by Gill, Tamara
“You’re too wild, Mary.” Her friend shook her head, an amused smirk across her lips. “Whatever will your family do with you?”
Mary laughed. “Nothing or perhaps they could lock me up in a convent abroad I suppose, but Papa would never allow that. As much as they may despair at my independent ideas and hobbies, they would never break my heart by punishing me for them.”
“That is true.” Louise nodded toward the door. “The duke has arrived.”
She cast a glance in his direction and watched as he entered with her brother by his side. The two made a striking pair. The duke with his dark hair and coloring and her brother who was all blond and angelic. Both had reputations about London however, the duke more than anyone. A gentleman every debutante wanted and yet none had managed to turn his gaze.
Until now…
He met her stare across the room as they made their way into the throng of guests and the place behind her breast fluttered. Mary watched as he stood beside her brother, quiet and watchful of the room, her more than most, and she couldn’t help but wonder what if. What if she was the one to turn the duke’s gaze to her and only her. Forever.
Would he make her give up her love of freedom, her desire to do as she wished whenever she chose, her hobbies outside the ballroom. Would he be like so many of the gentlemen of the ton who only saw their wives as trophies to be admired, exalted and boasted about, but never anything else.
The thought left her cold and she twisted the mistletoe in her fingers, wondering if she should simply stop teasing the duke and leave him well alone. As it was, the kiss she bestowed on him only yesterday in the drawing room had been a risk, and had her parents or brother walked in and seen her actions the duke would already be her husband. The kiss on the terrace was worse with the ball taking place right beside them. But surely a gentleman who took an interest as he did was not so backward in thinking. Surely he would not wish her to change.
“He appears to watch you a great deal, Mary.”
Mary turned and threw the piece of mistletoe into the fire behind them, before sitting on the settee before the hearth. She smiled at Louise. “He’s simply watching to make sure Lord Weston does not try and court me. Do not read into his attention any more than that.”
“I think you may be wrong about that,” Louise said, sitting also. Mary fidgeted with her gown and fought not to look in his direction. An impossibility almost.
Mary set out to enjoy the night of impromptu dancing some of the guests took part in, supper, games and cards. Her mother had ordered made her favorite desserts of lemon cake and ices. Her father wore his silly Christmas hat that had little elves sewn onto it and her mother’s festive gown was the deepest shade of red with small sprigs of holly sewed about the hems.
It was times like these with her family that she loved the most, and her eyes smarted that if she married, it would no longer just be the four of them. She would leave to spend such times with her new husband. The gentleman might choose to spend Christmas alone or with his own family. Everything would change.
Out the corner of her eye she watched as the duke sat in a seat across from her and Louise. He crossed his long legs, leaning back in the chair and waited. It reminded Mary of a lion before it pounced on its prey.
The heat of his gaze bore into her until she couldn’t take it any longer and she looked at him. He glanced at her with an air of boredom and heat rose on her cheeks at the memory of their time on the terrace. She swallowed, hoping he’d assume the fire had made her warm and not him.
“Did you know that you’re sitting under a sprig of mistletoe, Lady Mary?”
Mary looked up to see a row of holly and mistletoe had been strung across the room’s ceiling directly above where she sat. She cringed. “I did not,” she said in a tone that she hoped conveyed boredom and not hope. Louise chuckled and tried to mask it with a cough.
“I’m going to talk to your mama for a moment. I’ll be back soon, Mary,” she said, standing and leaving her alone with the duke.
Mary fidgeted with her hands in her lap, her attention snapping back to the duke. His eyes ran over her person and she shivered at the heat that banked in his gaze. Desire rushed through her, hot and impatient and she closed her eyes a moment to gain some semblance of control. She shouldn’t want to kiss him again, but little else had occupied her mind since they’d done it last. She was turning into a veritable wanton.
How could she ever remain a spinster, a wallflower if she hankered for his touch, his mouth on hers and everything else that he could give her?
“Lord Weston isn’t sitting with me, so why are you, your grace?” she asked.
He leaned forward, running a hand over his jaw. He looked up at her and a piece of his hair fell across his eye. It made him look even more wicked than normal and her stomach fluttered. “That, Lady Mary, I have been asking myself and I cannot fathom as to why.”
She raised her brow, having not expected him to be so honest. The way he was looking at her, as if she were the tastiest morsel in the room made her question her priorities. She licked her lips, wondering yet again if he would be the type of man who’d ask his wife to change who she was for the sake of the title, of what was expected by the ton.
Mary couldn’t abide by such a life if that was what he wished. Not that the duke was looking to marry her, but from the hunger she read in his eyes, he was certainly after something.
“Really?” Mary cast a glance about the room, seeing that they were quite alone. “I think I do.”
He leaned back in his chair, a grin on his delectable lips that she wanted him to ravish her with. “Do tell,” he said, matter of fact.
Never one not to be honest or talk bluntly she studied him a moment. “I think you’re here because you want to be. I think you’re here because you want to kiss me again,” she whispered. “And I think you’re here because you are trying to work out why that is the case.”
