Duke I’d Like to F…

by Sierra Simone

  “That’s—” Marena paused, lifting her gaze to the ceiling for a moment as if searching for the right word. When she looked at him again, her eyes were bright in a way he had not seen before. Curiosity perhaps, but Arlo hoped it was more than that. “Your mother’s family sounds very unusual.”

  “If you mean unusually aware of the world for a lot of rich tossers, you’re right.” He smiled at her horrified expression. “Those are my grandmother’s words. She never misses a chance to remind me that the least we can do is work to uplift others when we have been handed so much. Even as a child, she was vexed with the ability of the wealthy to ignore their hand in the plight of everyone else. That’s partly why she never went back to America. She arrived in England with the plan to take me back to New York with her, but then decided she could do more here,” he explained. “When my grandfather died, he left her a very wealthy woman, but it was 1850 and slavery was still a fiercely protected institution. She stayed and continued to support efforts there, helping advocates for the cause visit England and gain supporters. My father was always away.” He shrugged, noticing that the ever-present sting of his father’s abandonment, felt somehow less acute tonight. “I spent my formative years sitting with some of the most brilliant free thinkers of Britain and America. By the time my father fell into this dukedom, I had already been steeped deeply in my grandmother’s beliefs.”

  “She sounds like someone I’d like to meet,” Marena said in a low but serious voice. The thought of it made the blood rush to his ears. He wanted that. Would love to watch them together. Talking passionately. Speaking freely.

  “I think she’d love you,” he said, certain of that fact.

  She raised an eyebrow, considering him. “Why are you revealing this to me?”

  Why was he? Was it an attempt to impress her? Show her he wasn’t like one of those cads that walked into her shop and disrespected her? No, it was more than that. He looked at her now, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity he saw things clearly. He could surmise how a person’s sense of themselves or their future could be changed in a moment. Because to him, now in this cellar, Marena felt like answers to questions he’d never thought to ask. And he wondered if she might see him the same way too. After a lifetime of glancing at people, Arlo had finally found someone who compelled his complete focus.

  She was still waiting for his answer. “I’m not sure,” he said ruefully. “I look at you and the things you need to consider about your reputation, your name, your business. And I look at how things are for me, how they’ve always been, even before I become duke, and I feel like I’ve been spared having to become an adult in fundamental ways. How unfair that is.” He shook his head. He was making no sense. “This is coming out all wrong.”

  “I don’t think it is.” She sounded alert, and her eyes were lit with anticipation. Marena wanted to hear where this went. This conversation mattered.

  “To be ignorant of what occurred before you were born is to remain always a child.” It was out of his mouth before he could think about it, but instead of confusion, her eyes widened and her lips parted into a grin that made him feel like they were sharing a secret.

  “For what is the worth of human life, unless it is woven into the life of our ancestors by the record of history?” she said, finishing the phrase that his grandmother had repeated to him his entire life.

  “Cicero.” They said the name in unison, and he saw his own smile on her face.

  “That is the sum of it.” He said, reaching across the table for her hand, needing to touch her.

  Of course she’d know. Of course. He lifted the glass of Burgundy wine they’d been served with the duck and took a sip before asking. “And what about your family? How was it to arrive in gray and dreary London after a childhood in the sunshine of the tropics?”

  She looked at him from under those long eyelashes, a shy smile on her lip, but when she answered, her voice was strong and self-possessed. “Different.” She shook her head, almost like she was sorting memories to share with him. “It’s funny to think it now, but until our parents told us we were going to England, I never really thought about it as a real place.” She smiled longingly at whatever she remembered. “We were in Havana at the time and had been there for a few years. It was after my grandmother passed away. My mother wouldn’t come to England without my grandmother, and she would not set foot outside of the Antilles. So we stayed until after.”

  Her face crumpled a little, and he brushed his thumb across her palm, which he was still clutching. “Were you close to your grandmother? I couldn’t imagine losing mine,” he said sincerely.

