The Dream of a Duchess

by Sande, Linda Rae

  Perhaps he mistook her shiver as a sign the water was no longer warm enough, for his next words surprised her. “The bath linens are to your right. I shall not watch as you get up.”

  Without a word, Isabella was suddenly up and out of the tub, her quick exit and the water sluicing from her body nearly hiding her from the duke’s eyes as she reached for a bath linen. She quickly wrapped it about her body before grabbing another from the open cupboard. She held it out until Octavius took it from her.

  “Much obliged,” he whispered. Wondering how he would muster the energy to lift himself from the cooling water, Octavius was surprised to find Isabella still standing next to the tub, one hand held out. Much like she had done in the stables, she jerked on his hand at the same moment he pushed himself up from the tub. He was glad for the assist and not the least bit concerned she saw his entire body for the moment before he wrapped the linen about his middle.

  Despite the dim lighting, he paid witness to her embarrassment. He rather liked how her cheeks pinked up, how her eyes were suddenly averted, how her head dipped. Following her line of sight, he realized she was staring at her night rail, the stained garment probably unsalvageable. “If you must wear one to bed, please feel free to return to your chambers,” he said in a hoarse whisper, rather shocked at how he barely recognized his voice. I sound as if I’m giving her an ultimatum, he chided himself. But he didn’t want to frighten her away.

  Not tonight.

  He needed her. Needed a warm body around which to wrap himself. An anchor to keep him from drifting into nightmares.

  Isabella raised her eyes to meet his gaze and gave her head a quick shake. “I have no other,” she replied. And with that, she dipped a curtsy and hurried off to the door that led to the duke’s bedchamber.

  Closing his eyes while allowing a curse, Octavius considered what he was about to do.

  Take a virgin to his bed. A virgin who wasn’t his wife.

  Well, given his exhaustion, he had no intention of taking her virtue on this night. He merely wanted a warm body—something to hang onto—to help him get through the rest of the night. His last dream had been too real, too frightening. Surely holding onto her would fend off the terror the nightmare promised.

  When he had finished drying his body, he tossed the linen over the edge of the tub, helped himself to the candle lamp, and made his way to his bedchamber.

  Isabella lay in the middle of the bed, the messy linens barely hiding her torso from view. “Which side do you sleep on?” she asked in a whisper, startled to see he had shed his bath linen before making his way into the huge bedchamber. Isn’t he cold?

  “Why, the middle of course,” he replied as he set the candle lamp on one of the nightstands. The glow illuminated only a portion of the room, making it seem as if the bedchamber went on forever in two directions. “I appreciate you warming the bed for me. I hope you’re not cold.”

  Cold? How could she be cold when her entire body felt as if a furnace had been lit from the inside?

  Before she could make her way to the left side of the bed, Octavius had already settled onto the mattress, one hand pulling the bed linens this way and that, as if they had been left twisted when she roused him from his slumber. She helped with the covers as best she could, realizing she was only delaying the inevitable. Despite his earlier words, he would no doubt have his way with her before he slept.

  Trying to imagine how he might claim her, she was rather startled when he merely snaked an arm around her middle and pulled her body sideways until her bottom was nestled into the front of his bent body. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t wake up at the crack of dawn,” he whispered. “Peters says you do so nearly every day.”

  Isabella stiffened. What is wrong with getting up at first light? The stables were always the best early in the morning. “Aren’t you an early riser?” she countered, remembering how he appeared in the breakfast parlor shortly after she did on the occasions when he had visited in the past.

  “Not this morning,” he murmured as he continued to wrestle with the bed linens. Suddenly, the smoothed linens, quilt and counterpane were covering them both, making the bed look as if it had been made before they climbed into it. “No earlier than nine o’clock,” he whispered in warning.

  Before Isabella could think of how to reply, she realized the duke had already dozed off. Half-tempted to slip from the bed and make her way to her own bedchamber, she decided she rather liked how the duke held her against his body. Rather liked his warmth and the barely-there pulse at his wrist where it rested against one of her breasts.

  In worrying what he might have planned to do to her, she hadn’t even realized he had pressed his knees into the back of hers, or that her back rested against his solid chest, or that one of his arms had found a perfect resting place around her waist.

  Sighing, Isabella did her best to ignore the odd sensations that coursed through her body. The way a tingle started at the base of her spine and seemed to radiate through her torso, hardening her nipples and causing the space at the top of her thighs to throb. What is happening to me? she wondered. Is this... desire? If the duke wanted her the same way her body seemed to want him, then she now understood how easy it would be to allow him to ruin her. Thoroughly.

  Placing one of her hands over his much larger one, Isabella allowed a sigh before she closed her eyes and finally drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 35

  Awakened and Aroused

  An hour later

  Isabella felt as if she were floating. Or, at least attempting to float. Something heavy held her down. Something that smelled of Bay Rum and bubbles anchored her to a soft bed. When the heaviness moved and then was suddenly gone, she expected her entire body to rise above the bed. She held her breath in anticipation, willing herself to keep her eyes closed. She didn’t want the sensation to go away.

