“Axton.” She arched into his touch, but he continued his teasing caress. Never stopping, bringing her body closer and closer but never over the edge.
Her hands clenched into the bedding and she tried to move her hips harder into his touch, but Axton held her still. Camilla whimpered, or thought she did. Her heart pounded in her ears, blocking out any other sound.
Her focus narrowed onto Axton’s touch, the way his fingers circled around her nub, never touching but tormenting her just this side of arousal.
“Come for me, Camilla.” His mouth pressed to her sex and his fingers finally, finally, touched her nub and oh—oh!
She fell. The orgasm crashed through her, hard and fast, and she ground her hips into Axton’s touch. Felt his fingers slid into her even as he continued to taste her. She wanted more and rocked her hips against him, desperate for his touch, for the addictive feel of her climax rushing through her.
She came again, hard on the heels of her first climax. Some distant part of her was surprised; usually her lovers were not so generous. But with Axton’s mouth still tasting her and his fingers curling deliciously within her, all Camilla wanted was more.
Breathing hard, her body trembling from her orgasms, Camilla blinked open her eyes. Axton watched her. In the darkness of her room she couldn’t see his face, not clearly. But she felt him. His hands on her thighs, the way the bed dipped as he moved.
She managed to uncurl her hands from the bedding and grasp his cock. Teasing him, she felt a nearly overwhelming urge to taste him as he had her. Later. That was for later. Oh, she planned to take her time. To keep him hovering on the edge before watching him fall. And she did want to watch him fall, wanted to watch his every expression.
No more darkness, no more hiding in the shadows. However, right now, despite the way her body still tingled, she wanted to feel him moving within her.
He entered her slowly, but even in the shadows Camilla saw the way his jaw clenched with his restraint. She wanted to break that restraint.
“Axton,” she breathed and wrapped her legs around his waist.
Camilla dug her nails into his hips, dragged them up his back. Axton shuddered in her arms and her heart, despite its fierce pounding, flipped in her chest. She kissed the side of his neck with a tenderness she didn’t understand.
No, she couldn’t see his expression. But the weight of his gaze as he watched her, as he hovered over her, his hands planted on either side of her head, bore into her.
She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but the words caught. Instead, she lifted her hips in invitation. He slid deeper into her, and her breath hitched. Nothing else mattered but this moment. Her body sang with need, and her blood rushed through her. Camilla tightened her thighs around his waist.
“Camilla.” He sounded as if he wanted to say more, but cut himself off.
And then he moved. Slow, even thrusts that flamed the fire. She felt her orgasm build again, her body open to his as she met him.
But she wanted to break his control, wanted him to pound into her. Camilla raked her nails down his back, felt him shudder in her arms. She leaned up, brought his mouth to hers, and kissed him. It was sloppy and rushed, but she wanted more. One hand cupped the back of her thigh and lifted her leg higher.
She gasped when he moved deeper, shuddering as her orgasm wound tighter and tighter. Camilla slid a hand between them and scraped a nail over her nub. She was so sensitive, she came almost immediately.
Crying out, she bit his shoulder as her climax rocked through her. That was when he snapped. He pounded hard into her, each thrust deeper, and she welcomed it. Held him close even as her body shuddered in a beautiful aftermath.
“Yes,” she cried. “Axton.”
She held him close, met him thrust for thrust, and desperately wished she could see him. Watch his face as he watched her, know what he thought and felt. He shifted her thigh higher and Camilla cried out again.
And suddenly stilled above her as he came. She pressed her fingers into the small of his back, held him close. He shuddered in her arms but didn’t say a word. His arms trembled and buckled, and he rolled to the side, slipping out of her.
Gasping for breath, and missing the weight of him, Camilla turned to watch Axton. She reached out, drawing her fingers down his cheek, over his heaving chest.
He hadn’t withdrawn. Camilla frowned as she realized that but was entirely too boneless and content to worry about the possibility of pregnancy after the fact. She’d remind him later. Next time.
Axton reached out and tugged her to him, wrapping his arm over her waist and holding her close. Sighing contentedly as she settled over him, she knew there’d be a next time. And a time after that, too.
Camilla felt his lips graze the top of her head and heard a rumble of contentment deep in his chest. Oh, no, she was not done with Axton yet.
* * * *
“YOU HAVE MY trust,” Camilla admitted. “You’ve had it for a very long time.” She pulled back from him and looked him in the eye. “But you cannot have my freedom.”
Axton stopped touching her; his hand stilled on her back. His eyes darkened, though she couldn’t read them.
“Is this not enough, Axton?” she asked, curious and honest. “Is this not more than those who are wed have? A tryst in the afternoon, a secret assignation. Is that not more fun? More exciting? Do you not want that with me?”
“It is exciting,” he began and nodded. “Because I have you. It’s fun because we are intimate. But is it more?” He shook his head. Though he didn’t physically pull back, Camilla had the feeling he did. “It could be exciting to be a duchess. It could be exciting to be wed.”
Camilla pulled from his embrace and grabbed the coverlet. She hugged it to her chest, covered herself the best she was able, and didn’t look at him.
