightly nibbl
ed at the hard peak.
Her hands wound into his hair and he savored the slight pull of her fingers tugging at him. But with each caress, he felt himself teetering on the brink of self-control. If he didn’t stop them, they were going to have coitus here, in the middle of the opera’s empty hall.
The thought was horrifyingly erotic.
What was worse, Mrs. Darrell didn’t seem to care. She was mindless under his touch and he had to—her hand trailed over his thigh and cupped the hard shaft pressing painfully against his breeches.
He sucked in a harsh breath. Reaching down, he pressed her hand tighter to him.
“I want this,” she whispered.
Christ. And he wanted to give it to her. The sounds of the opera were still in the third act. It would be some time before it was over and they were secluded enough. Or at least so he convinced himself as he started working at her skirts.
“Straddle me,” he ordered.
Without question, she did. Her skirts hitched up at her waist, pouring over his legs. He slid his hands up her thighs then ran his forefinger into her soft folds. He hissed at the feel of her slick hunger. She was more than ready, but he wanted her mad for it. Ryder stroked his finger over her sensitive folds then coated her swollen little nub.
Kate’s breath turned harsh. She held on to him as if she were lost in a storm and he was her only anchor. His finger swirled and flicked till her thighs tensed and then he drove a single finger deep inside her. Her body jerked and her head dropped back.
Hell, how he wanted to take her into his mouth, but that would be for later. Right now, he needed to be inside her. As she rocked against his finger, he quickly undid his breeches.
“I need more,” she urged.
“I do, too,” he breathed against her neck. He wanted them to come together and he was going to do everything he could to give her exactly what she needed.
Kate’s body was wild with desire. She knew she needed his hard shaft inside her body. Lord, she’d never had a real desire for the male part. She’d heard it could be heaven, but she’d certainly never experienced anything like it. Right now, oh, she was at heaven’s door.
Her body was liquid fire and she had to hold tight to him to keep herself from falling.
When he drew his finger out of her, she moaned in protest. She wanted more not less.
But soon, he was freeing himself, and he took his hard shaft in his hand. Kate readied herself, but instead of thrusting into her body, he very slowly rubbed the plump tip of it up and down her most sensitive place. She jumped at the delicious sensation. Sheer torture. It felt like silk being rubbed between her thighs.
Kate groaned and tried to move her hips in such a way that would force him to thrust deep inside her. Instead, he continued to tease her, running it up and down, resting it against her opening until she frowned.
He took her hand and guided it down to his thick, length. Kate marveled at its strength. Velvety soft, it was hard and hot. She very carefully rubbed her thumb over the little slit at the top, spreading a bead of moisture over the head.
The duke grabbed her waist and the muscles in his neck tightened. “Do with me as you will.”
Shocked he would give her control, Kate loved the sudden realization she had power over him. She caressed the long shaft and his thighs tensed beneath her. After a moment, Kate couldn’t wait any longer and she guided the tip to her opening. She lowered herself down onto him.
As he entered, there was a moment of discomfort. Years of living in a loveless marriage had left her body almost virginal, but it was over quickly and she welcomed him inch after hard inch. Her eyes widened as he filled her deliciously, making her feel as if his body was somehow part of hers.
At first, she was confused as to what to do. She’d never been in any other position but on her back and in the dark.
Here in the faint glow of the candles, her legs on either side of his hips and her toes balancing on the floor, all she could do was feel. Feel everything, the solid feel of his erection stroking her, the cool air on her skin and his soft breath lightly brushing her hair as she bent over him. And she let sensation take over. Her hands went to his shoulders and his hands to her waist. Rising up and down on her toes, she delighted in the delicious feel of him stroking her inside. Guiding her pace with his hands gripping her waist, he tilted his hips up, thrusting to meet her.
If that wasn’t enough, he moved one hand to the place where their bodies met. He circled his fingers over her tight little spot. Goodness, the world was bursting apart and she was about to go with it.
In the back of her brain, the orchestra came to a sudden stop. A series of screams echoed around them from the theater. It didn’t strike her as odd, not when her body was in the throes of such passion, but the duke stopped. His body froze and his eyes opened. She grabbed him tighter, but he stilled her, his hands locking down on her body.
“Fire!” a voice screamed.
Kate frowned, trying to make sense of the sudden change. Her entire body felt like liquid. She was so close.
