An Improper Duchess

by Amanda McCabe

  Melisande was sure he was the magician. In only a few moments he had taken a life and turned it upside down. She feared she would never know how to set it right again, but in that instant she didn’t even care.

  She looped her arms around his neck and held him close. “Just kiss me,” she said, and she was afraid he would hear the tears thick in her voice.

  His hands closed hard on her waist, and he bent his head to capture her lips in a hard, hungry kiss. She opened her mouth to him in eager welcome and his tongue slid over hers, tasting her. She needed him, needed to be closer and closer. She had never felt such dark need before, that powerful urge to be so close to him she could no longer tell where she ended and he began.

  His fingers tightened on her hips and he turned suddenly, until he was on his back and she straddled him. She braced her hands on his shoulders as she leaned down into his kiss again.

  She felt his hand slide hard over her hip until his fingers closed on the hem of her skirts. He drew it up until her leg was bare, and the heat of the fire danced over her skin through her silk stocking.

  She shivered as their kiss deepened, grew hard and savage, desperate. His long, elegant fingers slid under the ribbon of her garter to caress her naked skin.

  Melisande tightened her thighs against his hips and felt the roughness of his wool breeches on her soft skin. His lips slid from hers and along the arched line of her throat as she gasped and gave herself completely over to him.

  He tugged the edge of her bodice lower as the tip of his tongue traced her bare shoulder. As he tore at her lacy chemise, he bared one pale breast. Her nipple hardened and ached under his intense stare.

  “So beautiful,” he groaned, and he drew her lower to catch her nipple between his teeth, biting at it lightly before he drew her deep into his mouth.

  Melisande cried out at the hot rush of pleasure that roared through her body. She tightened her hands on his shoulders to hold on to him, and between her legs she felt him grow even harder. She reached down and freed his erect penis into her hand. It was so hard and hot, throbbing as she caressed him.

  “Melisande,” he groaned. He turned her beneath him again and pressed his open mouth to the soft curve between her neck and shoulder. She spread her legs to cradle him tight against her.

  He pushed her skirts higher and his hand slid over the bare skin of her upper thigh until he cupped her womanhood and his thumb pressed deeper.

  “Yes, now,” she cried.

  And then she couldn’t speak at all. She spread her legs wider and he thrust home in one quick, sliding movement, their bodies joined as one.

  “Ah!” Melisande sighed, her head arched back as she went tense beneath him. Despite the gossip about her, it had been a long time since she’d been with a man, and her body needed a moment to adjust to his entrance. Gray was so much larger, so much younger and stronger than her husband had been! But slowly the discomfort faded and there was only that warm rush of pleasure again.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked roughly, his body so still against her.

  Melisande shook her head. She wrapped her legs tighter around him and pulled him even deeper into her. He steadied himself above her and drew back, one slow, rough inch at a time, before he thrust back inside, deeper, closer.

  The pleasure inside her only grew and grew, expanding, intensifying. Gray moved faster, his breath harsh in her ear, and the world around her grew darker. She had never, ever felt like that before, as if she were spinning free in the night sky.

  Her climax broke over her like an exploding shower of sparks. She cried out incoherent words as she felt his body arch back over hers.

  “Melisande!” he shouted, his head thrown back in primitive exultation.

  He collapsed to the narrow sofa beside her, their legs and arms entangled, their clothes rumpled around them. She felt his lips against her bare shoulder, and it felt as if she was slowly sinking back down to earth. She was weighed down beneath a delicious, aching tiredness that spread over her whole body.

  And yet somehow she had never felt lighter or more free.

  Melisande gazed up at Gray in the shadows. His eyes were closed, but she knew he wasn’t asleep. A half smile touched his sensual lips, and his hair was tangled over his brow. He looked so unbearably handsome, like a young god, and her heart ached just to look at him.

  She had never known such a bittersweet moment before. She didn’t ever want it to end, yet at the same time she wasn’t sure she could bear it.

  She reached up to smooth back his hair and he caught her hand in his. He pressed a warm kiss into the hollow of her palm and twined his fingers with hers to hold her with him.

  “Tell me about you, Melisande,” he said. His voice was quiet, lazy, but she could hear the ring of command in it. He might be young, yes, but he was the son of an earl, surely used to getting his way.

  And Melisande found herself wanting to respond to him, to open herself to him just as she had with her body. That feeling frightened her more than anything else. Hiding her true self was the only way she survived in the ton.

  She made herself laugh and tug her hand free of his. She turned on her side to gaze into the fire, but she couldn’t escape him. His arm came around her waist and drew her back against his body.

  “What do you want to know?” she said.

  “Everything,” he answered. She felt his cheek against her hair. “Where were you born?”

  She laughed again. “In a ramshackle manor house deep in the country. My father hunted all day whenever he could, and my mother chased after my sisters and me. I’m almost certain my father wasn’t actually hunting, as he never brought any game home. He was just escaping the chaos of a house full of women.”

