The Duke's Mistress (Regency Unlaced 1)

by Carole Mortimer

As Amelia had no mother or other close female relative to help her, it had fallen on Thea to offer her own assistance. Which she had been only too pleased to do.

  She did not, however, consider the inconvenience of one dance to be too much of an imposition upon the father of the bride. “Your point being?”

  His mouth thinned. “I do not dance, madam.”

  Now that Thea thought on it, she could never remember having seen Julian Remington stand up for even one dance at any of the balls and soirees to which they had both been invited over the years, and which he had rarely attended. Even at the betrothal celebrations last month, he had stood apart from his guests filling the ballroom at Blackmoor House. None had the temerity or nerve to approach him either.

  In truth, Blackmoor was not a man easily approached. He gave a whole new meaning to the word austere. His severity was exacerbated by his somber clothing, those dark colors making his face appear paler and haughtier, and the gray of his eyes more icily merciless—

  There was that word again. Merciless. This time in reference to Julian Remington.

  Could this man and the necessity that Thea spend more time in his company since the announcement of George’s betrothal be the reason for her own increased sexual longings?

  Her spine straightened at the thought. “You do not dance, or you cannot, Your Grace?”

  Irritation darkened his countenance. “I fail to see the significance of the question, let alone the answer.”

  If Julian were completely honest with himself, the flow of blood to his increasingly hard cock was making it difficult for him to think at all. To recall why it was he had felt such an urgent need to come to Latham House this afternoon.

  Perhaps as a diversion from the problem which had plagued him for the past few weeks? Plague being an apt description when it came to Jennifer Brown.

  For reasons known only to him, he had made a point of knowing exactly where Jennifer was for the past fifteen years. He currently, and for several weeks now, had no idea where she was or what she was doing. A situation he found extremely disturbing, given that Amelia’s wedding was due to take place next month. He prayed that Jennifer would do nothing to hinder or ruin that happy event.

  Consequently, this dance with Lady Dorothea Fitzroy was the least of his concerns.

  And yet here he was.

  Because something about her intrigued him. Drew him to her, in some inexplicable way.

  Lady Dorothea made no effort to hide her exasperation with his unyielding attitude. “It is tradition.”

  He raised mocking brows. “When have I ever given the impression I give a damn about tradition?”

  Never, Thea acknowledged with rising impatience. This gentleman was most certainly a law unto himself, and powerful enough not to ever have to explain any of his actions. Or lack of them. “If it is any consolation, Your Grace, I have no wish to dance with you either.”

  Those dark brows rose even higher, as if this was the last thing Blackmoor had expected her to say.

  Thea had already been forced to listen in silence to the twittering of her guests, both this afternoon and at every social gathering since the announcement of her nephew’s betrothal, as to the good fortune of the Latham family in soon being connected in marriage to the Duke of Blackmoor. She had smiled sweetly through all these compliments while offering no comment on the subject herself.

  Undoubtedly, the dukedom of Blackmoor was an illustrious one, having been bestowed upon the Remington family by Queen Elizabeth the First. Thea could well understand that queen’s favoritism if that first Duke of Blackmoor had been anywhere near as handsome as this one. It was said, after all, that Elizabeth had an eye for a handsome gentleman.

  Handsome or not, Julian Remington’s distance from the wedding arrangements, and now his refusal to do this one small thing towards the social success of his daughter’s nuptials, was positively the last straw as far as Thea was concerned.

  “What are you about?” Blackmoor protested as Thea now took a firm hold of his arm and attempted to pull him towards the door of the salon.

  Being so much larger than she, he had not moved by so much as an inch. “Surely you are not in fear of accompanying a mere woman, Your Grace?” She eyed him challengingly.

  He scowled darkly. “I believe if—when you know me better, you will realize I fear nothing and no one.”

