Undercover Duke

by Sabrina Jeffries

  His cock grew painfully hard.

  He broke their kiss. He had to slow this, had to be the courteous lover he knew she would want for her first time. “You need to stand up, sweetheart.”

  “All right.” She got off his lap, and he stood, too, not even bothering to hide his erection, though he doubted that she’d noticed it.

  “Turn around,” he said thickly. Once she did, he took down her hair.

  Good God. Doing that wasn’t likely to slow a damned thing. Her mass of shimmering, cascading curls just begged to be touched. How she—or more probably, Bridget—had managed to scrape all of this into a sedate coiffure was anybody’s guess.

  He’d always thought of black hair as all one shade, so he was surprised to find hers a profusion of hues from a very dark brown to soft black to jet black to almost blue. It seemed to depend on the light and how the curls turned.

  Filling his hands with the lovely weight of it, he marveled at how soft and springy it was. And long, too, coming down almost to her waist.

  “Are you quite finished disordering my hair?” she said irritably.

  He laughed. “Why? Am I taking too much time seducing you?”

  “Seducing?” She faced him. “Is that what you’re doing? Because I could have sworn you were indulging in your need to find all my flaws.”

  “What flaws?” He cocked his head. “If you’re referring to your hair, it most definitely isn’t a flaw.”

  That uncertainty came into her eyes again. “Clearly you’ve never had to manage it.”

  “No. Thank God. Because if I had my way, it would never get managed. I would have you wear it down about your shoulders forever.”

  “You would have me be a slattern then?”

  He shook his head. “I would have you be the enchantress that you are. And your amazing hair is one thing that makes you so.”

  The sudden brightness in her face made him realize she had no idea of how intoxicating she was physically, not only to him but probably to a number of bachelors. He wondered why she wasn’t vain as a peacock. She had the right to be.

  “We’ll see if you still think me an enchantress after I do this.” And with one liquid movement, she shimmied out of her nightdress, letting it drop to the floor.

  His mouth went dry as he stepped back to take in the full effect. God save him. With her hair eddying around her shoulders and trailing down her arms, she was a wonder of creation. “I don’t know what you were trying to prove, sweetheart,” he said hoarsely, “but you wearing only pearls merely proves me right.”

  He reached out to cup both her breasts, which were ample enough to fill his hands and adorned with shell-pink nipples besides. She was a veritable Venus, the pearls accentuating her creamy skin and lush figure, which was rounded in all the right places, tempting a man to tease and caress and devour. Just as Mars, the Roman God of War, had seduced the Goddess of Love, Sheridan meant to seduce his own private Venus. Nor could he wait a minute longer.

  Taking her by surprise, he caught her up in his arms and carried her to the bed, where he laid her out atop the sheets, the cover having been pulled back by servants in anticipation of just this moment. But when he knelt on the bed, she pushed up on one elbow to rest her head in her hand. “Oh, no, you don’t, husband. You promised I could see you naked, too. It’s your turn.” She held out her other hand to him, the one with the pearl bracelet. “I’ll loan you the Armitage pearls, if you wish, Your Grace.”

  “Very funny,” he said dryly. “And as I recall, I promised nothing about standing naked before you. Although I suppose I can overlook your misapprehension just this once.”

  Then he began to remove his clothes. He only prayed he could finish before he fell on her like a starving wolf at a feast.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Vanessa had never seen a man so bold. Were all men this eager to undress for a lady? Because she felt decidedly odd lying here naked before him, with the pearls weighing heavily about her neck and wrist like chains marking her as his, forever.

  The way he looked at her as he shed his banyan and kicked off his shoes didn’t help. His eyes, hungry and hot, ate her up. A wild thrill shot through her to think of him ravishing her, even though she wasn’t sure what ravishing actually was. What if she made a fool of herself in her ignorance?

  He’d removed his cravat long before he’d entered her bedchamber, tantalizing her with a glimpse of his bare throat above his mostly buttoned shirt. Now he undid the remaining buttons and tugged the shirt off, revealing his entire upper body in all its carnal glory.