  “I was.” She smiled radiantly. “My grandmother, Azucena Mejia de Torres, was the one who introduced my father to botany. She was a famous root worker, you see? People would come from all over the West Indies to learn from her. That’s how I knew Madame Lemba. She had been my grandmother’s apprentice. Once I started working at the apothecary with my father, I had to learn about doing root work in England. My mother didn’t have the passion for it.” She sighed at the mention of her mother, but her wistful smile remained on her lips. “And my father could only teach me so much, as the work gets passed from woman to woman.”

  “We both were taught about life by wise women with very strong views,” he said, feeling too much at once.

  “We were,” she said thoughtfully, her eyes distant for a moment. Like they were fixed on a faraway memory. But when her gaze returned to him, there was heat in those gorgeous brown depths. “You have a breadth of hidden passions, Your Grace.” Her tone was enticing, and so warm the blood in his veins thrummed at the sound of it.

  Arlo had garnered the reputation of being unflappable for good reason. He’d forgotten what it was like to let his guard down for anyone but his grandmother. Even the lovers he occasionally took never got much more than a few fucks and a goodbye. The world in which he lived put him in contact with women who never seemed to hold his interest for long. But for Marena, he wanted to bare himself.

  “I’ll be glad to demonstrate how high my passions can run, darling,” he said, diverting the topic. Taking things back to the familiar grounds of seduction seemed like a safer alternative. Even if he hated himself for ruining the fragile, intimate moment. But then she made a small surprised sound and shifted in her seat, a tinge of red on her cheeks, and he was bowled over by need. He pushed his chair back, eyes locked on the mouth that now seemed to be all he could see, and stood.

  “Arlo,” she warned as he tossed his napkin on the table and came to her.

  “Marena.” He hardly recognized his voice, roughened by desire as he pulled her to standing. He didn’t know what he was going to do. The world could burn in the next minute, but right then his whole life whittled down to making this woman moan with pleasure. He bent to kiss her, their lips brushing. “I love those sounds you make, but if you stay very, very quiet, I imagine I can make you come before dessert arrives.”

  He felt her mouth tip up. “You’re an astonishingly bad idea, Arlo Kenworthy.”

  “The very worst,” he asserted as he kissed her, sliding his tongue into her mouth. She opened for him and his world again tipped on its axis. A man of thirty-five ought to have more composure when it came to a simple kiss, and yet his control ripped at the seams. “I’m very close to tearing this room apart or ruining your gown when I tumble us both to the floor.”

  “Don’t you dare. My mother worked on this dress for months. She’d kill me, and don’t think she wouldn’t come looking for you in Mayfair.” He wished he could store the sound of this particular laugh in a music box so he could listen to it—happy, a little wicked and very, very aroused—when she was gone.

  “I’m impressed by your mother’s skills,” he said, pulling back to admire the bright blue raw silk and tiny black seashells embroidered along the sleeve caps of the dress. The contrast against her skin was truly breathtaking. “And I thank you for advising me on this being her handiwork, else I would’ve d
one some damage. Now, let’s see how fast I can undo this row of buttons."

  At that moment, he heard footsteps at the top of the stairs, and without taking his hands off her, he lifted his head and bellowed, “Whoever you are, do not come down those stairs!”

  The scrambling was immediate, followed by the sound of the cellar door closing in haste. “I was looking forward to the dessert,” she protested weakly as he ran his teeth over her neck. “I didn’t come to be debauched in a cellar. I came to enjoy the best food in Paris.”

  He groaned in agreement as he diligently kissed the crook of her neck, swiping his tongue just enough to make her shiver. “And I’ve enjoyed watching you enjoy it. I nearly maimed myself at the sounds you made over that Bordeaux sauce.”