His eyes narrowed, his features cooling a little at her words. “While I will admit that your kiss was very…enjoyable, I’m merely here to keep Lord Weston from approaching you. The cad can find someone else to ruin, it won’t be you.”
But maybe it’ll be you instead… Mary bit her lip, a part of her wanting Lord Weston to enter, to court and make a fuss of her, if only to set off the duke’s ire. “If I married Lord Weston I’d always live near my childhood home. I could continue on as I always have in Derbyshire. His lordship could come and go as he pleases and so too could I.” Mary leaned forward, knowing she was giving him a little glimpse of her assets. “Perhaps you ought to leave so he can continue his courtship of me. I’m not immune to staying in Derbyshire.”
All lies, she was totally immune to Lord Weston’s charms, certainly after she saw what he was doing with Lady Hectorville and after she’d kissed the man who sat across from her. The duke’s gaze darkened further, and she schooled her features, not wanting him to know she could read him like a book.
Chapter 10
Dale took a calming breath, not sure if he wanted to shake a little sense into the maddening chit or kiss her senseless. Both, he assumed would do equally well. He’d promised Peter he would keep Mary out of Lord Weston’s clutches, but it was another thing entirely to keep her out of his own.
True, she drove him mad, vexed him often with her sharp tongue, and kissed like she’d been taking part in such actions for years, not days. The memory of her in his embrace haunted him nightly, and he’d taken his gentlemanly needs into his own hands. Literally.
He cleared his throat. “You do not need to make any hasty decisions; you have next Season still to attend.” Dale drank in the vision of her. The moment he’d seen her tonight, her golden silk gown and emerald necklace gave her a festive air, and his gut had clenched at the beauty she was.
How had he not seen it under all those ribbons and bows. He could only fathom that she’d done all that she could to remain invisible when in Town. That was no longer the case. No gentleman in attendance was u
naware of Lady Mary’s presence, and the admiring glances, the attention she’d had bestowed on her these past days was proof of that.
Next year she would find a gentleman who suited her and she would marry him.
The thought left him cold.
“If I made my decision now, I would not have to attend London next year. I could stay in Derbyshire.” She picked up her glass of wine that sat on a small table beside her chair and took a sip. She met his eyes over the rim of the glass, and he could read the amusement in her green orbs.
What are you playing at minx…?
“And now that you’ve taught me how to kiss, what sort of passions I would like in a husband, Lord Weston may be open to my eligibility. Lady Hectorville is after all a lot older than himself. I think I’m more suited to him in age.”
Anger simmered in Dale’s blood and he fisted his hands in his lap. “You would kiss Lord Weston if given the opportunity?”
“Of course,” Lady Mary said, shrugging one delicate shoulder. “I kissed you, did I not? I’m three and twenty, more than old enough to know a little of what is to come should I marry. And I must admit that I find kissing very…” she pursed her lips and his body hardened. “Nice.”
Dale ground his teeth, having heard enough of Mary kissing anyone she deemed suitable. “Just because Lord Weston is your neighbor here does not make him a suitable candidate. I will not allow you to throw yourself at him.”
She stood, and he sat forward as she strode toward him, walked past and ran her hand up his lapels to his shoulder. His body roared with annoyance. She had not agreed to his terms. To her brother’s wishes. “You cannot stop me, your grace.”
The hell he couldn’t. He stood and stormed after her. He followed her into a nearby corridor that ran off the library, it was unlit and the bare wooden floors gave rise to it only being used by servants.
“I will tell your brother what you’re playing at, so I can stop you, Lady Mary.”
She rounded on him, pushing him hard up against the wall. He stared at her a moment, not quite believing she’d manhandled him in such a way, before all thought fled from his mind when he realized her hand was running down his chest to run across his stomach.
He lay his head back against the wall, watching her take her fill of his body, wishing that her hand would delve lower and wrap about his aching cock.
“Should I tell my brother what you did to me over the terrace railing, your grace? How you made me ache. How you made me crave things I don’t even understand? If I’m willing to throw myself at Lord Weston it all could be laid at your door?”
“How so?” he rasped, his voice laced in agony.
“Because,” she said, her hand running about his waist to drop lower and cover one cheek of his arse, squeezing it a little. Her lips were just a breath away from his. She smelled of wine and spices. Dale kept his hands locked at his side knowing that if he placed them on her, there would be no turning back with what he wanted to do with her.
“At night the pleasure you wrought inside of me is all that I think about. I want to have that again, and if Lord Weston marries me, then I can have that and everything else as well. My life here as it’s always been.”
“You do not need to marry to find pleasure.” Dale cursed his words, but he could not regret saying them. He wanted her. Wanted to taste and kiss every morsel of her body. Wanted her to shatter under his ministrations.
“And just as you instructed me in the art of kissing, you’ll instruct me in that art as well?”
“Hell yes,” he said, slamming his mouth against hers. She gasped, and kissed him back with as much fire, as much need as his own. His body was aflame, hot and wanting. He broke the kiss, ignoring her moan of displeasure and looked about. Seeing a door nearby, he pulled her toward it, opening it to find a storeroom housing linen.
Dale yanked her inside, closing the door and snipping the lock.