She didn’t know what she’d see if she did, and frankly wasn’t certain what showed in her gaze. What she felt, what she thought. Everything meshed within her in a jumbled mess of conflicting emotions.
“If this is what you want,” Axton continued, and something in his tone changed.
His hand, large and warm, rested on her shoulder. Camilla looked at his hand, then over it to meet his gaze. Desperation. That’s what she heard in his voice. A man at the end of his rope.
“I accept. It does not make me the happiest man,” he admitted with a rueful twist of his lips. “But it gives me a measure of solace you are with me, not with another.”
“However…”
“However,” he agreed. “There’s a caveat.”
Camilla smirked, but it didn’t feel as natural or as open as she wished. The movement felt forced as she waited for his caveat, his stipulation. “Of course there is.”
“We will never close the door on you becoming my duchess.” His hand squeezed her shoulder, not in warning but in confirmation.
Camilla shivered at the touch, at the way Axton watched her. He wanted her, yes, she saw that clearly, felt it, knew it intimately. But more than that, he truly wanted her…physically, emotionally, by his side and on his arm. Always.
It was tempting. And terrifying.
She swallowed and found herself leaning into his touch. Catching herself, Camilla stilled and pulled back.
“You will never lose freedom with me,” he promised. “You will gain the protection and the prestige of a title. But you’d still have your freedom—your freedom to travel, to do your work.”
He didn’t add, and didn’t have to: You can do all that with me.
Camilla licked her lips and had no reply. She didn’t know how to reply to so heartfelt and honest a statement. Instead, she leaned closer. Pressed her lips to his and let the kiss deepen.
She pushed him back onto the bed and straddled his waist, rocking against his hardness. Grinning down at him, she pushed all thoughts of their future from her mind and lived only for the moment.
Their moment.
Chapter Eleven
CAMILLA WATCHED
AXTON sleep. How could three weeks have passed already? Three weeks since beginning their affair, three weeks of hiding it. She frowned and pushed that thought aside. It had no place here, between them.
He hadn’t brought marriage up again and she certainly hadn’t, either. But the thought stayed with her. Every day of these three weeks, she thought about what he wanted, why he could possibly want marriage with her.
And every day she pushed it to the back of her mind and lived in the moment. Kissed him, made love with him, and laughed with him. But never brought it up.
Axton pulled away from her, and Camilla jerked at the sudden move. Somehow he always knew when it was time to wake and leave. She knew, too. She didn’t need to look at the mantel to know the time, or listen for the church bells tolling the hour.
Three in the morning and he needed to leave.
Her fingers pressed against his chest, a movement she had no control over. Her body knew—knew Axton once more obeyed her wishes and left before the servants woke. Knew her lover was just about to sneak from her bed and out of her house to protect her reputation.
Sighing, Camilla leaned up and kissed him.
His hands slid up her naked back, warm in the cold room, to pull her closer. His fingers tangled in her hair and his mouth slanted over hers, demanding and fierce. She gave all that to him, opening to him and tangling her own fingers in his hair.
How could she let him leave?
But he pulled back, slipped from her bed, and dressed in the dark. The crescent moon lighted her bedroom only barely, but Axton seemed to know where his clothes lay. Then again, the next day she found his cravat more than once in random places about the room.
And kept them, secreting away the cloth like a hidden prize.
Sitting in bed to watch him dress, Camilla bit her lip to keep from speaking. To keep herself from asking him to stay.
Suddenly restless, she slid from the bed and found her own wrap, tightened the heavy material around her body, and walked to where he pulled on his shoes. He sat on the bench at the foot of the bed and didn’t look up at her until he finished.
She combed her fingers through his hair, ruffling the already-mussed style. In the dark, she couldn’t read his expression and found herself caught between wanting desperately to know what he was thinking…and knowing and trying to ignore it.
He didn’t want to leave, either.
But he respected her wishes, and how could she fault him for that? How could she stay angry with him for doing what she asked—what she demanded?
He stood and they silently left her bedroom, walking down darkened halls and down the servants’ staircase. Axton always left by the servants’ door. Always. She unlocked it but didn’t push it open, couldn’t bring herself to do so.
Instead Camilla looked up at him and wanted. Wanted to tell him to stay, wanted to pull him to her and kiss him, wanted to throw every fear she had to the wind and tell the ton to go to hell. She wanted her staff to know Axton—Gareth—spent the night and she didn’t want to care what they said or how they gossiped.
Camilla simply wanted Gareth in her life. Forever.
But she swallowed those words down, afraid if she opened her mouth to tell him so much as a goodbye, the words would flow from her and never stop.
“I’m entertaining a guest tonight,” Axton said smoothly. “Lord Bigleman is in town for just the night, so I won’t be able to…see you.”
His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing over her skin in a soft caress that stole her breath.
“I wish you were with me,” he admitted, his voice low and rough. “I want to show you off as my…hostess.”
Camilla didn’t miss the way he hesitated. Didn’t miss the word he wanted to use instead of hostess—duchess. She swallowed again and desperately held back the words that wanted to spill forth.
Because she wanted that, too.
Not being his duchess, per se, but being with him always. Letting the world know they were a pair, no more hiding in the darkness. Oh, Camilla knew doing so had been her idea; in the darkness, with him so close yet so far, she changed her mind.
