by Sharon Page
She hooked her arms around his neck. She felt the strong, corded muscles of his throat, unyielding against her arms. He tasted tart—of brandy. His lips were hot and firm and stayed closed against her assault. She pressed her tongue to the tight seam of them, but he wouldn’t let her inside. Instead, he moved his face back, breaking their kiss.
Refusing to give up, she wriggled against him until there wasn’t a breath of air between them. Then she felt it—felt his shaft lift and stiffen against her skirts. It was hard and long, pressing against her belly. A surge of victory took her. She had done it. She’d made him want her.
Breathless, she slid her hand from his shoulder, across the curls of hair on his chest, following the line of the soft downy hair to his navel, then lower. To take him in her hand and caress him.
“Stop,” he growled.
She did. But she kept her fingertips against the firm, warm skin of his lower abdomen. He didn’t move her hand. It must mean his resolve to send her away was weakening.
Suddenly, idiotically, she felt guilty. It seemed wrong, this calculated seduction she must carry out. Normally, her encounters were straightforward. Madame’s brothel had rules, of course. Any gentleman who purchased her knew exactly what she was willing—and allowed—to do. If he desired something different, he must go to another girl. She’d never had to be a seductress and entice a man to do what he didn’t want.
The duke hadn’t wanted her five years ago either. But she had to win now: Her life depended on her success.
She teasingly stroked the hard ridge of his nude hip. “I want to pleasure you. Nothing more than that.”
“And payment,” he pointed out drily.
“Of course I have to earn a living,” she said simply. “But you must need sex, after so long.”
“I attacked you, you damned stupid girl. Didn’t that frighten you, or don’t you have the wit to understand what I am?”
“You are a wounded man—”
“Hell.” The duke grasped her arms and pushed her away. He took a brisk step back. His hip banged the arm of the settee, but he did not even flinch. “Do you know what wounded animals do, or haven’t you encountered a beast like me in Town? We bite. We just might kill.”
“You didn’t really hurt me, though.” No, she knew what it was like to be truly beaten and wounded. If she clamped her teeth together, pain still shot through her bruised jaw. Her face was still sore from her madam’s slaps. Her chest and back bore faded purplish-yellow bruises from the punches inflicted by Madame Sin’s brute of a bodyguard. Her only saving grace was that the duke could not see how battered she was.
Every twinge of pain from those bruises was a reminder she was facing death. Whether it came at his hands, the hands of the law, or from starvation, what difference did it make? He was, in fact, her best hope for survival.
She forced her voice to lower an octave. “How would you like to have sex, Your Grace? Perhaps hard and fast, with a big explosive climax at the end? Or slow and sensual? You could spend an hour or two lazily thrusting your hard cock into me.”
“Damn … damn. Damn.” His breathing was ragged. It was obvious, when she let her gaze slide below his waist, what her suggestions and his imagination were doing to him.
“All right.” He bit the words off.
She couldn’t quite believe her ears. “You want to do it?”
“Yes. I suspect it’s the only way I will get rid of you.” His mouth quirked up for an instant, then dropped into a grim line.
Anne steeled herself for the next step. She licked her dry lips and pushed her gown lower to expose her breasts, which sat high, perched on the shelf of her stays. She tugged down her filmy shift to completely uncover them. Feigning bold confidence, she asked, “How would you prefer it, Your Grace? You can have anything you want.”
Chapter Two
HE DUKE RAKED his hand through his hair, snagging on knots that looked as if they had not been combed for days. “Love, I have no idea what I want. As Ashton told you, it’s been a long time.”
Anne sashayed up to him. She lowered her lashes, trying to look tempting, then remembered such tricks wouldn’t work on the duke. She had to use her voice and touch. Being half naked made her feel more awkward, even though he was completely nude and very unconcerned about it. She pressed close, pushing her bare breasts to his chest. His hands settled on her waist. But before she could let out a practiced moan, his hands moved. He cupped her right breast, then gently pinched her nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.
