“I had no idea she would come here,” he said. “If she’d but sent word, I’d have made it bloody clear to her that she was not welcome nor will she ever again be welcome. What you came upon was me about to toss the bit of baggage out on her ear.”
Not half an hour ago, the bit of baggage had been Maria. No, he would not charm his way out of this. He could not bring his mistress into their home and hold her in his arms without consequence. “Of course you would say so now that you’ve been discovered.”
“I would say so because it’s the truth, damn it. Look at me, Victoria.”
She refused to do so, partly because it hurt her heart too much and partly because he’d demanded it. “Leave my chamber. The door was locked for good reason.”
“Please look at me.” His tone had softened. “Would you have me beg? I’ll beg.”
He dropped to his knees before her, the action so unexpected that she couldn’t help but turn back to him. He’d humbled himself, staring up at her with an expression she’d never before seen on his face. Contrition? Desperation? She couldn’t be sure.
“Begging won’t help your cause,” she said without pity.
“Then tell me what will or I’ll stay here on my knees before you until my legs go numb. I don’t mind telling you I’m rather dogged when the situation merits it.”
She wished he’d been dogged before he’d created all the wounds that seemed determined to keep reopening. “I don’t know that anything can help your cause now.”
But her traitorous heart made her picture him as he’d looked, worried and ashen-faced standing over her bedside. He’d nursed her to health. Hadn’t left her side. The fortnight since the accident had been filled with the first real happiness she’d ever experienced in her married life. However, maybe happiness was not meant to persist. Maybe it was fleeting, life’s way of lulling one into a false sense of contentment until the next runaway carriage came barreling down the road.
She wanted to tear her eyes from him and tell him to go to the devil once and for all, but something kept her trapped in his gaze and his presence. Part of her wanted to believe him. For surely he wouldn’t invite his mistress to the very home they shared after all that had passed between them. Surely their time together had meant at least half as much to him as it had to her.
“Believe me when I say that I’m sorry,” he continued as if he could sense her inner struggle. “I’m sorry for abandoning you here and for hurting you. I’m sorry for betraying our marriage vows. I’ve never been more bloody sorry in all my damn life.”
This was not the first time he’d given her an apology, but she had to admit in spite of herself that it was the first time his apology sounded…genuine. Yes, genuine. Could it be possible that he actually was sorry for his past behavior? That what she’d seen in the drawing room had not in fact been a lover’s embrace with that horrid woman? That he spoke the truth?
“I thank you for the apology,” she relented. “But I’m afraid it’s too little and far too late.”
He took her hands in his, bringing them to his lips for a kiss. “If I could go back and undo all the wrongs I’ve done, I would wholeheartedly do it, and I’d spare you all of this. I’d have cast aside my petty rebellion against the duke and my resentment, and I’d have seen you for who you truly are, a woman who is kind and good and blindingly lovely. I’d have been a proper husband to you. I swear it on my life, Victoria. But the fact is that I cannot change any of my mistakes. You saw one of the worst of them below in the drawing room. Her presence here is my fault and I won’t deny it. But don’t, for God’s sake, believe that I invited her here. I neither want nor need a mistress. You’re all I want.”
How could he vanquish all of her determination by dropping to his knees before her and giving her a pretty speech? She stared at him, feeling the anger lift from her chest, so too the hurt and the fear. Because he’d said exactly what she needed to hear. Because he was the man who’d given her pleasure against the wall of the music room, who’d thanked her for her work at Carrington House, the man who’d revealed his past to her, who’d noticed her dislike of eggs and the scent of her perfume, who’d saved her life and risked his own in the process. The man who’d held her hand as she lay bedridden and unconscious.
This man, the man on his knees before her who’d done all of those things, this man was the man she loved. She wanted to trust him. Wanted to believe him. God help her, if that made her a fool, then a greater fool had never lived.
“Stand,” she commanded him.