  Heavens, what a sight. The shoulders she’d assumed must be enhanced by his clothing were all his—as broad as she’d imagined. And his chest! Oh, Lord. The only bare chest she’d ever seen was on a marble statue of Adonis, so to view a real man’s was breathtaking.

  Not only did Sheridan’s chest look every bit as muscular as that on the Adonis, but it had things the statue lacked. Like nipples. Who knew that women and men both had them? What’s more, Sheridan’s chest had hair around the nipples, tight curls a shade darker than the hair on his head.

  She ached to touch them, both the nipples and the hair, and as if he could read her mind, he approached the bed to place her hand on his well-knit chest. At once she began to stroke it. How fine it was, velvet over stone. The longer she stroked, the faster it rose and fell with the quickening of his breath.

  She excited him, did she? That was certainly encouraging. It also prompted her to sit up and spread both hands over his surprisingly responsive flesh.

  As she skimmed her hands down to caress his lean stomach, he groaned. “If you’re hoping to make me beg, my duchess, you’re going about it the right way.”

  “Am I?” she said teasingly, before what he’d called her registered. My duchess. It had a nice ring of permanency to it. Then she noticed the swelling of something in his trousers. “Oh, dear. I did hurt you before.”

  “That’s how a man looks when he’s aroused.” He began to undo his trouser buttons. “Here, I’ll show you.”

  She pushed his hands away, shocked by her own impudence. “Let me do it.”

  He gave a guttural laugh. “Why not? I should have known you’d be a greedy miss in the bedroom.”

  “I’m merely curious. You should have expected that. I’ve never been with a man before. Not like this, anyway.” She unbuttoned his trousers, only to find herself thwarted by another set of trousers beneath it. “What’s this?”

  “This, sweetheart, is where a man takes charge of the undressing before he erupts . . . er . . . does something he will almost certainly regret later.” He undid the underpart of his clothes and shucked both sets of trousers off, leaving himself entirely nude.

  And giving her an eye-level view of his lower anatomy. Especially the thick staff of flesh thrusting out from a nest of hair between his legs. It was growing rather impressively.

  “God save me, Vanessa,” he said hoarsely, “if you don’t stop staring at my cock, I’m liable to embarrass myself.”

  “Your ‘cock’?” She gazed up at him, wondering how he could embarrass himself when he hadn’t even so much as a flushed face. “Wait, is this like a codpiece in the theater? Only bigger? And more . . . protruding?”

  “Touch it,” he choked out. “I want your hands on me.”

  She did as he asked, slipping one finger along the length of it. That only seemed to agitate him, for he seized her hand, then closed it around his “cock.” “Do it like this.”

  His hand over hers stroked his thing, which literally moved in her fist as if it had a mind of its own. How fascinating! But she only got to stroke it a few times—marveling at the smooth texture and dark red flush of it—before Sheridan muttered something that sounded like a curse and brushed her hands away.

  Then he pushed her back upon the bed and repositioned her so she was lying with her legs parted, allowing him to kneel between them, with that thrusting flesh of his veering dangerously close to her privates.

&
nbsp; Perhaps that was on purpose. “Oh!” Was he intending to push his hard flesh inside her? That reminded her. . . . “Mama did tell me one thing—that my deflowering would hurt.”

  “Not if I’m careful,” he choked out. “And I promise I will be. You’re safe in my hands, sweetheart.”

  “If you say so.” Meanwhile, her mind did calculations that seemed to protest he was much too large to fit inside her. But how could that be? Women did these sorts of things all the time. Would they do it if it hurt every time?

  Possibly. Lord knew women did other things for men that hurt. Like having children.

  He must have seen her wariness because he leaned down to kiss her, his rigid thing trapped between her belly and his. She relaxed at once. She liked kissing him. Every time he drove his tongue into her mouth, he sent her senses reeling.