Before he’d turned back to her, she’d clasped his face and pulled him in for a kiss. A small part of him thought that she’d vexed him on purpose, brought on such a reaction from him. But right at this moment, he didn’t care. All he cared for was that she was in his arms and his to have.
He backed her up toward a small table and lifting her quickly he sat her atop it. For a moment he watched her, both of their breathing was ragged, her breasts rising and falling with each intake of air. In the meagerly lit room, her golden gown was a beacon. Her leg idly swung, her silk slipper falling to the floor and he bit back a groan, knowing what he was about to do to her could never be undone.
Dale kneeled, slipping her other foot free of her shoe. He ran his hand up her long, soft stockinged leg reaching up until he felt the ribbon about her garter. Untying it, he slipped one and then the other off her leg, unable to stop himself from leaning forward and kissing her inner thigh, her knee, her sweet, delicate ankle.
Her fingers spiked through his hair, and he looked up, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were wide, hungry, her face flushed with anticipation and perhaps a little discomfiture. She had no reason to be so. He’d never do anything to hurt or embarrass her.
He gathered the hem of her gown and slowly slid it up her legs and prayed she would not stop him.
Mary shook all over, her body thrumming with expectation and wonder over what the duke was about to do to her. She had goaded and teased him into acting out in such a way, but the idea she could find pleasure without losing her innocence was an opportunity she would never pass up.
He pushed her legs apart, leaving her vulnerable, and causing her to lean back on her hands. Heat bloomed on her cheeks but she could not look away, for she was mesmerized by what he was doing to her. He bestowed an open mouth kiss on her inner thigh, hot and wet. The action was so private, a ministration that she’d never thought a man would ever do to a woman. Mary gasped, biting her lip, uncertain of what he meant to do from this point on.
“Lie back,” he commanded, his voice a gravelly purr. The duke stood and pushed her to lay flat on the table. A stack of linens lay beneath her head and she gasped as cool air kissed higher on her leg, before her gown pooled at her waist.
His large hands slid over her abdomen, her thighs, before pushing her legs further apart. His hot breath above her most private of places warmed her, and then he was there, his mouth, his tongue, teasing, flicking and kissing her as he had against her mouth.
Mary reached down, clasping his hair, holding him to her and pushing away the little voice that shouted at her to stop. That this was not appropriate or becoming for a lady. But she no longer cared. All she cared was that his mouth was on her and whatever he was doing to her felt so perfectly delicious.
He clasped the underside of her legs and lifted them to sit on his shoulders. Pushing forward, he flicked her with his tongue, before she felt him run a finger down over her core, teasing her entrance.
Mary moaned having never felt anything so wickedly good before in her life.
“You taste so damn sweet,” he said, meeting her gaze as he pressed one finger slowly into her.
She bit her lip, wanting to scream at the pleasure of his touch. Instead she clenched around his finger, milking it and wishing there was another part of him that could fill and inflame her.
He teased her relentlessly for some minutes. It was all too much, but not enough. And then she was there, a pinnacle worth the climb and one she wanted to fall from again and again.
She gasped as pleasure coursed through her, and all the while the duke did not let up. He continued to pull and tease every last drop of bliss from her he could. Her muscles felt spent and weak and she sighed, smiling a little as he stood and helped right her gown, her stockings and the silk slippers that had fallen onto the floor.
“You look positively ravished.”
Mary sat up, leaning on her elbows. “And you, your grace look like you’re in pain.” She sat all the way up, flattening out her gown and checking that her hair was reasonably tidy. Running a hand over his jaw, she touched
his lips, heat coursing through her with the knowledge of what they could do to her.
She shook her head. “I had no idea that a man’s mouth could be so very clever.”
He smiled, chuckling and stepping between her legs, his hardened member hard up against her own sex. She clutched at his lapels, fire coursing through her once again.
“You might be surprised just how very clever I am.” He kissed her and she could taste her own tartness. Such a thing should revolt her, but instead, she drank him in, loving the fact that he’d held no such remorse in bringing her pleasure while leaving her a maid.
She broke the kiss. “Tell me how I can please you.”
His nostrils flared and he stepped back, severing the contact. “It is enough that you did this evening. We need not do any more.”
He walked to the door and opened it a little, looking out into the hall. “There is no one about. You should return to the parlor or head to your room. I shall make an appearance and then retire myself.”
Mary shuffled off the folding table, checking that the linens behind her were as they had been when they entered the room. She came up to him, trying to gauge what he was thinking. What he thought of her and what they’d done. “Even with what happened in here tonight I do not want you to think that I expect anything from you. Marriage is not an institution that I want unless I’m certain I’ve chosen correctly, so please do not allow any gentlemanly honor to raise its head and insist that you make an honest woman of me.”
Something flickered in his eyes, relief, regret, that she couldn’t tell. He leaned down, kissing her lips and the action felt almost final. Like he was drawing a line beneath them and finishing the little liaison in his life.
“I’m glad you do not expect such a thing, Lady Mary, for as you know I also do not wish to be saddled with a wife, not for some time yet. I do not wish to give you false hope of something more even though I should after what I just did to you.”
