Waking Up With the Duke (London's Greatest Lovers)

by Lorraine Heath

“That’s what prompted your condition, your rule. You were afraid if I didn’t love you, I couldn’t love your child.”

  “It was a consideration, yes.”

  “When your mother was talking about her grandchildren, all I could think about was how desperately I wanted a child. Am I selfish, do you think?”

  “No, I think you give too much of yourself to be selfish.”

  She gave him a winsome smile. “I’d not expected to like you so much.”

  “Well, that is a blow to my self-esteem. I thought you liked me the moment you met me.”

  “I’m not really certain I gave it any thought. Walfort occupied all my attention. He was so dashing.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “I promised not to talk about him, and yet here I am doing exactly that.”

  “You can talk to me about anything, Jayne.”

  “Can I? I’ve also discovered that I can be quiet around you and not feel awkward about it. That’s almost as important as being able to talk. I think your mother loves Leo.”

  “I don’t know if she loves him enough.”

  “What would be enough?”

  “To give up on the promise of love from another.”

  “Can she not love two men?”

  He almost asked Jayne if she could. Could she love two men? Could she love him and Walfort? In all likelihood no, so he didn’t ask.

  Instead he listened to the rain patter and let the silence weave around them. He studied her, sitting there contemplating the raindrops. He tried not to imagine her swollen with his child. He might never have the opportunity to gaze upon her in that condition, might never feel the movement of new life growing within her.

  But it was too late now for regrets. His seed could have already taken root. If not, the truth was that he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted another woman. Unfolding himself from the floor, he reached down and tugged on her hand. “Come on.”

  Pulling free, she shook her head vigorously. “No, we can’t. Not with your mother down the hall.”

  He tugged again. “We shall be very quiet.”

  She again pulled free. “As the past nights have proven, I cannot be quiet with you.”

  That gave him pause. Had she been quiet with Walfort? Had his cousin not brought her the most exquisite of pleasure? He couldn’t contemplate what he might be giving her that Walfort never had, couldn’t compare his cousin’s prowess against his own. None of it mattered. All that mattered was the moments he had with her now.

  This time he leaned in, cupped her elbows and said, “Press your mouth against my chest to muffle your cries.”

  He brought her to her feet.

  “It will be a disaster,” she insisted. “I will not be able to relax.”

  He gave a slight tug and unraveled the ribbon at the front of her nightdress. “I so love a challenge.”

  “Is that what I am?”

  He loosened a button. “Most assuredly. A delightful challenge.” Another button.

  “The lamp.”

  An irritating, frustrating challenge.

  Moving past her, he bent down and extinguished the flame in the lamp. As he straightened, he felt the press of warm, pliant flesh against his back and smiled. Not so frustrating after all.

  Turning, he wound his arms around her. “Oh, you wicked girl.”

  “We must be quiet,” she whispered.

  “As two little dormice.”

  Tumbling her onto the bed, he chuckled low when she released a tiny squeal that she abruptly cut off with a choking sound, trying to swallow the noise. He quickly shed his own clothes and joined her.

  Jayne knew this was an awful idea. Where he was concerned, she seemed unable to keep quiet or still. Already her body was writhing over the sheets with the attention he was lavishing on her. His mouth was so incredibly talented.

  She remembered their kiss on the terrace. What a fool she’d been to deny herself his questing mouth toying with hers. But it terrified her: the hunger he could elicit so easily. It started with their lips and carried a sensation of pleasure through her that made her want more. So much more.

  So she’d been determined to deny herself that much at least. She wanted her encounters with Ainsley to be the unemotional business dealings that Walfort had promised her they would be.

  But even now her skin was singing with joy—everywhere he touched. And he had no qualms about touching her everywhere, with his fingers, his mouth, his tongue, his teeth. He nipped and soothed. He caressed so lightly, until she was straining for more pressure, and he would deliver it at the most perfect moment.