He complied with effortless grace, towering over her yet again. “Forgive me, darling. I’m so sorry for everything.”
Their hands were still joined, and she made no move to extricate herself. “Tell me why I should believe you now.”
“Because I love you,” he growled. “Jesus, there you have it. I don’t know when or how it happened, and I certainly didn’t even think such an emotion existed, but it’s the only explanation for the way I feel. Christ, I’m a milksop.”
Had he just said he’d fallen in love with her? Her dazed mind couldn’t even comprehend such a sudden reversal of fortune. Of course, there was the possibility that he merely said the words to make her forget about the sight of his opera singer in their drawing room. Maria. There was a name she could never, in good conscience, like again.
She frowned at him, more bemused than ever before. “Why would you say such a thing to me?”
“Because I’m an evil villain out to bend you to my whims,” he scoffed. “This isn’t a sensation novel, Victoria. I have no motive other than that I want you by my side for the rest of my life, and I’m not about to let a lightskirt or my own pride get in the way of that.”
Good heavens. She felt suddenly faint, as though all the air had been sucked from the room. “You love me?”
“I’ve begun to suspect that’s the odd sensation I’ve been feeling of late.” He gave her a self-deprecating grin. “You’re in my thoughts night and day. When I saw you felled by that branch, I thought I’d lost you. And I knew then that I never want to lose you. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Will you marry me, my darling?”
She laughed, grateful for the reemergence of his infallible sense of humor in this weighty moment. “We’re already married, you silly man.”
“Are we indeed?” He caught her about the waist, pulling her against him. “How fortuitous, for now I’m free to ravish you.”
An answering warmth pulsed between her thighs. She threw her arms around his neck and tunneled her fingers through his thick hair, holding him still as their gazes met. Before she gave in to what she wanted—what they both wanted—she would have his word. “Promise me you mean what you say, Will. Promise me that you love me.”
“Of course I mean what I say.” He feathered a kiss over her mouth, nipped her lower lip in a delicious little bite. “I promise. I love you, and I assure you that you’re quite stuck with me now.”
She dragged him to her for another kiss. He moaned, his large, knowing hands slipping down to cup her bottom. Too many layers of garments separated them. She longed for his hot, smooth skin, his broad chest against her aching nipples, his cock inside her. She longed for all of him and for everything he would do to her.
She opened for his tongue’s possessive thrust into her mouth. She could only follow her body and her heart where they led her now, and she wanted Will more than she wanted to breathe. Desire and the thrill of his admission vanquished practical thought.
Only feel. His words once more returned to her, and they held more allure than ever before. Perhaps he was leading her astray, but the path to ruin had never felt so glorious. Hurt and doubt fell away. His deft fingers found the hooks of her gown, plucking them from their moorings. He peeled her bodice to her waist. It wasn’t enough, not for either of them. The sound of rending fabric should have appalled her but it somehow had the opposite effect. Her corset cover and petticoats were gone, her silk pooled around her ankles. Her corset was
next. All she had left was blind trust and the animal impulse within.
She pulled at the placket of his trousers. She needed to erase all memories of the awful Signora. Never again would she let another person come between them, she vowed to herself. Never again.
He broke their kiss, straightening to look down at her, his expression slack with passion. “Slow down, my dear. I want to make love to you.”
“Yes,” she whispered, need pulsing through her to her core. “Please, Pembroke.”
“Will,” he reminded her. “I find I’m ordinarily ‘Pembroke’ when you’re vexed with me.”
“Will.” When her fumbling fingers couldn’t seem to slide the buttons on his trousers free, she palmed his hard length. He jerked against her hand, his breathing hard. She knew a moment of gratification that he seemed every bit as affected as she.
“You’re still wearing far too much armor, my dear,” he growled, and whisked her corset, chemise, and drawers away in a blink. All she wore was fine silk stockings to her knees. And then he took her into his arms and carried her across the chamber to her bed.