  After a bit, he moved down to suck her breasts, which was even more exciting. She gripped his upper arms to keep him there, to keep feeling so unexpectedly delicious. She wanted him closer, needed to experience more of the sensations he was rousing, not only in her breasts but in places he wasn’t even touching, like her belly and between her legs.

  This bedding business clearly had advantages. No wonder there were women who did it for pay—they got pleasure and money out of it.

  Next thing she knew, Sheridan had his hand between her legs, fondling her very privates. Her privates! She barely touched them herself, and to have him stroking and teasing them . . .

  Good Lord in heaven, how wonderful! He stared knowingly at her, though his breath was coming in staccato gasps that excited her almost as much as his fondling. Because it meant he craved the touch of her, hungered for her attentions, perhaps even needed her for more than just this.

  She could only hope so. She needed him, too. Desperately. She didn’t want to, but apparently she couldn’t stop. So she’d best be careful. Otherwise, she’d be precisely where she’d sworn never to be—at the mercy of a person who didn’t love her.

  Although he certainly seemed to enjoy inflaming her desires. “You like that, do you?” he asked, a hint of triumph in his tone.

  “Yes.” She squirmed a bit as he continued rubbing her in the most amazing way.

  His own breath grew labored. He slid one finger inside of her, and she nearly came up off the bed in her eagerness to have him caress her there.

  “You’re so wet for me, my sweet wife. Hot and damp and wonderful.” He bent close to whisper, “I love watching you fall apart in my hands.”

  “Is that what I’m doing? Is that how it’s done?”

  He frowned. “How what’s done?”

  Now he had two fingers inside her, and it was quite glorious. “You know. The deflowering.” Because if that was it, it hadn’t hurt at all, which was a relief. Perhaps she’d been wrong about what he intended to do with his aroused “cock.”

  He managed a chuckle. “Oh, no, minx. We’ve only just begun. There’s more. A great deal more.” A muscle worked in his jaw, as if he were restraining himself from . . . something. “Let me show you.”

  Oh, dear. That sounded worrisome.

  When she tensed, he said, “Trust me. I swear I will make this as easy for you as I can, all right?”

  She nodded, though she didn’t like the “as I can” part.

  “If you want to pause or stop at any moment, say the word.” He hovered over her, somehow both a delightful and an alarming presence. “I don’t relish beginning this marriage with you afraid of me.” He forced a smile. “And I’m not so terrifying as all that, am I?”

  She stared into his eyes. “I never thought you so before.” She tipped up her chin. “But appearances can be deceiving.”

  For some reason, that made him laugh, although it sounded forced. “Give me a chance, Vanessa,” he murmured. “You’ll find that appearances are indeed deceiving. But not in the way you think. Just hold on to me.”

  She did, looping her arms about his neck.

  He moved his hand from between her legs so he could grab his thing and guide it into the same place he’d been putting his fingers. And as he inched his thick flesh into her, she found it wasn’t as fearsome as she’d expected.

  Judging from his strained expression, he found it more fearsome than she did.

  Then he started moving. In and out in slow, silken thrusts meant to seduce. His eyes were closed, so she closed hers. That made everything better. Instead of growing anxious over what was to come, she relaxed and let the motion he’d begun take her along, like a leaf floating down a river.

  Being joined to him this way felt odd—and entirely unexpected—but it was also a pleasure all its own. It made them one. Husband and wife. The fulfillment of everything she’d hoped to have from him.

  Well, not quite everything, but she wouldn’t think about that now.

  “Better?” His voice was rough and thick, as if he fought to keep going.

  Or perhaps to keep going slow? She wasn’t sure. “Yes.” She was growing warm down below and sort of tingly. It was rather pleasant. She even found the filled-up sensation enjoyable . . . when she wasn’t finding it uncomfortable. “Mostly better, anyway.”

  “Put your legs around my waist and hook your ankles together,” he said.

  Normally she would have balked at his commanding tone, but he was in charge of this since she had absolutely no idea what she was doing. She changed her position in the way he’d ordered, and instantly the tingling became something wildly pleasurable.