Anne gasped. Normally she felt pain when her nipples were toyed with. She turned off her feelings when a man’s hands went there. But she could not fall into her usual pattern, where she went somewhere else in her mind. Not this time. She must focus on the duke. Watch his every move and sense what he wanted. She had to perform so well for him that he would want to keep her.
“Would—would you want to go to your bedroom?” she suggested. She sounded so nervous. She had to quell that. After all, she knew he did not desire inexperienced women.
The pressure on her nipple lightened. It became a soft caress. It became almost … pleasing.
“Here will do, angel. We are in my study, aren’t we?”
She frowned at the odd question. Surely, even without sight, he would know that. “Yes.”
“Good. For a moment, I worried I’d passed out in the hallway and I was now fondling your breast in full view of my staff.”
She jumped at the thought. “You truly did not know where you were?”
“I was just making certain. There wouldn’t have been a chair in the corridor, would there? Unless I’d thrown one out into the hall.”
Thrown one into the hall?
“The truth is, angel, the world is nothing but a blue-gray void to me.” He pinched her nipple suddenly, harder.
She whimpered.
“You don’t like that? I’m sorry.” His voice was harsh. “Perhaps you don’t want a blind man fucking you.”
He was angry, bitter, vulnerable, and he was lashing out because of it. Men frightened her when they did that. But from the duke, with his wounds and his blindness, she understood it. His sightlessness didn’t bother or frighten her, as it did some people. Her grandfather had gone blind. “Your Grace,” she said firmly, “you lost your sight because of battle. I would never consider your blindness an affliction.”
“You wouldn’t?” He bent and his lips brushed her upper chest. “Yet I cannot find your nipple without a lot of clumsy licking.” His tongue washed over her skin. She shivered at the warmth, at the tingling sensations rushing down into her belly. Usually she didn’t feel such things.
“I’m enjoying your search,” she whispered.
His tongue stroked across her nipple, pushing it in. It popped out after the hot, wet sweep of pressure, and it was plumper, harder, and almost throbbing with sensation. Her knees were rapidly turning to jelly. Anne clasped the prominent bones of the duke’s hips to stay on her feet.
She had never felt so … unstable, so light-headed and strange when a man did things to her body before penetration. In the brothel, she was always in control with a gentleman; she always played her part to perfection. It had kept her from being punished by Madame. She must be in charge of her wits now.
To prove she was in command, that she was not going to give in to nerves or the unusual dizzy feeling in her head, she gave a sultry moan. One of her best.
The duke fondled her derrière and licked her nipple with the tip of his tongue. She felt the oddest … warm, aching feeling low in her belly. With a pang of sadness, she saw that the duke kept his eyes closed. Was it so he wouldn’t be reminded he was blind while he touched her?
A soft moan slipped out from between her lips. One she hadn’t planned. One that was real. It was too squeaky, not sultry at all.
His Grace stopped for breath. “If I am going to make love to you, I would like to know your name, angel.”
Anne. It sounded so dull. Anyw
ay, her name had been given to the Bow Street Runners, who had been called in after Madame’s death. She had to give the duke a false name. A new name—a brand-new one for a whole new life. “Cerise,” she murmured. It had been the color Madame had chosen for her, a scandalous scarlet. Now she must act like the sort of bold jade who would willingly wear a red silk gown and shove her bosom at a man to get his attention.
“Lovely,” he whispered in return, then he opened his mouth wide and took quite a bit of her left breast into his mouth. She wasn’t sure whether her name or her nipple was lovely.
He suckled hard. It was too much, the sensations too strong. She’d planned to be bold. Instead, she went stiff and tense. This wasn’t pleasure anymore, but she closed her eyes and fought to endure. She mustn’t stop him and risk ruining the moment. She couldn’t displease him.
The duke sucked fiercely with his eyes closed, long ebony lashes pressed to his cheeks.