  Just when she was sure she was free from the bed, the air around her shoulder fluttered. A moment later, something warm touched her shoulder. Something light and feathery that moved toward her neck leaving a trail of cooling moisture behind. Her entire body shivered before the weight returned to hold her down.

  “I am suffering from a quandary.”

  The whispered words had Isabella’s eyes opening in an instant. She was stunned to discover she wasn’t in her own bed—she knew it because morning light wasn’t streaming into the bedchamber from an east-facing window. She was also stunned when she realized she was exactly where she had been when she first fell asleep.

  Tucked into and against the duke.

  She dared to lean back a bit so that she could be sure he was still behind her. Although he was no longer pressed against her back, Octavius was still abed, his head propped up on an arm. The other lie over her waist, the hand smoothing over the front of her body until his fingers reached her breasts. The shiver of delight he created beneath his fingertips nearly had her yelping in surprise, but she stilled herself. “What kind of quandary might that be?” she managed as she lowered her back to the mattress. His hand stayed on the front of her body, one of her breasts completely covered by his palm and fingers, the engorged nipple captured between the sides of two fingers.

  Octavius regarded his bedmate with a wan smile. “I wish to make love to you,” he whispered, his eyes darkening when his gaze took in her other bare breast. His lips suddenly covered it, and Isabella gasped as his tongue laved over the hardening bud.

  His words should have frightened her. Should have had her leaping from the bed and running for her own bedchamber. But something in his voice—and the fact that his tongue was doing such luscious things to her breast just then—had her remaining right where she was. “But?” she prompted, not quite sure if it was a suitable response. What did she know, though? She had never shared a man’s bed before. Never been completely naked next to a man who was also completely naked.

  Blinking, Octavius lifted his head from her breast and frowned until a fold of skin developed between his brows.
This time, Isabella did reach up to press her forefinger against it. “Does it hurt when it does that?” she asked in a whisper.

  He seemed momentarily confused by the question. “Sometimes,” he replied. He suddenly leaned over and captured her lips with his own.

  Isabella’s chest lifted from the bed, as if her breasts sought out the solidity of his body. His hand let go of her breast to wrap around the back of her shoulder, pulling her closer.

  Breathless after a moment, Octavius let go his hold on her, his head dropping to rest on the pillow next to hers. “You should be running to your bedchamber,” he whispered, his voice so hoarse he barely recognized it as his own.

  Turning her head slightly, Isabella wondered what to say. “I’m not wearing any night clothes,” she murmured. “And there is the issue of a rather handsome man covering most of my body.” She could practically feel his frown as she moved a hand to grip his upper arm. “Octavius, if the tables were turned—if you were a lonely woman in this situation—what would you do?”

  When he didn’t answer right away, Isabella thought perhaps he had fallen asleep. The bedchamber was still dark, so she figured it was well before dawn.

  “You think me handsome?”

  Isabella grinned in the dark, rather surprised he would respond to that particular part of the comment. “I rather imagine every woman in England finds you handsome.” She smoothed her hand down his arm, moving it under his wrist and over his back, her fingertips barely grazing his skin until she heard a hitch in his breath.

  “No one can know,” he breathed. Especially Jane. That Isabella’s loneliness would have her choosing ruination was something he hadn’t considered. He could understand the loneliness, though. He had lived with it for years. Ever since Jane’s death. “You cannot tell anyone.”

  “Who would believe me?” She felt his head lift from the pillow, and despite the darkness, she could make out his features as he regarded her.

  “Everyone in London.”

  “You seem to have forgotten that I have no plans to travel to London,” she said with a shake of her head.

  The comment seemed to surprise the duke, and he lifted himself back onto his elbow. “Craythorne is dead. You have no reason to hide any longer.”

  The comment gave her pause, but she wasn’t about to leave Huntinghurst. Not when there were horses to train. Racers to breed. “As I recall, I still hold the position of châtelaine for this estate,” she reminded him.

  Silence descended again, and the duke’s stillness once again had her wondering if he had fallen asleep.

  “You’ll be ruined.” I don’t want you to have to marry me.

  “Then I shan’t marry.”

  The clipped words had Octavius grimacing. That wasn’t exactly the response he was expecting. Couldn’t she understand she needed to leave his bed? Didn’t she know he was about to take her virtue? Claim her?

  “If we do this, there will be pain,” he whispered. “There will be blood—”

  “Worse than what I’ve already experienced on this night?” she countered as she turned her head to face him.

  Well, she had him there, Octavius conceded.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, well aware of how his manhood throbbed, of how her body, all flushed and ripe, was ready for what could come next. He could practically smell her arousal. He could certainly feel it in how pebbled her nipples had become. In how her skin had turned to gooseflesh. In how her breaths had quickened.

  She has to marry me.

  He offered one last attempt as an out for her.

  “If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?” he asked suddenly.

  The simple question caught Isabella off-guard. She was about to chide him for changing the subject when she realized how she answered might determine what happened next. “My own stables, of course,” she whispered. “With six... no, make that eight horses, and a pasture, and two stable hands...”