  Thea felt another shiver of apprehension run the length of her spine at the underlying threat she heard in that when you know me better. Which she would, of course, when next month this man’s family and her own would be forever and inextricably linked by marriage.

  “Come with me, if you please.” She gave another tug on his arm, and this time, he reluctantly complied.

  The expression of haughtiness on his face told Thea that he was only doing so in order to humor the deranged woman he currently considered her to be.

  The two of them passed the stoic-faced Cross in the hallway before ascending the wide staircase. At the top of the stairs, Thea turned sharply to the right to walk along the gallery before throwing open the double doors leading into the Latham ballroom.

  It was a room Thea had always particularly liked and spent hours in as a child, admiring the beautiful mirrored walls and gold filigree work surrounding them, as well as the beautiful frescoes of nymphs and cherubs painted on the domed ceiling overhead.

  She continued walking until she reached the middle of the mellow wood dance floor, at which time she turned to face the duke and placed one of her gloved hands upon a muscular shoulder, and, grasping hold of his other hand, she began to hum the melody of a waltz.

  Blackmoor appeared livid as he glared down at her, eyes pale and glittering and his cheeks flushed.

  It was undoubtedly the most emotion Thea had ever seen on that habitually disdainful face.

  “I do not—” He got no further in his protest as Thea, unconcerned and still humming, tugged him into the dance.

  It took her but a few seconds to realize she had seriously misjudged him. Not only could Blackmoor dance, but he did so with the same deftness and depth of purpose with which he did everything else. Light on his feet, he now guided her about the ballroom with his fingers tightly gripping her own and his other hand pressed against her lower spine.

  Perhaps a little too low to be socially acceptable?

  Thea realized she was no longer dancing in order to prove a point but because she was enjoying herself. More so than she had with any other gentleman she had ever danced with. Most certainly Henry had never twirled her round the dance floor so expertly.

  Was it not said that the way a man danced was indicative of the way in which he made love? Implying Blackmoor would make love with the same deftness and depth of purpose?

  She had to stop thinking of this man in that way. She must stop, or she really would become as deranged as the duke already believed her to be.

  She was slightly breathless when they came to an abrupt halt, her eyes wide as she stared up at Blackmoor. A lock of black hair had fallen onto his forehead, giving him a slightly rakish appearance so at odds with his usual hauteur. Those gray eyes now looked down at her with warm appraisal, and there was the lightest of flushes to the hardness of his cheeks, no doubt also from their exertions on the dance floor.

  She had intended teaching this impossible duke how to dance if he could not do so, and instead she had discovered that being with him like this excited her more than she had known was possible.

  What air there was in the room now seemed to be charged with— With what? Sexual tension? Awareness?

  Whatever it was, Thea’s breasts once again felt full and aching, the tips sensitive as they rubbed against the soft material of her chemise.

  Her cheeks became unbearably hot as she realized that stillness of air was becoming saturated with the aroma of the arousal now slicking her thighs and dampening her drawers.

  A musky scent that Julian Remington surely could not help but also be aware of.

  Chapter 3<
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  “What, or should I say who, were you thinking about when I arrived earlier?”

  Thea felt stricken as she stared at him. “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “No?”

  He could not know of her wild flights of fantasy earlier. Her arousal. Could he?

  “How old are you?”

  “A gentleman does not enquire as to a lady’s age.” She attempted to step away from Blackmoor, only to have him grasp one of her wrists within his long and elegant fingers.

  A hold Julian maintained despite her gentle tugging. “I ceased being a gentleman in regard to you some minutes ago. When you forced me to dance, in fact,” he added harshly.

  She gave an inelegant snort. “I do not believe you could ever truly be forced into doing something you did not wish to do.”

  “True.” He gave an acknowledging inclination of his head.

  “Why do you never dance in public?”

  Why? Because dancing required Julian make conversation with a woman. That he become her captive audience for the duration of that dance. There was no woman in or out of society with whom he wished to spend even that amount of time in conversation. Bedding a woman was one thing, actually having to talk with her something else entirely.