  She huffed a laugh as she held on to his shoulders. “In my defense, it was made with a large quantity of cream, as is the glacé that I will now be deprived of.” He felt the vibrations of her delighted laugh as he made his way down to her collarbone, kissing warm skin until he reached her breasts. He smiled against the warmth of her, almost overcome by the devastating pleasure of having her in his arms.

  “I’ll buy you whatever sweets you’d like tomorrow. I’ll have Cyrus raid every patisserie in Paris.”

  “But this glacé is famous and it’s topped with raspberries. And they have chocolates.” Even though Arlo was not certain on the whether her amorous moan was due to his attentions or Marena’s penchant for chocolate, his cock still made a valiant effort to break through the placket of his trousers.

  “I’ll send him to the Marais for berries and then to every chocolatier in Paris,” he said, his hand cupping her sex over the many layers of her dress. He pressed two fingers to the seam, making her gasp. He wanted to fit himself in between her thighs and bury himself inside. He was vibrating with the need of it. “I’ll have him come here and get you the blasted ice cream. I need to touch you. Can I touch you?”

  “Yes, please,” she said ardently, and he made short work of lifting her onto the sideboard.

  “You are a miracle in silk and spectacles.” He pulled back to look at her.

  “The things you say, Your Grace.” She was smiling at him, amusement making her eyes sparkle, and again he felt things shift in him. He wanted more, so much more.

  “Spread your legs.”

  “For a man that claims to not fit well into the nobility, you are certainly good at barking out orders.” The expression on her face as she leaned back to consider him, provocative and brash, was a sight to behold. “Are you certain there’s something there you want?” With that, she crossed her legs, taunting him. Good God, he wanted to ravage her.

  He punched his fists into his trouser pockets and offered her the same heavy-lidded look she was giving him. “More than I have wanted anything in my life.” He tried to grin, as if this were a bit of fun, but he felt those words in a forgotten corner of his heart. A place that had been closed so firmly he scarcely knew it.

  “When I know what I want, I make sure I get it.”

  “And what you want is to have me in this cellar.” Very slowly, her legs moved under her skirts until they were parallel to each other on the sideboard.

  “What I want, with your consent, of course, darling,” he said, hands itching to touch her, “is to spread your legs, slide the necessary layers of fabric off you, and avail myself of that sweet little cunt I can’t seem to stop thinking about.” He licked his lips for good measure, and he heard the tiniest hitch of breath.

  “If only you’d said so from the beginning.” She teased and obliged by giving him access between her thighs, a secret smile on her face.

  He slid the dress up and went to his knees with his heart hammering in his chest, cock painfully hard. “You’ve been bare all night,” he groaned, feeling his control being edged out by powerful need. He placed his hands on the inside of her thighs, opening her to his view.

  “I decided it was sensible planning,” she said voice tight. “I seem to have left every ounce of sense back in London.” His chest rumbled in a appreciation as she tipped her hips forward, giving more access. “It felt like the practical thing to do.”

  “Practical, of course,” he said, entranced. He quickly wet two of his fingers, then knelt so his mouth was right at her core. He could see beads of liquid forming there already, and he used his digits to go searching for the little nub. “Have you been ready for me all night, sweetheart?” He flicked the little peak with his tongue as he pushed a finger inside her, and was rewarded with a gasp for his efforts.

  “I’ve been like this since the moment you walked in my shop.” Her voice trembled as he feasted on her. He placed his lips around her clitoris and sucked while she moaned and writhed for him. He had her reaching her crisis in minutes, her walls clamping on his fingers and her pleasure rushing onto his tongue.

  “Arlo.” When she said his name like that, he felt like he could raze the world to have her like this always.

  “Tell me what more you want,” he pleaded.

  “I want to touch you,” she said, her eyes hot, and he thought for a second that he saw more than just lust there. There was a softness, a warmth he had not seen before. His heart drummed in his chest at the possibility of it. She reached for him, and he stood.

  Soon they were kissing again, her hands fumbling with the placket of his trousers. Her hands rubbing over the fabric, fingers sliding over the shape of him until he was painfully hard.