  “Oh!” she said, her eyes shooting open. “Oh, my. That is . . . quite . . . a bit better. . . .”

  He chuckled. “I thought it . . . might be.”

  He was hers now. For good. Her husband. And they could do this together whenever they pleased. She smiled up at him, her hands stroking his curly hair.

  Uttering a moan, he bent to kiss her forehead. “Ah, Vanessa. You will be my downfall. And just now I don’t . . . care. As long as I can have this . . . with you.”

  My downfall. The words should have hurt. Instead, they made her exult. He wasn’t immune to her. And that was quite a bit better than she’d anticipated.

  Now he began to drive into her more quickly, his eyes like flames igniting her above as his “cock” ignited her below. He rubbed one particular spot down there with his finger, too, somehow improving the already amazing feelings sweeping through her.

  “Oh, Sheridan,” she moaned. “My darling husband. You are . . . magnificent.”

  “So . . . are . . . you. . . .” he murmured.

  Now she was the leaf being carried along by the river’s current, faster and faster as he thrust into her more quickly. Vanessa’s hands slipped down to grip his remarkably broad and muscular shoulders as she held on for dear life. Something was about to happen—she could feel it down below—and the more she strained into him, the closer it seemed to approach. Her blood rushed in her ears, the way the river rushed forward toward a precipice, and she just let it . . . come.

  “My wife . . .” he managed. “My duchess . . . my goddess . . .”

  The words pushed her over the edge, sending her falling, falling toward the churning, tumbling waters below. And when she plunged beneath the surface, her body shook, and she fell back nearly insensible as he drove hard into her and gave a hoarse cry.

  It was glorious.

  Sheridan lay there on his side beside his new wife and tried to arrange his senses into some semblance of order. Bloody hell, had he really called her his “goddess” there at the end? He had not expected to lose his mind quite that thoroughly.

  He had not expected her.

  Now that she was curled up against his side, eyes closed, with the covers pulled up under her arms and a contented smile gracing her face, all he could think was how beautiful she looked, with her raven curls tumbled about her shoulders and her alabaster skin aglow.

  Or perhaps he was imagining that last part, one effect of the fever in his brain that came whenever he was near her. She still wore his pearls, and that,
too, stirred his cock. To be honest, everything about her did.

  He chuckled at the thought of how she’d insisted upon his undressing while she watched, right in the midst of his grand seduction. That had definitely aroused him. To have her gaze regarding him with such fascination . . .

  Good God. Every time he turned around, she said or did something to tempt him. Not to mention, catch him off guard.

  Now he understood what society meant when it dubbed a woman a diamond of the first water. Because Vanessa had more facets than any finely cut gemstone, and every moment he was with her, she showed a new one. He wondered how long it would take for him to discover them all. Even now, the very way she lay showed him new curves he’d missed caressing, soft places he’d missed kissing, and a thousand other small details it would take him a lifetime to catalog.

  He sat up, annoyed with himself. He was turning into the most maudlin fellow ever. She didn’t have to wrap him about her finger. He was doing it for her.

  She opened her eyes, a slumberous look on her face. “I need to ask a favor of you.”

  “What sort of favor?” he asked suspiciously. Given the way he’d been thinking of her, if she asked him for the moon, he’d probably try to kidnap it from the sky.

  Worry knit her brow as she laid her hand on his chest. “Do you think you could . . . well . . . promise me you will never do with another woman what we just did together?” She cast him a quick, darting look. “That you’ll take no mistresses as long as I’m alive?”

  The request took him aback. Why would he need a mistress? Vanessa was more than enough for him. “No mistresses. I promise.” When relief brightened her face, he added, “Will you promise the same?”

  She blinked. “Certainly. I promise never to take a mistress.” Then she laughed gaily, dispelling some of the tension between them.

  “Very amusing, minx.” He tipped her chin up with one finger. “I will get you for that later.”

  “Oh, I dearly hope so. Just make sure it’s something wonderfully naughty. I’ve only just discovered I rather like being naughty. At least with you.”