The Detective Duke (Unexpected Lords Book 1)

by Scarlett Scott

  He withdrew from her at last, bringing his dripping fingers to his lips and sucking them dry. The taste of her flooded his mouth, sweet and musky and honeyed. Light was seeping in around the curtains now, beginning to bathe the chamber in an eerie glow. The reminder that their time was finite was unwanted.

  But at least she was more than shadows now. She was peach and pink perfection, full curves and breasts tipped with hard little buds. He lowered his head and sucked one into his mouth, unable to resist.

  Another moan fled her. He sucked the other into his mouth as well, then lashed it with his tongue. Gently, he bit the underside of the generous swell. Perfect everywhere—perfect for him. How well they fit together, as if they had been fashioned for each other. As if they had been preordained.

  Hudson did not believe such foolishness.

  At least, he did not think he had before. But mayhap he did now.

  Elysande had changed him in so many ways.

  He caressed the bend of her waist, then sucked her other nipple one more time. “On your belly, love.”

  Her confusion was evident in her expression, limitedly lit by the rising sun’s sly intrusion. Her brow was furrowed. Christ, she was adorable.

  “My belly?” she asked hesitantly.

  How innocent she was, still. The dichotomy was erotic as hell, this delectable wife of his who had sucked his cock and yet did not understand lovemaking could take all manner of forms.

  He gave her waist a gentle squeeze. “Yes. Roll over, my love.”

  “But…how?”

  Grinning, he kissed her furrowed brow. “Curious darling. You shall see.”

  As was always the case with Elysande when she was deep in thought, he could practically see her mind working, like the cogs of a well-oiled machine. He kissed the downy-soft skin above her madly beating heart as she hesitated, proclaiming it his.

  “Are you certain?” she asked.

  He would have laughed were his cock not so painfully hard. “Certain. I promise all shall be explained.”

  “Perhaps I should have read some of Izzy’s naughty books after all,” she mused, startling him.

  He bit his lip to suppress a chuckle for fear he would hurt her feelings. “Naughty books?”

  “Bawdy stories,” she elaborated. “Quite forbidden and difficult to acquire. Mama and Papa are very eccentric, as you know, but even Izzy’s books were forbidden to us. A subscription is required.”

  Blast. Discussion of her unconventional family was not particularly what he had in mind. Although he did indeed wonder how her younger sister managed to obtain a subscription to a private bawdy journal. That was a worry for another day, should he be so fortunate to have another day of freedom. No time for extraneous thoughts or worries, however. As the sun rose, their time together waned, and he was not yet finished with his wife.

  He rolled his hips, his aching cock prodding her belly. “If you do not mind, I would prefer not to think of your mother, father, and sister just now.”

  “Oh.” She worried her lower lip as she paused, considering him in the earliest strains of dawn. “Forgive me.”

  With her apology issued, she rolled away from him, landing on her belly and folding her arms beneath her cheek as she turned toward him. Lord save him, she even gave her rump a delightful wriggle.

  “Is this preferable, husband?” the minx dared to ask.

  This side of her—bold and teasing and unabashedly erotic—was yet new to him. And he bloody well loved it.

  Words abandoned him, so he settled for touch, slipping his hand beneath the wild tangle of her chestnut hair. He began at her nape, where she exuded vitality and warmth. A woman’s body had never enthralled him with its mysteries the way Elysande’s did. He may have shared his bed with lovers before her, but each time he was intimate with Elysande, he found new marvels. The dip behind her knee, the silken skin at her nape, the gentle curve of her shoulders, the delicate protrusion of her hip bone, the arch of her foot, the swell of her bottom. The hollow indent of her lower spine, the seam of her lower lips, the Cupid’s bow of her mouth. Every place in between.

  He caressed down the slope of her back next. Her skin was so smooth and sleek and flushed, from the combination of sleep and passion. He moved to join her then, straddling her hips, absorbing her delicate sigh. His prick settled against the furrow of her arse, and she made a sound of surprise at the new sensation.