  It was as though he knew her body, knew what would bring her pleasure better than she did herself.

  She found it just as joyous to touch him. To skim her hands over his shoulders, his back, his chest. Her fingers would journey through the light sprinkling of hair on his chest, creating even more sensations for her.

  “Shh,” he warned, and she realized she was emitting little mewling sounds.

  She swallowed down the noises, but trying to hold everything in only made matters worse. The pleasure clawed at her, demanding freedom.

  She was more than ready when he slid into her, burying himself deeply, the weight of him welcome and satisfactory. Her low moan was greeted with his deep sigh as he held still. She dug her fingers into his backside, urging him on, but his movements were as slow as honey dripping onto a scone, as measured as the beat of a drum in a regimental parade.

  “Ainsley?”

  “Shh.”

  His mouth traveled along her throat, licking, kissing, nibbling. In the darkness nothing except sensation existed. Warm and sultry. Dew coated their skin and they skated over each other. She shoved the sounds deep down, and it served to increase the pleasure, to make her want to cry out.

  It was torment to hold so much in. It was ecstatic. He slid out, glided back in. Over and over. With deliberate slowness. Beneath her fingers, his strong body undulated with his controlled actions.

  She squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Stars appeared. Dancing, shooting across her vision. Her body curled into itself. She wrapped a hand around his neck, forced him nearer, pressed her open mouth to the juncture of his throat and shoulder. Tasted the saltiness of his skin, inhaled the earthy muskiness of their lovemaking.

  Lovemaking. In spite of all Walfort’s reassurances that it wouldn’t be so, in spite of her insignificant rules, he’d slipped beneath her armor, had leaped over her pitiful hazards, wended his way through a maze of obstacles to establish something magical and wonderful between them. She’d been sitting by the window mourning the fact that he’d not be able to visit her tonight with his mother in attendance, and yet here he was. Solid. Strong. Determined.

  What they shared was not what she’d been led to believe they would. No distance separated them. It wasn’t casual and cold and stiff. It was warm, hot, and encompassing.

  He moved with deliberate purpose and she responded in kind.

  Her mouth pressed to his neck muffled her small moans, her tiny squeals as the pleasure built to unbearable proportions, more intense than anything she’d ever known.

  When the cataclysm came and she bucked against him, wrapping herself more tightly around him to contain everything, to keep them both earthbound, she was jarred by his shuddering, his final powerful thrusts, the strangled groan deep in his throat as though he were in excruciating agony.

  Afterward they both lay still, except for their trembling and shaking. Their harsh breaths echoed between them.

  “Christ,” he finally whispered, the word sounding as though it were torn from the depths of his soul.

  “Were you in pain?”

  He laughed low. “No. God, no. But I will confess to never having experienced anything quite so . . . intense. I did think for a moment there that I might expire on the spot.” He brushed a kiss over her temple. “You seemed to enjoy things.”

  “It was . . . yes, I think you have the right of it. Intense.” She curled inward and spoke even
lower. “I’m not accustomed to talking afterward.”

  He kissed her throat, her chest, the side of one breast before rolling off her and sprawling out beside her. “Do you prefer the silence?”

  “No. I don’t think so. But sometimes. It can be nice.”

  She felt a slight tug on her scalp as he combed his fingers through her hair, and she wondered how it was that he could find her so easily in the dark. It seemed he was aware of every aspect regarding her.

  “Will you weep tonight after I leave?” he asked quietly.

  “I don’t think so. I’m too sated.” Then the full impact of his words struck her. “You know I cry?”

  “I suspected. Now I know.”

  “It was not very nice of you to trick me like that.”

  “Sometimes I’m not very nice.”

  Not true. He was always remarkably nice even when she was a shrew. Nice, kind, and considerate. A gentleman to the core. She wished he wasn’t. It would make it so much easier to leave here unscathed.

  “She’s going to break his heart.”