  “Mmm,” she hummed as she opened the placket of his trousers and pulled his cock out, the sound making him impossibly harder. “This is impressive. You certainly don’t require my vigor tinctures.” she purred, surprising a bark of laughter out of him. But soon he was holding on to the edge of the sideboard and fucking into her hand in earnest. He shivered as she used the beads of liquid gathering at the head of his cock to ease her strokes with one hand and tugged on his balls with the other.

  “You are impressive in your own right, sweetheart,” he said, barely containing a moan when she tightened her grip on the head of his cock. He bent down to kiss her and pulled down the bodice of the dress, looking for her breasts, needing to have his mouth and hands full of her.

  “Ah,” she gasped as he tweaked a nipple between his fingers and kissed her jaw, the side of her mouth, and finally her lips. She sucked on his tongue as she redoubled her efforts, stroking him like her hand had been made solely for that task. Fire licked at his spine, pleasure building and building as he slid his fingers into her heat while he thrust into her hand.

  “I want to hear you come apart again, beauty,” he demanded between kisses, his head fuzzy. He felt his orgasm coming, that exquisite pressure before the release. “Your hands are a marvel, Marena.”

  “I like how you say my name,” she confessed, as his climax barreled into him, and in that last second, he thought, This is what bliss feels like.

  “Marena.” Her eyes were still bright, but there was a bit of uncertainty there, and that would not do. He took her chin between his fingers and gave her the sweetest kiss he’d ever given anyone. “Would you say that was at least as good as the finest dessert in Paris?”

  Her lips turned up and his heart drummed in his chest.

  “No raspberry sauce, but delicious in its own way.” She smiled against his mouth, their foreheads pressed together. He’d never been callous with the women he’d taken to his bed, but he was not one to crave closeness after lovemaking. To press in instead of pulling back. Except now, he could not seem to stop touching her.

  “You’re delectable and addictive. The more I taste, the more I want,” He tried to sound casual, but the pressure in his chest at having the words out in the open told a different story. She let him work to put her skirt to rights in silence, and when he finally helped her down from the sideboard, he was sure she would distance herself from him.

  But instead she ran her hands over his chest, straightening his cravat. Pressing her palm gently to his cheek. “Thank you for dinner.” Her eyes
were still soft and vulnerable, and he practically vibrated with the need to ask her if she wasn’t feeling it too. That everything was changing. Instead he tucked an errant curl behind her ear because the other things he wanted to do felt too precarious.

  When he could speak again, he took her hands in his and drew her toward the stairs of the cellar. “Let’s go.”

  “We’re leaving?” She paused to grab her gloves and handbag.

  “Yes.” Soon they were climbing the stairs, his eyes and hand on that delicious bottom. He intended to see her gloriously naked and in his bed within the hour. “I’m already craving seconds, and I’ll need a lot more privacy for that.”

  Chapter Nine

  The carriage ride had been…frenzied. They hardly could keep their hands off each other, and by the time they arrived at the townhouse, their clothes were in an extremely sorry state. Arlo was utterly shameless, and Marena was smitten. No, smitten made her think of wallflowers, ballrooms and longing glances across crowded rooms. What Arlo had started in her was far more explosive than that. Since that morning at the market when he’d looked on with fascination at everything she purchased, to when he kissed her and made her forget every kiss that had come before that one, she’d known. This man was a storm passing through her quiet life and there would be wreckage after he was gone. But Marena had allowed herself this night, and she would have it.

  They’d arrived at the Place des Vosges and, after the usual formality of handing off hats and capes to his valet, they’d each gone to their rooms. Arlo had promised he’d come to her, and now she was waiting and feeling like she was on fire. Anticipation thrummed through her blood. It had been some time since she’d done this. Her sexual appetites were varied, and she wasn’t a novice. But she was cautious, not wanting a pregnancy or an illness. Nor London’s gossipmongers arriving at her shop’s door.