He freed her breast and she swayed with relief—until he moved to her right one. His large hand slid beneath the curve to cup her gently, and he fondled her lovingly. She knew he wanted to hear he was pleasing her. She parted her lips and let out another planned moan, the perfect one for this moment—breathy and filled with surprise, as though he was giving her ecstasy she’d never known before. And, in truth, this caress was … nice.
His Grace rewarded her with a raw chuckle. “Like it?”
“Oh, yes.” She wanted him to think everything he did was perfect. Moisture glistened on both her pink areolas. Her lace-trimmed bodice was crushed between their stomachs, her corset digging into her. “Do you want me to undress?”
“There’s no need.” He cocked his head. “Are the drapes drawn? Is the room dark?”
“Yes.” For the first time, she really looked at his study. His house had surprised her when she’d arrived by horse and cart from the village inn. It was a large manor house, symmetrical and solid, surrounded by lawns and woods. It was very similar to the house she had lived in during her childhood, the house she deliberately did not think of now.
This house seemed far too modest and simple for a duke. The study, however, was filled with beautiful things. A globe stood by the draped windows, beautifully fashioned and lettered, set upon a stand decorated with gilt. Enormous paintings of horses covered the walls. All the chairs were leather club chairs, inviting and comfortable. Books were everywhere: on shelves, stacked upon tables, even piled on the seats of the chairs.
This was a gentleman’s room and one that looked well loved. Yet it seemed so tremendously sad that it was filled with things the duke could no longer see.
“I want to take you from behind,” he said bluntly. “At my desk.”
Whatever he desired she must grant. It was not quite what she’d imagined for their first time together, but she did not dare contradict.
“All right.” Anne took both his hands. She lifted one and sucked suggestively on his index finger as she backed to the large gleaming desk that stood along one wall. This way she could lead him without wounding his pride. When her bottom reached the smooth, polished wood, she stopped. He reached around her and felt the curved edge of the desk.
“Turn around,” he said, with the curtness that lust often brought to a man’s voice. Many girls in the brothel found roughness exciting. They liked lust-driven men. Anne never had before, but now she felt a flood of relief. His harsh tone proved she had gotten exactly what she wanted. The Duke of March now had to have her.
“Of course, Your Grace,” she purred. She braced her hands on his desk and he drew up her skirts. The weight of the silk skimmed over her legs. She pulled the mass of fabric in front of her, bunching it between her stomach and the desk edge. His hands ran up her bare thighs. She closed her eyes. And moaned, as she knew she must, as his fingertips reached her private place.
“God, you are so hot,” he murmured. “Soft as silk.”
She expected him to thrust in hastily and steeled her body for a swift invasion. But he cupped her with his hand and he kissed the back of her neck, nuzzling her skin. A tremor raced down her spine—a little quiver of pleasure. This was not quite right. Why did he not want to be inside her? Was he not ready enough? At Madame Sin’s, men had rarely touched her; after all, they had paid generously for her to be willing and ready without any need for foreplay on their part.
Anne arched her back and wriggled her bottom, brushing it across the duke’s hard shaft. The motion drew a hoarse groan from him. She looked over her shoulder. He was panting. Deep lines bracketed his tight mouth. He was obviously aroused, but apparently he needed more.
She swayed her hips, swinging her rump across him, but he grasped her hips and stopped her.
“No, love. Not yet.” He reached between her thighs once more and gently played with her. No man had ever stroked her so slowly, manipulated her with such care.
She gave a gentle sigh. She did like this touch …
But then his finger found her sensitive nub and rubbed there.
Every inch of her body tensed. He rubbed harder, assuming she would like it. The sensations were more powerful than those from her nipples, too strong for her to bear. At least he could not see how she winced and shut her eyes, how she had to fight not to protest. She played her part, giving him a crescendo of throaty groans, making them louder as his fingers opened her.
Then he slid inside. Deep, deep inside.