  Hudson pressed his chest to her back, allowing her to feel him in the same way he absorbed the undulations of her feminine curves and dips and hollows and planes. She was so silken, the scent of the oils they had used in their bath the night before teasing his senses, mingling with the beautiful musk of her desire. He shifted so that his cock found its home lower, sliding against her wet lips.

  “Oh,” she said. “Are you certain this will work, Hudson?”

  This time, he could not stifle his chuckle. It fled him in a low rumble as he kissed the shell of her ear. “Certain, love.”

  “But this position seems inordinately awkward given the mechanics of what must happen next—”

  He pressed a finger to her lips, staying the rest of her words. “Hush.”

  True to form, she nipped the pad of his forefinger with her sharp teeth. “Did you tell me to hush?”

  He kissed her cheek, bracing himself over her on his forearms, then took her mouth in a quick peck. “You are thinking too much, love. Tell your mind to go to the devil for a bit and let me love you.”

  “I always think too much,” she said, her tone steeped in regret. “I fear it is rather a fault of mine.”

  “Your mind is not a fault but a strength,” he reassured her, for he greatly admired her intelligence. She was the most brilliant female he had ever known, without doubt. No one could hold a candle to her bright light. “However, there are occasions when allowing yourself to be free of worry and thought are necessary.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, nodding. “You have taught me so.”

  That he had taught this woman anything at all seemed miraculous. She possessed more intellect in her pinky finger than he could ever dream of accumulating, he was sure. But he was grateful for her candor. Grateful for her belief in him, for her trust, for the tangible proof of her body, relaxed and nude beneath his.

  “I want to make love to you in a new way, Ellie,” he told her, kissing her again with all the tenderness he possessed before he relented and dragged his lips to the aristocratic cheekbones he had so oft admired. He kissed her there, then her temple.

  “Oh,” she said softly. And then the most beautiful word. “Yes.”

  He kissed her ear once more, then tongued the sensitive place behind it. “Yes?”

  “Yes please,” she confirmed, breathless.

  With pleasure.

  He did not think he said the words aloud. They may have been in his mind. The combination of Elysande’s willing submission, so trusting and tempting beneath him, along with her words, made something within him break.

  Lust surged.

  But so did love.

  They blended, melded, until he could not discern one from the other. There was merely everything he felt for his wife, which was love and desire and passion and admiration and awe.

  “It will be good for you,” he promised in a rasp, desire rendering speech difficult. “I will be so deep inside you.”

  “Mmm,” was her only response.

  He guided her into position, helping her to cant her hips and bottom toward him, to slant her body toward the bed. As he did so, he could not resist worshiping every part of her body his lips could find. He kissed the indentation at her nape, the fluttering pulse at the side of her throat, the sweep of her shoulder. Down her spine. When he reached the ripe swell of her arse, he lightly bit one smoothly rounded cheek.

  But there was not sufficient time to linger, because his need was growing more acute by the second.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured, rubbing her hip, gently moving her into even better position as
he rose on his knees.

  He allowed himself a moment to admire the sight of her in the morning glow, exposed and waiting for him to take her. Giving herself to him with wanton abandon.

  “More beautiful than I deserve,” he added.

  And then, he ran his fingers through her folds, making certain she was wet and ready. He slicked her dew over her opening, and she made a throaty sound that snapped the last of his restraint. Gripping his cock, he guided himself to her entrance and thrust. She was slick and hot and fit perfectly around him. She was Ellie and she was everything he wanted, now and forever. She was enough to last him all the way to perdition if need be.

  Oh Christ, oh hell, oh damnation.

  Must not spend inside her.

  He thought his head might explode from the sheer pleasure of being buried inside her to the hilt, the novelty of this angle of penetration the stuff of miracles. It had been a long time since he had taken a woman in this fashion, but he did not want to think about that now. He wanted to think only of Elysande and the sweet scent of orange oil rising from her velvety skin, of the way she clenched around him in welcome, bringing him deeper still.