As he lay her upon it, she reached up to frame his beautiful face between her palms. The slight abrasion of his whiskers was delicious upon her hypersensitive skin. He fused their mouths in a searing, open-mouthed kiss as he joined her on the bed after stripping off his trousers, underclothes, and shirt. Warm, wet heat pooled between her thighs. He brushed a tantalizing caress over her breasts, his thumbs toying with her nipples. She arched into him, sucking his tongue into her mouth, unable to get enough. He broke away to suckle the peak of a breast. His fingers went unerringly to the aching bud of her sex, working it back and forth until she was nearly mad.
“Mmm,” he murmured, tonguing the taut nipple of her other breast as he gazed up at her. “I adore the way your body responds to me, my love.”
He slid a finger inside her then. She eagerly opened her legs wider, thrusting her hips into his delicious rhythm. Another finger joined the first. She moaned, her fingers sifting through his silken hair as he tortured her responsive breasts with his mouth.
“I want you desperate for me,” he whispered, his voice a deep, rumbling seduction all its own.
Dear heavens, she was, but he had rendered her incapable of speaking. She moaned again as he kissed a path down over the curve of her belly. He cupped her bottom and angled her to his mouth, gazing up at her across her pale curves. Their eyes locked. He sucked the nub of her sex into his mouth, working it with his tongue and teeth. The sight of him pleasuring her as she wore nothing but her stockings, his wicked mouth upon her most sensitive and intimate flesh, was her undoing. She knew she ought to look away, but she could not. Before, her skirts had covered him. She hadn’t known how pleasurable it would be to watch.
His finger sank deep into her slickness as he worked his magic upon her with his mouth. It was too much to bear. She felt as if she were about to shatter into a thousand tiny, glittering shards. He tugged at her pearl with his teeth. A second finger slipped inside her, deep and angled. Oh, dear heavens. She couldn’t bear another moment. She came undone, shuddering and crying out, grinding her hips into him with shameless abandon.
Yes. This—him—was what she wanted. Was everything she wanted. She shuddered with the aftermath. He rose once more, his powerful body atop hers, pinning her to the bed. She wanted to bring him the same fulfillment he brought her. “Your turn,” she murmured, putting her hands on his shoulders and guiding him down to the bed so that he traded places with her.
She met his gaze, reveling in the unabashed desire she saw reflected in their smoky depths. She had no idea what she was doing, only that she wanted to bestow upon him the same raw pleasure he had given her. It was the ultimate gesture of her love for him. She lowered her head and took his rigid cock into her mouth. He was smoother than she’d expected. She ran her tongue up and down his length, tasting him as she sucked on the thick tip of his shaft.
“Christ, darling,” he groaned after a time. “You’re going to bloody well kill me.”
She smiled against him, continuing to suck and tease his arousal. It was wanton of her, she knew, but she loved giving him the same bliss he’d given her. Suddenly, he caught her shoulders and hauled her atop him. She was breathless as his cock pressed against where she wanted him most.
He guided her limbs so that she was fitted comfortably against him. “Rise up a bit, darling,” he directed, his hands on her waist. “That’s it.”
With one swift thrust, he was inside her. She emitted a startled exclamation. Good heavens, she was atop him. She hadn’t realized lovemaking could be done this way as well. It seemed she had much to learn.
“Ride me, my girl,” he murmured, helping her into a delicious rhythm.
Her unbound curls swept down like a curtain around them. Their gazes locked as he surged inside her again and again. She found she rather liked the feeling of power her position gave her. Leaning down, she kissed him once more. Their tongues tangled, mouths sealed as their bodies rocked together as one.
Passion crashed over her like waves upon a shore until she could no longer resist the pull of the tide. She was swept away, helplessly overcome, her sheath tightening upon him in spasm after spasm of release. He pumped faster, moving deeper until he too let go. The hot spurt of his seed went inside her as she collapsed against his chest, thoroughly spent.