  “No brothers?”

  “One. Charles, the heir to our poor family.” And that was why she had to marry well, to take care of them. That had been drummed into her since she was a child. But everyone had been astounded at how very well she did marry. And they did not hesitate to take advantage of it—or to tell her how she should live now.

  “I have only one brother as well,” Gray said.

  “Is he like you?” Melisande asked. She hoped not. Surely the world couldn’t bear two men like him.

  “Not at all. He is the perfect heir. And he will soon marry his perfect fiancée and beget more perfect heirs.” There was no bitterness in Gray’s words, only the humorous acknowledgment of something his family must often say.

  “And you needn’t make perfect spares?” she said. “Surely there are many young ladies who would be happy to help you with that.”

  “I’m sure my parents would like that very much. But I’m not sure there is a lady who would join me on my travels, or live surrounded by my studies.”

  Melisande closed her eyes and pictured such a life in her mind, a life of purpose and meaning. Two people working as one. “I don’t know. I think many ladies would love the chance to try that with you.”

  “Perhaps. But we weren’t talking about me,” Gray said. His arm tightened around her waist, making her giggle. “I want to know more about you.”

  “I told you—I am very dull. I left my parents when an aunt sponsored a Season for me, I met my husband and married, and he died and I was widowed, but not before I found decent matches for my sisters and helped my brother begin a political career. And now I am here.”

  He was silent for a long moment. “I am sure that is not the whole story.”

  “What else could there be?” Except her wild plan to ruin herself and be free. But she would never tell that to Gray.

  “I am not sure. But one day you will tell me, Melisande, I am determined on it.”

  Melisande laughed, but deep down she felt a sharp twinge of something strangely like sadness. She would never see Gray Sanbourne again, not like this. He was too young, his family too respectable. And despite his past rakish reputation he had important work to do now. She couldn’t involve him in the chaos of her life.

  “Perhaps on
e day,” she said. “And then you will see I am right about how dull it all is.”

  His arms were close around her, and Melisande could feel his breathing slow; his body grew warm and relaxed against hers. It was very late, and she could feel the comfort of the darkness surround them.

  I could enjoy this too much, she thought drowsily. Suddenly she was scared that if she stayed here with him much longer, if she let herself sleep here, she would never want to leave. This soft, quiet moment seemed even more intimate than their lovemaking.

  Melisande slipped carefully out of his arms and gathered her scattered clothes. Gray was completely asleep now, the dying firelight flickering over the sharp, elegant angles of his handsome face.

  She forced herself to turn away from the enticing sight, the temptation to crawl back into his arms and never leave. As she drew on her clothes, she tiptoed to the window. It had quit snowing. Now the night sky was quiet and dark, the moonlight shimmering on the white drifts along the ground.

  She had to escape now, while she still could.

  As she fastened her pelisse, she dared one more glance at Gray’s sleeping face, dared to remember what had exploded between them here tonight.

  “I am so sorry,” she whispered. “Thank you.” And then she turned and ran.

  * * *

  “Melisande,” Gray muttered, still half caught in dreams as he rolled over on the couch. He could still smell her perfume, feel the brush of her hair over his skin, hear her sighs. He knew that had been no dream, but the reality he had been longing for ever since he first saw her. He smiled and opened his eyes—only to find himself alone in the cold room.

  Melisande was gone.

  As he drew on his shirt, he went to peer out the window. The sky was turning a pale pink at the edges as it grew closer to morning, and it had ceased to snow. A servant was shoveling heaps of the fluffy white drifts away from the cobbles of the inn yard. The gates stood open to the road beyond.

  Surely Melisande had not been foolish enough to run away now, right after a storm? Gray felt a cold wave of fear and anger rise up in him at the thought of her being so desperate to get away.

  He ran his hands roughly through his hair. What did she have to run from? Last night had been—amazing. Incredibly unexpected, like a dream or a rare gift dropping from the sky. The mysterious lady who had so intrigued him had fallen right into his arms.

  And making love to her was nothing he had ever known, ever imagined. He had felt something shift and change inside him as he looked at her face. It was the same awe he had felt when he watched a tropical sunset, like life was suddenly magical.

  But now she was gone, the room cold and abandoned behind her. Had he frightened her in some way? Was she angry at him for what had happened?

  Gray closed his eyes and tried to remember how she had looked when she lay in his arms after they made love. Not frightened at all. He remembered the expression of startled wonder in her eyes that had echoed his own feelings.

  Perhaps that was what made her leave. God knew, he was not sure what to do with these unexpected emotions either. It was like a sudden storm sweeping through his ordered life, clearing away all he had thought he knew.

  And he only wanted more and more of it. More of her. He had to make it right with her, for her.

  Gray quickly smoothed his hair and finished dressing. Probably he was being hasty. She couldn’t have run away entirely. It was just this strange, wild new excitement giving him misgivings. He needed to find her.