  Although he did not seem to be having any problem conversing with Thea Fitzroy. Or she with him.

  “Why did you really bring me here?” His voice lowered to intimacy.

  Color warmed her cheeks. “I— I thought I could teach you to dance if you could not do so.”

  His jaw hardened, eyes narrowing. “You will find I can forgive some things, but lying is not one of them.”

  Thea’s mouth felt unaccountably dry at the steel in his tone. “I have no idea what— You are holding me too tightly, Your Grace.”

  His fingers slackened just enough so that they were no longer painful. “I demand and expect honesty.”

  “And may I expect the same honesty from you?”

  “Always.”

  She felt a delicious shiver of pleasure down the length of her spine at the promise she now heard in his voice. Promise of what, she was unsure. “Then why, if you are so set against it, having first allowed me to bring you up here to the ballroom, did you then let me lead you into the dance?”

  “You are sure you wish for my complete honesty in this matter?”

  No, Thea was no longer sure of anything in regard to this man. He seemed less haughty here in the privacy of the empty ballroom, and his conversation had certainly taken on a more familiar tone than it ought to have done. Than polite society allowed.

  “Always.” Her chin rose as she repeated his own reply back at him.

  He raised one dark eyebrow. “I came to the ballroom with you because I was curious as to your motivation. I allowed the dance because, having breathed in the delicious aroma of your arousal downstairs, the closeness of our bodies as we danced enabled me to indulge in more of it.”

  Thea now felt the color drain from her cheeks as she realized that Blackmoor did know of her fantasies earlier because he had smelled her arousal.

  “Who were you thinking about?”

  You, came the true and honest answer.

  She had been thinking of this man. Fantasizing about him. Imagining him doing those—those things to and with her.

  She swallowed. “No one in particular.”

  His head tilted to one side as he studied her closely. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” she hissed.

  He nodded acceptance of her answer. “Your pulse is racing.” He stepped closer to her, his height and size instantly intimidating. “Did our dance together cause you more excitement?” He breathed in deeply. “Ah, so it did.” He gave a hard smile of satisfaction.

  Had Thea ever been so embarrassed? So utterly humiliated?

  So utterly caught out in my shameful response to this man’s proximity.

  “You did not tell me your age, Thea,” the duke pressed.

  She felt unable to look away from that compelling and devilish—satanic?—face. “I am…five and twenty.”

  “A little young for my tastes, but that cannot be helped. Do you currently have a lover?” Julian probed huskily.

  “Whether I do or I do not is none of your concern!” Her eyes flashed her resentment at the nature of his questions.

  “I am making it so.”

  She drew in an exasperated breath. “This really is beyond all politeness.”

  “If you expect politeness from me, Thea, then you will always be disappointed,” he drawled.

  “Only my family is allowed to call me Thea.” Her usual air of unflustered serenity was in danger of completely deserting her at this man’s familiarity.

  “I will become a part of your family once my daughter marries your nephew.”

  “Hardly,” she scoffed.

  She was right, of course; Julian had little time for the family he did have, let alone the in-laws he was shortly to acquire. Except for Amelia, of course. His love for his daughter was unimpeachable.

  And his one weakness.

  A weakness he had long ago taken such pains to ensure could never be used against either him or Amelia.

  Damn it, he refused to think of Jennifer now, when Thea Fitzroy, with her surprising sensuality and responsive body, was proving to be more than an adequate diversion from such disturbing thoughts.

  As he had known that she would be?

  Julian could barely claim to have even noticed her existence until the betrothal ball the previous month. An evening when she had proven to be a more than adequate hostess of the celebration.

  She had been wearing a pale mauve gown that evening, its pastel shade a perfect foil for the rich red of her hair and her smooth ivory complexion.