She had the fleeting feeling she always did—that it was so strange something this intimate could feel so … distant. Then she remembered what she must do. She had to be a courtesan, not just a vessel for his release. She must please him. Delight him. Tempt him.
He was behind her, his groin pressed to her bottom. She felt full, uncomfortably so, but she whispered, “Oh, yes. Yes.”
The duke began to thrust. Slow, deep thrusts. She arched back against him, filling the room with her moans.
He reached around and stroked her breast. That startled her, making her stumble in her rhythm. Then he did what she expected—he grasped her hips, held her steady, and plunged into her. Good. Now she knew exactly what to do.
Her moans rose to screams. “Oh, God,” she cried. “Oh, goodness.” She pushed violently back against him, crying out as though in sheer ecstasy. She listened to his breathing. When he was panting hard, obviously growing close to release, she wailed, “I’m coming.” She knew how to display an orgasm, but could all her writhing impress the duke, when he could not see it? All he could do was feel her bottom thrashing against him.
He thrust harder. Faster.
Then he growled, low and deep. His hips drove forward and collided with her bare rump. His body rocked back and forth, climaxing inside her.
“Oh, my,” she gasped.
He collapsed against her, braced on his arms. “That was lovely, angel.”
Thank heaven he had liked it.
He straightened, withdrawing. Her inner thighs were sticky. She’d forgotten she could not tend to herself and clean up at his house. At least she didn’t have to worry about his seed—she had put a vinegar-soaked sponge within, a trick she’d learned at Madame’s.
He stroked her hip softly. “I will have some water fetched, my dear.”
“That is very considerate, Your Grace.” She suddenly realized how unprepared for this she was. She wanted to be his mistress, but she had no idea what to do. Kat, who was London’s most desired courtesan, had told her a mistress must cater to her protector’s every whim and make him feel like a king both in bed and out. But Anne hadn’t asked how to actually do that. Her gaze landed on rumpled blue silk lying on a chair, near where she had found him passed out. “Would you like me to fetch your robe?”
His lip lifted in a rueful smile. “Thank you, love.”
When she brought it back, she helped him into it, but just that meaningless bit of aid made his face darken. He tied the belt and paused thoughtfully. “Tell me why you speak so well for a prostitute, Cerise. Where do you come from?”
“I am the most sought-after incognita in London, I will have you know,” she said airily. Incognitas were mistresses who spoke and behaved like ladies. “Do you think the earl would have engaged anyone but the best and most desired courtesan in London to please you?”
“Honestly, love, I would have thought Ashton would keep the best and most desired courtesan for himself and send someone else for me.”
“Then that was his mistake.”
The duke laughed. “You have distracted me for a while, love, and for that I thank you.” He lifted her hand and softly kissed her fingers. His mouth lingered. Her heart lifted.
“I can distract you more, Your Grace.”
“You have done enough, Cerise. I am sure Ashton will pay you well.”
He was dismissing her again. She panicked. “There is so much more I could do for you—”
“I want to be left alone. It was pleasurable. But our time together has come to an end.” He sighed. “I don’t even know what time of day it is. I assume it is nighttime. That you arrived in the evening?”
“Y-yes. At half-past eight.” Suddenly Anne realized he had been already passed out with an empty brandy decanter at such an early hour.
“Tonight you should stay at the inn in Welby. Take a meal there. My man will ensure you receive excellent service. A mention of my name and you will be well treated.”
It was a kindness, but her teeth tore at her lower lip. There had to be something she could do to convince him to let her stay. She could not give up so easily.
“Ring the bellpull, love,” he commanded.
She didn’t move. He could not see. He could not find the rope himself and have her sent away.
“Do not displease me now.” His voice was deep and smooth, but there was iciness creeping into it. If she annoyed him, she would ruin her chances of seducing him into keeping her. If she did as he asked, she would be in his carriage in mere minutes.
“You will have to go, Cerise.”