They were both silent for an indeterminate amount of time, the only sound their equally ragged breathing. Will ran his hand gently up and down her back in a soothing motion and gave her a swift kiss. Everything had changed for them now. But this was his final chance. She never again wanted to discover he’d been dishonest to her, and she damn well never again wanted to find one of his courtesans in their drawing room.
“If I ever see the Signora again, I swear I shall tear the false hair right from her head,” she warned him. “You’ll find I’ll not be as forgiving now as I once was.”
He laughed, his fingers tangling in her hair. “Now that is something I’d almost like to see. Your ferocity is one of the many reasons that I love you.”
“Say it again,” she ordered on a sigh.
“Now that is something—”
“No,” she interrupted, giggling herself. “The other part.”
“I love you.”
She sighed again. She believed him, believed in what they’d just shared. How could she not? “I love you too, Will.”
Tangled up in each other’s arms, they went to dreamless sleep.
Chapter Ten
The next two days passed for Victoria in a state of utter bliss. She and her husband lingered in bed mornings and afternoons alike, making love to each other until she knew every inch of his body and he hers. It was all very much like a dream from which she had no intention of waking. Ever.
But their idyll wasn’t meant to last, it seemed.
The duke had arrived, and his first order of business was an audience with Victoria. The summons came as a surprise to both her and Will. Afternoon light filtered into her chamber as she prepared for the undoubtedly uncomfortable meeting to come. Keats was putting the finishing touches upon her hair.
“Do you think my dress too forward?” She frowned at her reflection as she asked the question of Will, who had joined her in her chamber, similarly concerned by his father’s odd request.
The duke had refused to greet either of them at his arrival. Instead, he had demanded luncheon in his rooms and a nap, in that particular order. She and Will had been secretly relieved by the respite, but now it appeared they would no longer remain so fortunate.
“I think your dress is splendid,” Will drawled, meeting her gaze in the looking glass. “And if the old codger doesn’t like it, he can bloody well go to hell where he belongs.”
“My lord,” she scolded, aware that as much as she respected and trusted Keats, they ought to at least hold up the pretenses. The duke was Will’s father, after all. “You mustn’t speak thus of His Grace.”
He shrugged. “I don’t like him, and I don’t care who knows it.”
She sighed, her nervousness threatening to get the best of her. Perhaps, she’d reasoned to herself, if she could earn the duke’s respect, she could ease the troubled relationship between father and son. Perhaps there would be a peace between them, or at least a tentative melting of their mutual ice.
“I want to do well by you,” she told her husband. “It wouldn’t do if he thought me an uncouth American bumpkin.”
“There’s no danger of him thinking that, my dear,” Will assured her, his visage grave. “None at all. I disapprove of his monarchal decree that you dance attendance upon him, you know. You needn’t heed him.”
“You could accompany me,” she pointed out, made hopeful by her inner aspirations of reuniting father and son in semi-harmony.
His expression hardened. “No. Give the devil his due. If it’s an audience with my wife that he desires, it’s an audience he shall get. Never let him say we didn’t bend to his whims.”
She wished she could ask him why he’d grown so very serious and bitter, but she was ever aware of Keats’ presence. Instead, she continued her preparations in silence, feeling as if she were the lamb being readied for slaughter. It was most disconcerting.
* * *
The duke awaited her in the drawing room. Wilton announced her with a severity she’d supposed only reserved for funerals. Indeed, there was something somber about the entire affair, she thought as she entered the room.
After having spent so much time in her husband’s presence, she noted the similarities between Will and his father at once. They had the same dark mane of hair, though gray dusted the heavily greased strands of the duke’s. His eyes were as blue and probing. The way he carried himself was stiffer and yet still reminiscent of Pembroke, with a signature aura of arrogance. The elder’s whiskers, however, were quite pronounced, his mustache so large it nearly took on the appearance of a small creature.
Dashing Dukes and Romantic Rogues Page 39