  Julian had found himself watching her beneath lowered lids that evening. As she smiled warmly at his guests. As she danced lightly about the ballroom, first with her brother and then with several of the single gentlemen present. As she laughed huskily, a blush to her cheeks, in response to something one of those gentlemen had said to her. A compliment, perhaps, or something flirtatious.

  Whatever the cause, Julian had only just stopped himself from visibly scowling his displeasure.

  At the same time as he promised himself he would one day be the cause of those blushes.

  “Perhaps I am willing to make an exception in your case.” He caressed the inside of her wrist with the soft pad of his thumb and instantly felt the leaping of her pulse. Thea Fitzroy might try to verbally deny the sexual connection between the two of them, but the responses of her body did not lie. “Now answer me as to whether or not you currently have a lover?” he repeated briskly.

  She breathed audibly. “I do not.”

  “But you would like one.” It was a statement not a question.

  “Your Grace—”

  “Remy.”

  “Remy?” She frowned her puzzlement.

  “So quick to obey. I like that.” Julian gave a hard smile of satisfaction.

  “I was questioning the name,” she snapped. “Not agreeing to call you by it.”

  “Oh, but you will,” he assured her softly. “Before we are through with each other, you will call me many other names too.”

  “Such as presumptuous? Dictatorial? Deluded?” She tilted her head back in challenge.

  “Such as lover.”

  She gasped. “You are arrogance personified!”

  He laughed softly. “I should spank your bottom for that.” He chuckled again as she gave another gasp, this time of outrage. “But I believe I will save that for another day. When we are less likely to be interrupted.” His eyes narrowed. “I do not like to play games, Thea. Not with the truth, at least,” he added firmly. “I have admitted I desire you, and you desire me— Do not attempt to deny it, because I can smell how your musk has deepened in the last few minutes as we danced and are now talking so intimately together.”

  “I do not even like you—”

  “I do not r
ecall asking that you like me.” His hand tightened about her wrist as he now turned her so that her back was pressed against his front, his arm across her waist holding her in front of him as she faced forwards.

  Dozens of their reflections in the mirrored walls stared back at Thea. He so tall and dominating, and she held a prisoner against his muscular chest. Her face became flushed with awareness of the long length of his arousal pressing against the cheeks of her bottom.

  “Liking is far too insipid an emotion for what I want from you.” The warmth of the duke’s breath now caressed the fevered flesh of her bared throat. “I wish for you to feel only desire when we are together. A frenzy of it, in fact. The sort of desire that must be satisfied, no matter whom we are with or where we are. Such as now,” he added softly.

  Thea felt powerless to stop him as his gaze held hers in the mirror and he slowly began to lift up the skirt of her gown. Slowly revealing her ankles, knees, and then her thighs, his hand a soft caress against the bared flesh visible between her stockings and drawers. “Are you wet?” He didn’t wait for her to answer before his hand cupped between her thighs. “So you are. Deliciously so,” he murmured his approval as his fingers now deftly parted the slit in her drawers to reveal her red-gold curls.

  Thea found it impossible to look away from the dozens of reflections of the two of them as Blackmoor’s fingers now delved inside that slit in her drawers, parting her red-gold curls before dipping into the flow of her juices.

  “You are so wet and open for me, Thea,” he murmured his approval. “And your little nubbin is as fully aroused as my cock.” He slowly stroked his hardness along the crease separating the cheeks of her bottom.

  She gasped as his fingers first squeezed and then began to lightly stroke her exposed and swollen nubbin, her mesmerized gaze watching the deftness of his fingers in the mirrors, each stroke causing her to arch longingly into the caress as her traitorous body begged for more.

  “Patience, Thea,” he taunted softly. “First we will establish some rules between us.”

  She blinked. “R-rules?”

  He nodded. “You will call me Blackmoor when we are in the company of others. Julian when you are in the throes of orgasm.” He gave her clitoris a pinch, causing Thea to buck and groan. “Remy when you are asking me to fuck you.”