  Her list was stopped when Octavius pressed a finger to her lips, her words so unexpected he had half a mind to call her out. But then he remembered the afternoon prior, remembered her enthusiasm for updating the pedigree charts. Remembered how she had been so frightened for Enyo and her foals. So willing to do whatever it took to see to their survival. “You are certainly not a typical daughter of the ton, are you?” he asked rhetorically.

  She shook her head in the pillow. “Probably not, but then I know so few.”

  His lips settled on her hers once again as he squeezed his eyes shut. He would not be taking her maidenhood this night, he decided. Although nothing would please Norwick more than learning his daughter had been ruined by the duke, he would also see to it the two were married, probably before Octavius could see to a proper proposal and wedding arrangements.

  That had been Norwick’s plan all along, he realized.

  Well, not on this night. He could pleasure her and then see to his own release, though. He had done that for Jane in the beginning, when she was so frightened of the marriage bed. Of his manhood. She had been so small, so frail...

  He shook the thought from his head before he smoothed the flat of his hand down the front of Isabella’s body. Her slight gasp came just as his fingers parted her dark curls and were about to split the folds protecting her womanhood.

  Pushing a bit further and thrilling at how her back suddenly arched, he realized he wouldn’t be able to stop himself given how her taut nipples begged for attention. Perhaps if he couldn’t see them in the dim light... “Turn over,” he ordered, his voice so hoarse he barely recognized it. He pulled his hand from between her legs and rose up on his knees.

  A bit confused—Isabella was sure he was about to make her ready for his manhood—she finally rolled over but held herself up on bent arms. She let out another gasp when one of his hands was suddenly between her legs again, the other gently pushing her knees apart until he could get one of his own between them. Isabella couldn’t help but hold her breath, unsure of what he was about to do next. “Are you going to...?”

  His lips were suddenly next to her ear. “Lie down and relax,” he whispered. “And lift your lovely bottom just a bit.” He nudged his hand up to reinforce his instructions, eliciting another gasp from her as her back had to arch to allow his hand to remain where it was. “That’s it,” he murmured, one of the fingers of his other hand tracing the curve of her spine until it reached the white globes of her bottom and then trailed sideways over the soft skin to her hip.

  He thrilled at how her body trembled just then, of the slight gasps she made when his finger was joined by the rest of his hand so he could smooth it over her firm bottom and down to her thighs.

  Her perfectly-rounded bottom, made so from how she rode astride, was nothing like any other woman’s he had seen. Her thighs, long and strong and smooth, were just as captivating. He was about to imagine what they might feel like gripping the sides of his body as he drove himself into her, but thought better of it. He wasn’t about to allow his own release when he hadn’t yet seen to hers. “Now just relax,” he murmured and he began to move his hand against her quim.

  Relax? Isabella nearly repeated. How could she relax when his hand was suddenly pressed against the wet folds at the top of her thighs? When she couldn’t see what he was about to do? But she slid her elbows out sideways until the front of her body was enveloped in the soft mattress. Even before she could wonder what he might do next, the pressure of his hand against her womanhood increased a bit. A most delicious sensation seemed to build just then, of anticipation and the hint of pending pleasure. She grasped the bed linens beneath each hand when a skitter of delight raced through her lower body.

  When she attempted to lift her bottom higher, not to escape his touch as much as to provide more room for his hand against her quim, his other hand pressed very gently at the base of her spine. The pressure combined with what his fingers were suddenly doing against her swollen womanhood had her breaths catching, her heart racing, and her breathing labored.
/>
  “Tell me what you want me to do,” Octavius whispered.

  Isabella wondered at how to respond. She had no idea what to tell him. She didn’t know the language to use. But every time he seemed to rub harder before softening his hold on her, before slowing his movements, she was sure something was about to happen. “Harder, Octavius,” she managed to get out.

  “Like this?” The whisper was accompanied by his hand pressing harder against her womanhood.

  “Yes,” she managed. “And... faster.” The word was said as a plea as her fingers tightened their hold on the bed linens.

  Octavius did her bidding, secretly thrilling at how her body responded to his hold, to his movements, to the pressure he applied. He thrilled at hearing his name whispered with such reverence.

  Twice he had known she was on the verge of her orgasm, but he hadn’t wanted to allow her the release. He nearly deprived her of it again, but thought better than to employ such exquisite torture on her—he already feared he was bruising her womanhood with his ministrations.

  His movements increased in speed, his pressure against her increased, and a moment later, Isabella’s entire body shuddered in his hold. Her strangled cries and his name spoken in rapture had him slowing his hand, but he kept the pressure even until her body seemed to stiffen and break before finally relaxing beneath his hand. Her sobs and cries of his name softened to quiet mewls and then finally to a purr of satisfaction.

  Dropping to the mattress, Octavius rolled onto his back and gulped air, unaware he had been holding his breath in anticipation how she might react. One arm lay bent above his head as he reached out to her with the other. Given how Jane had reacted—cowering from his hold as if in disgust at what they had done—he was stunned when Isabella was suddenly pressed against the side of his body, one arm wrapped over his torso, her soft breaths washing over his heated chest.