  The breath had fled his lungs. Or mayhap he had been holding it. But suddenly, he was inhaling deeply, as if he had just run a great distance. He held himself painstakingly still, allowing her body to adjust. Her needs preceded his.

  For her, he could be gentle. He could be soft and weak and vulnerable. He could put her before him in everything, and he would.

  “Are you not going to move?” she asked, arching her back and pressing against him more firmly.

  The dulcet voice broke him. He became aware of himself again as the urge to thrust in and out of her, to fuck, took control. Not fucking, said the voice in his head. Making love. This is different. This is Ellie.

  Yes it was, and yes she was.

  He withdrew from her almost completely with a slow, measured motion. The glide of his cock forced him to set his teeth on edge. And then, there was no more control. The dam burst. There was only the overwhelming need to mark her as his forever in the only way he knew how.

  Later, he would worry he had been a rutting beast. But now, he was a man consumed. He thrust in and out of her, holding her hips, watching as his prick slid in and out of her sweet cunny. Faster and faster, until he was nearly where he needed to be, his release imminent.

  She came with sudden force, clamping on him as she cried out into the tangle of coverlets, her voice muffled. One more thrust, deep and hard, and he withdrew completely, holding his cock as he spilled into the bed linens with an answering groan of his own.

  She had felt so good wrapped around him. Heaven. Paradise. Perfection.

  Heart pounding, he collapsed to the bed at her side, grateful he had summoned the restraint not to spend when he had been planted deep in her as he had longed to do. The possibility of a child would be most unfair to her now, the uncertainty of his future far too damning.

  The sated glow that inevitably followed orgasm bathed him along with the steadily rising sun. For a time, there was no sound between them save their ragged breaths and the portentous ticking of the mantel clock across the room. All the words he wanted to say to her rushed into his mind yet eluded his tongue.

  “You were right,” she said, still lying on her belly, her lovely face turned toward his.

  He ran a hand over her back, caressing her. “About what?”

  An impish smile curved her lips. “That it would be good for me.”

  He brushed a stray tendril of hair from her cheek. “I am glad of it.”

  “You are good for me, Hudson,” she added.

  He wanted to tell her she was wrong. That he was horrible. That all he had brought to her was empty coffers and danger. But she was gazing at him with such unfettered adoration in her expression, those honey-brown eyes burning into his, that he could not summon the strength.

  “You are good for me as well, love,” he said instead, meaning it. “I would be utterly lost without you.”

  She turned her head and kissed his palm. “Fortunately, you will never have to be without me. You are quite stuck with me.”

  He hoped and prayed she was right, but he knew he would do whatever he must to ensure her future happiness. “I would not have it any other way.”

  He allowed himself a few more moments of ease, lying there with her, basking in her presence. In the sweet intimacy of husband and wife. If he had known marriage would be this wondrous, he would never have entered it with such grim hesitation. What a fool he had been for believing himself trapped by inheriting the title.

  When he had become the Duke of Wycombe, he had been granted the greatest gift of his life. Now, he had to fight to preserve it.

  I love you, Ellie.

  No, those words were not his to give. He would keep them where they belonged for now. Locked carefully away, awaiting the day when he could hopefully at long last be free from this shadow chasing him at every turn.

  “It is dawn now,” she said, her expression turning sad. “I suppose we must rise and dress.”

  “I reckon we must.” Hudson allowed himself one more kiss, and then he left the bed with great reluctance.

  It was impossible to know what the day would bring.

  Chapter 15

  For a day which had begun steeped in such promise, it had certainly curdled with alarming haste. Elysande frowned over the breakfast table at her father and brother who had both determined she would not accompany them to Hudson’s old rooms and had just informed her so in mutual, highhanded fashion.