  Leo held Tessa against his side and idly stroked her arm. She’d been distracted when he first entered her bedchamber, and it took all his formidable skill to turn her attention to him. Once she’d succumbed to his charms, he ravaged her well and thoroughly. His heart was still pounding with his exertions and he was fighting to draw in breath. No other woman had ever affected him as she did. His joy in her encompassed more than what transpired in the bed. He enjoyed every moment of every day that he was in her presence.

  “You’re being melodramatic,” he said quietly.

  “Did you not notice the manner in which he gazed upon her? I think he has already well and truly fallen. I know what it is—the soul-wrenching pain of it—to love someone you can never have.”

  So did he, but he wasn’t going to batter her with it. Nothing was to be gained except to make them both miserable.

  “What if she is all he ever wants? He must marry,” she said.

  “Why?”

  She rose up on an elbow, and he ignored the way it dug into his chest. Instead he combed his fingers through her thick, luxurious hair. Only a few short moments ago it had served as a curtain to close them in.

  “He must have an heir,” she said as though he had experienced a complete leaving of his senses.

  “Why?”

  “Leo!” She tapped her slender finger on his chin. “You are well aware of how primogeniture works. He must have a male heir to inherit his titles and lands.”

  “If not, everything would fall to a cousin. What does it matter?”

  “It matters. I want him to be happy.”

  He cradled her face, forced her to meet his gaze. “You cannot make his happiness for him, my love. He is a grown man now. He’ll make his own way.”

  “But he loves her, and she does not love him.”

  “She is here for holiday. Make no more of it than that.” Even though more was apparently happening. He hadn’t told her that he’d crossed paths with Ainsley in the hallway. The knowledge would only add to her worries. He held her still, raised his shoulders from the bed and took her mouth. After ten years, he thought the pleasure of kissing her should have worn off, but it still took his breath, made his heart race and his palms itch to caress every inch of her. He’d had many women before her, but not a single one after her. She was all he wanted, all he desired.

  It took everything within him not to ask her once more to marry him. It had nearly devastated him the last time he asked and she refused. It had been two years ago, and he’d been so certain she’d accept his offer of marriage. Instead she’d persisted with her arguments that he was too young, would one day want children, should marry someone closer to his age, as though when he let his arrow fly, Cupid gave one whit regarding the number of years a person had accumulated. Leo had decided then that he’d not ask again—but neither could he leave her. If she wanted to be rid of him, she would have to be the one to turn her back on what they shared and walk away.

  As she released that gentle purring in her throat that always initiated a corresponding low growl in his, he rolled her over so he might have his fill of her once again. He was greedy where she was concerned, but he experienced no guilt over it. He suspected that very soon nights would arrive when he would be deprived her solace, her body, her presence. Until that time, he would be a glutton and make her glad of it.

  And wonder how it was that she could be so attuned to her sons’ hearts and not to his.

  Chapter 14

  Ainsley awoke the moment the rain stopped. It was the sudden silence that disturbed his slumber. He’d slipped from Jayne’s bed as she was drifting off to sleep. He’d wanted nothing more than to remain and watch her ease into slumber, but she’d been fighting to stay awake as though their actually sleeping in the same bed was more sinful than what they were doing before she grew so drowsy.

  He rose with the sun and dressed. He didn’t mean to be a bad host, but he was anxious for his latest company to depart. When only Leo strolled into the breakfast dining room, Ainsley feared his guests might be considering staying for another night.

  “Is my mother awake?” he asked.

  “Good morning, Your Grace,” Leo said laconically as he strolled to the sideboard.

  “My apologies, Leo. Good morning to you. I hope you slept well.”

  “Hardly at all.”

  The answer didn’t please him. It was one thing to see the man sneaking into his mother’s bedchamber, another to have their affair tossed in his face. Before he had a chance to contemplate the possible ramifications of his actions, Ainsley was up out of his chair and standing beside Leo. “What are your intentions where my mother is concerned?”