She wanted to wake with him in their bed and start their day together. End it the same way. No more sneaking about.
“Perhaps,” he said in the face of her silence, “one day.”
Axton leaned down and kissed her, not the hard, demanding one of before, but a gentle touch of his lips to hers, almost sweet. More than a kiss, it was emotion; it was affection. And as much as she fought against that, Camilla held onto his waist, her fingers digging into his waistcoat, and kissed him back.
Without another word, he pulled back and left. Locked the door behind him and disappeared into the night.
Alone in the darkness, Camilla stared at the door. She wanted him to stay; she wanted to follow him.
She never wanted a lover to stay before, not that there were many—two, maybe three, if she counted the two days with that Italian last year when she left Isabella Harrington—now Duchess of Strathmore—in Milan. Now, there was only Axton.
She wanted only Axton. But she could not rely on that, could she?
He was a man, after all, and men were as mercurial over women as women were over bonnets. How long until he changed? How long until another shapely form caught his fancy? Camilla wasn’t sure, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to wait for that inevitability.
Spinning sharply on her heel, she stalked from the servants’ door and up the stairs. The draft chilled the room, through her thin dressing gown, and she wanted her bed.
She wanted him in her bed again, wanted to curl around him and feel his arms hold her tight. His body against hers to keep her warm.
Damn.
Had it been her other lovers, she certainly wouldn’t have cared. But with Axton—Gareth—it was so different, had been from the first. Nothing about that man proved simple. Even his retainer of her services had not played out as planned, nor had his reasons for hiring her.
And Hawkhurst—a problem she hadn’t solved. Camilla sensed an underlying problem there, but knew not what the source might be.
She stepped through her bedroom door and crossed immediately to her bed. But did not climb beneath the blankets. She didn’t have to, to know the bedding smelled like them, his strong scent eclipsing the scent of soap and sleep.
Swallowing hard, Camilla slowly discarded her dressing gown and slid beneath the heavy blankets, allowing them to warm her chilled skin. They did naught to warm the chill around her heart.
Though she lay down and willed sleep to claim her, she knew it remained elusive. Sleep always was this way after Gareth left, after she returned to her bed, alone, with only her thoughts to keep her company. Her whirling, racing thoughts on their future.
What might happen, what she wished happened. Camilla wasn’t certain what those wishes consisted of—what she truly wanted. And no amount of sleepless nights had helped.
Closing her eyes, she tried to calm her mind for at least a few hours’ rest. But she knew, with his scent surrounding her and her body still languid from the ceaseless passion between them, that she might never know what lay between her and Gareth.
And that elusiveness bothered her more than she wanted to admit.
* * * *
CAMILLA HADN’T GONE back to sleep. Not that she had managed to do so in the previous three weeks since that first night he slipped from her bed and sneaked from the house.
Not that it mattered, she assured herself as she sat at her desk, the early morning sunlight just lightening her study. But the sigh escaped her lips anyway, no matter how she tried to stop it. Her tea cooled beside her, and though she refused breakfast, one of the maids brought bread and jam anyway.
Once more she tried focusing on the papers before her and once more failed miserably.
“You’re here early!” Margaret chirped and entered without bothering to knock.
She carried her own teacup and a final bite of toast, along with a sheaf of paperwork. Camil
la blinked up at her assistant. Why on Earth was she up this early, too? Or was she always?
Camilla dismissed it and looked back at her correspondence, the ones she ignored the previous few days because her mind refused to focus on anything other than Gareth—Axton. Damn it, separating him in her mind was not supposed to be so difficult!
“Mrs. Carlton is becoming quite impatient,” Margaret said and set the papers on the desk. “She very firmly”—Margaret cleared her throat at that—“insists that her daughter be betrothed by spring.”
Raising an eyebrow, Camilla asked dryly, “This spring?”
Margaret snorted in agreement.
“Even my most successful matches rarely happen so expediently,” Camilla snapped. Then she swallowed and sipped her cold tea. Grimacing at the taste, she debated ringing for a fresh pot, but her stomach rebelled at the very thought.
She sighed again and offered Margaret an apologetic smile. It was not Margaret’s fault she was in a foul mood.
“No,” Margaret agreed, taking no offense. “Mr. Maine, however, might be a viable possibility for Miss Carlton.”
Camilla nodded—she hadn’t thought about that particular match; then again, she hadn’t given any of her matches much thought lately. She returned her gaze to her papers, but the words swam before her. She just barely resisted rubbing her eyes in front of Margaret.
When she looked up again, Margaret studied her with a hard glint in her eye. Camilla waited, her gaze steady and eyebrow raised in question. She refused to give her assistant, no matter how good a friend she might be, any leeway.
“You look rather pale,” Margaret commented. “Tired,” she added unnecessarily in Camilla’s view. “Forlorn.”
“I am fine, Margaret,” she insisted and returned once more to her papers.
“Perhaps if His Grace stayed longer this morning?” Margaret ventured.
“Margaret!” Camilla snapped, the word a shot between them.
Improper Duke: Scandalous Encounters Page 8