“Fire,” the duke hissed, looking up at her.
“What?” she murmured, so hot she could barely stand it.
“Fire,” he said tightly, his face darkening as he struggled to slip his cock free. “There’s a bloody fire!”
The rush of hundreds of feet thudded on the carpeted surface and Kate abruptly realized what was happening. Good lord! Quickly, she stuffed her breasts back into her corset, then scrambled to unseat herself, but her feet caught in her skirts. It was all she could do to keep herself from falling to the floor.
“What are we going to do?” she demanded. Hysteria seized her and she quipped, “Make a full confession?”
As she struggled to get up from his lap, her shaky legs wobbled.
The curtains from a dozen boxes swung open and lords and ladies poured into the hall, panic on their powdered and rouged faces.
However, the sight of Kate balanced on the Duke of Darkwell’s lap, her skirts up about her thighs, managed to bring them all to a halt.
The horde of lords and ladies gaped.
A few of the men eyed her appreciatively. A few ladies gazed on in envy, their eyes searching vicariously over them, but the vast majority stood with utter shock upon their faces. One or two pointed and one lady had the audacity to faint.
Kate stared back at them as if she’d been frozen in ice. If she wished it hard enough, perhaps they would all go away.
“Bloody hell,” Darkwell growled as he propped Kate up onto coltish legs. He whipped his coat off, seemingly heedless of the fact his nether regions were still exposed. Quickly, he draped the garment over her head and ordered, “Move.”
This couldn’t be happening! The crowd seemed to move in slow motion and Darkwell swept her up into his arms and marched quickly down the wide sweeping stairs.
Despite his speed and his quick thinking with the coat, Kate heard the whispers.
“Is that her?”
“Is that Mrs. Darrell?”
“Mrs. Darrell and Darkwell?”
“They were doing what?!”
“In the hall?”
“The what?!”
“The hall!”
The gasps and exclamations buzzed around them, taking the place of fire.
Darkwell didn’t let that stop him. He kept moving with long strides. Holding tight on to his shoulders, Kate shook. Every bit of her body was still wildly alive from the desire he’d awakened in her but now horror was thrown into the mix.
Someone cried out, “Fire, damn you all!” And everyone started milling again, making for the doors.
But Kate felt, even with the coat over her head, a hundred pairs of eyes upon her.
Cold air assailed her arms and suddenly she was being flung into a coach. She bounced on the leather seat and yanked the duke’s coat from her head. Biting down on her lower lip, she tried to ignore his readjusting his breeches as he climbed in.
Darkwell sat across from her his eyes
ablaze. A muscle ticked in his cheek. The fury hardening his features was intense. She wasn’t sure if he was furious with her, himself or the witnesses. Perhaps all three.
She glanced out the glass window as hundreds of theater patrons poured out the doors. Fire licked the rooftop. Of all the nights that something of this nature had to happen, it had to be the one where she finally had her chance with the duke.
And she hadn’t even gotten to finish.
What struck her as she glanced out the window was that a whole crowd was watching the duke’s carriage maneuvering its way through the chokehold of other vehicles. It couldn’t have been that bad. Indeed, it couldn’t. Kate felt a wave of hysteria rise inside her and she laughed. The sound bubbled up from her, pouring out her lips.
“What, madam,” the duke growled. “Could possibly amuse you?”
She turned to Darkwell. Not even his austere face could stop the building shock inside her. She laughed again. “I promised myself I’d cause a scandal.”
“Congratulations.” The duke raised a black brow. “You’ve succeeded.”
Yes, and at the rate she was going, she would set the record for all scandals to come. Kate shook her head, her insides rattling with uncontrollable laughter.
She had only one question. A question she should have asked herself before she’d begun her quest for sin. Once one committed what was, no doubt, the scandal of the Season, what exactly did one do next?
Chapter 9
The woman was mad. Absolutely mad. And of course, he’d bloody debauched her. Her laughter filled the coach like a bright bubbling spring. Preposterously, he loved the sound. Which most likely made him mad was well. But the laugh was optimistic and edged with pride at her own accomplishment, or was it panic? Whatever it damned well was, it was mad. Sodding loolah.
“Come, Your Grace, surely you see some humor in this situation.” She pressed a hand to her rosy cheek. “This isn’t Hell after all. Surely there’s no need to look as if you’ve just swallowed brimstone.”