  Leo flicked his head, causing the blond curls falling over his forehead to monetarily fly back before returning to where they were before. “More honorable than hers toward me. I’d marry her this afternoon if she’d have me.”

  “Have you asked her?”

  “Too many times to count.” He took his plate laden with food to the table and sat.

  The man had no respect for Ainsley’s position in society. It was one of the reasons he liked him. Leo wasn’t easily intimidated. Ainsley returned to his chair and began slicing his ham. “She can be stubborn.”

  “She thinks our age difference should be a consideration.”

  “How much younger are you?” He knew the man was younger but had never given it much thought.

  “Fifteen years.”

  “You’re only slightly older than Westcliffe.”

  “I was born not too long after she married his father.”

  Ainsley studied him. “The difference in your ages doesn’t matter to you?”

  “Not one whit.”

  “Do you love her?”

  “My heart is not a topic I care to discuss.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth, I think she’s a fool not to let you make an honest woman of her.”

  Leo grinned. “Thank you, Your Grace. I’m certain she wouldn’t appreciate your sentiment, but I do.” His smile faltered and he poked at his buttered eggs before returning his gaze to Ainsley’s. “And what of you? I suspect it is a well-traveled path you were taking last night.”

  “I will not discuss Jayne.”

  “Do you love her?”

  Setting down his knife, Ainsley narrowed his eyes. “I could have sworn you spoke English, man. Did I mumble my words? She is not a topic for discussion.”

  “It’s a pity we’re not staying longer. I should think you’d like a portrait.”

  He knew Leo wasn’t referring to a portrait of Ainsley, but rather, one of Jayne. What would he do with it? Store it in the attic? Take it out to gaze at on melancholy days? Although what would be the harm in hanging it here? He never entertained at the cottage. No one visited—except for his meddling mother and her meddling lover.

  After spending time with Jayne here, he wasn’t certain he’d ever bring his wife or childre
n here. This cottage was quickly becoming a special place. He wasn’t even certain he’d ever return, although neither could he see himself selling it.

  “Perhaps when she returns home, you could offer your services. I’m sure she and Walfort would appreciate having an artist of your caliber working on a portrait.”

  Leo gave a brusque nod. “I shall see to it. In the spring, perhaps, when roads are easier to travel.”

  “Keep me informed. I may wish to send a missive”—a private one—“along with you.”

  “Of course. Ah!” Leo rose. “Sunshine has arrived.”

  Initially, Ainsley thought he was speaking of the sun peering through the clouds, but then his mother strolled into the room. Leo greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

  “Sit. I’ll prepare your plate.” He guided her into a chair beside Ainsley before wandering back to the sideboard.

  “He spoils you,” Ainsley murmured.

  “I’m most fortunate. And before you annoy me with your next observation—‘you should marry him’—he is still young and I am rapidly growing old. It will not be much longer before he tires of me.”

  “I daresay, you misjudge your appeal.”

  Reaching out, she squeezed his hand where it rested beside his plate. “You were always the kindest of my sons, the one with the gentlest heart. Westcliffe was harsh because I gave him so little affection. It pains me now to admit it, but it is the truth. I could say I was a child myself when I gave birth to him, but that is no excuse. He also had a hard time of it because his father left him little beyond the title and he was dependent upon your generosity. Stephen resented that he wouldn’t inherit a title or property and he rebelled by reveling in naughtiness. And I spoiled him beyond measure. In my eyes, he could do no wrong. You, on the other hand, had a prestigious title, wealth, and a good portion of your mother’s love. You have always strived to be the brother they looked up to. And you have always done all in your power to protect each of us.”

  “Well, I did a bang-up job when it came to Walfort, didn’t I?”

  She cut a sharp glance his way as Leo set her plate before her and resumed his seat. “I have never understood how he could have come away from the accident so irreparably broken while you”—she slid her thumb over the scar on his chin—“were almost unscathed.”