  “You do realize I have already been there, do you not?” she asked, attempting to keep a tight rein on her indignation.

  “Once was enough,” Papa told her mildly. “Such a scene is no place for a lady.”

  A lady. For the entirety of her life, she had been treated differently because she had been born a daughter instead of a son. Oh, her father had done his utmost to allow all his children freedom. At Talleyrand Park, all were encouraged to set the encumbrances of society aside and simply behave as they wished. However, there had remained one unending difference he had never dismissed: she and her sisters were females, and ultimately, they were governed by a vastly different set of boundaries and rules.

  “I am the same lady who has worked tirelessly at your side in your workshop,” she reminded her father.

  The table went silent save for the familiar clink of silverware.

  Her father frowned in her direction. “A workshop is a vastly different place than a place where a woman’s murder has occurred, Elysande. There is a distinct difference.”

  “You ought never to have gone there before,” her brother added, a thinly veiled reprimand of Hudson.

  At her side, her husband’s already stiff posture turned positively rigid. “Undoubtedly, you are correct, Royston,” he said. “I was thinking of Ellie’s superior mind when she accompanied me on the previous instance. However, my wife is fully capable of speaking for herself. I need not speak for her, and neither will I or anyone else make her decisions for her.”

  The passionate lover who had given her such pleasure at dawn bore precious little resemblance to Hudson now. Why, he looked and sounded…ducal. And he was championing her in a way she had never imagined.

  If she had not already been in love with him, she would have fallen then and there. As it was, he dug himself ever deeper into her heart.

  “I am accompanying you this morning,” she added. “I will not be left here as if I am somehow too weak-willed merely because I am a woman.”

  “No one is calling you weak-willed, Ellie,” her brother said, speaking in the placating tone she imagined he might use on a child. “We are merely having a care for your tender sensibilities.”

  The urge to hurl some strawberry jam in his direction was strong, but she somehow clung to her restraint.

  “What of your tender sensibilities?” she countered.

  She loved Royston, truly she did. But his inter
ference, albeit well-intentioned, was decidedly unwanted.

  He gave her the smug smile of a scoundrel who possessed not a modicum of compunction. “Everyone knows I have none.”

  Papa snorted. “Thank the Lord your mother is not present at the breakfast table. She despairs over you enough.”

  Mama and her sisters were indeed abed, which was a reasonable enough place to be at this distressingly early hour of the morning. Indeed, there was only one reason Elysande herself was awake, and it was that she had every intention of staying by her husband’s side. Today and every day until they were assured he would not be charged with the murder of Mrs. Ainsley. Perhaps it was the manner in which her mind worked, but she could not shake the feeling that if she were not present, there was the very real possibility that something she would have noticed would be ignored.

  “Perhaps instead of speaking to her, we should ask my wife her opinion on the matter,” Hudson suggested smoothly.

  To his credit, he was navigating the treacherous waters of her family with aplomb. She sent him a fleeting smile of gratitude. “Thank you. My opinion is that I am perfectly willing and able to accompany you this morning to the place where Mrs. Ainsley met her end.”

  “Where she was killed, you mean to say,” her brother corrected her, his tone as mulish as his expression.

  Tristan did not like being countered. Elysande and her brother were no strangers to conflict. Their opinions were both finite and firm. But where she had taken an interest in the science of making things work, Tristan had proven a poor engineer. He’d had no interest in Papa’s workshop. Nor had their sisters.

  “Where she was killed,” she agreed, holding his gaze. “I am made of sterner stuff than you think. You ought to have learned that by now.”

  “Oh, I do not question you, Ellie. I merely know that you are dreadful at acknowledging your own limits.” Her brother sipped his coffee, eying her balefully before turning back to Hudson. “She once broke a finger rather than admit she had been wrong in the design of a trap which was meant to capture kitchen rodents without harming them. I do not suppose she regaled you with that tale, no pun intended.”