  As he pulled on his coat, a paper crackled in the inside pocket and he drew out a crumpled letter.

  It had arrived with the post before he set off from London, but on the journey in the storm and meeting Melisande he had forgotten about it. Now he unfolded it and scanned the smudged paper quickly. It was from Lord Travers, accepting Gray’s assistance on the upcoming expedition to India.

  As he read the words over again, he smiled. This was perfect. A plan was slowly taking form in his mind, a plan to have the life he had always wanted.

  But first he had to find Melisande. And he knew just where she had gone.

  Chapter Six

  Melisande sipped at her claret punch as she studied the crowded drawing room. Lady Brownley’s house parties were always among the most sought-after invitations in the ton, and despite the terrible weather this one was no exception. Ever since she had arrived that morning, more and more people had poured into the house, laughing, drinking, growing louder and louder as the day grew later and later.

  Now, just before dinner, the conversation was louder and merrier than ever. Everything was shaping up for a most scandalous few days, bound inside by the snow with nothing to do but be naughty. Just as Melisande herself had planned to do.

  Until that night with Gray. Now she could think of nothing else at all but him. The way he spoke to her, as no one else ever had, as if she was smart and could understand him, respond to him. The way he touched her, kissed her. How very perfect he was. How she could not deserve him, but she longed to so very much. Against her vivid memories, the noisy party was only a distraction. She wanted to be gone from it.

  She turned to put her half-full glass down on the table. All her plans to ruin herself here—she could see now how very foolish they had been. Gray had shown her she had to be true to herself, and not run from things. Even if she could never be with him, he had given her that. If only she could just slip away now...

  “Well. The loveliest duchess in London has returned at last,” someone said behind her. Melisande froze at the sound of that voice, lightly touched with a Scots accent and full of wry amusement.

  Amusement—and triumph.

  Melisande’s fingers tightened on her glass and she shivered. Lord Abercrombie. The very man she had once planned to use for her own ends. The very man she least wanted to see now, or ever.

  She slowly turned to face him, forcing herself to keep smiling. “Lord Abercrombie. Such a surprise to see you here. I would have thought your estates in Scotland required your presence.”

  “I still have important business to attend to here, Duchess,” he answered. He reached for her free hand and raised it to his lips for a lingering salute. The heat of his kiss through her silk glove made Melisande long to snatch her hand back and rub it against her skirts until she couldn’t feel him any longer.

  She gritted her teeth and kept smiling. She had known men like him before; she could never let them see her true emotions or they would eat her alive. “Then I’m surprised you have time for something so frivolous as a house party.”

  “Oh, this is all part of my business,” he said, still watching her and only her. As if they were obeying a silent command from him, the others had drifted farther away into the crowd. Their laughter seemed to come to her from a very long way away.

  “Walk with me,” Lord Abercrombie said. “We have much to talk about before dinner.”

  Melisande shook her head and tried to pull her hand free of his. His fingers only tightened, like manacles of iron to hold her to his will. “I don’t care to socialize tonight. I was about to make my excuses to Lady Brownley and retire.”

  “Retire alone? How very shocking.” His smile widened. “Just a few moments, Duchess. You have run from me long enough and I tire of this game.”

  His tone was affable, amused even, but Melisande didn’t like the look in his eyes at all. They had the bright gleam of a hunter just before swooping in on some helpless prey. She had seen that look with too many men before. After what she found with Gray, she didn’t know how she ever imagined she could be with this man even for a short time.

  She shook her head and pulled harder on her hand, trying to free herself as cold panic closed in around her. “We have nothing to say to each other. Now, please excuse me.”

  Lord Abercrombie’s smile sharpened. “Oh, but we do. I have let you play this game for a time because it amused me, but it has gone on long enough. Now it is time for you to listen to me and see the sense in what I off
er.”

  “No!” she burst out, louder than she intended. She had never really felt fear like this before, but since she knew what it was to be with a man she truly cared about she could no longer bear someone like Abercrombie’s touch. She noticed from the corner of her eye that her friends’ conversation had gone quiet, that they were watching her with wide-eyed interest. That they were waiting for her to make a scene. She had originally come here intent on making such a scandal. Now she wanted to avoid it at all costs.

  “Stop making a fuss and do as I say,” Lord Abercrombie growled. He drew her closer, and Melisande raised her foot to kick him, even as she knew how ridiculous that was in her satin slippers.

  “I would thank you to release my fiancée immediately,” a voice said, low and calm, but filled with the cold touch of implacable steel.

  Melisande’s heart pounded so loudly in her ears that the roar of the party faded completely away. Lord Abercrombie, who looked shocked as well, loosened his hold on her wrist so she could finally pull herself free.

  She spun around and found herself facing Gray. He did not seem like the same relaxed, disheveled, smiling man from the inn. He looked older, as hard as granite and as cold as the winter wind outside. He was still dressed for traveling, and his dark hair waved over his brow. He watched Abercrombie with narrowed eyes, his stare never wavering even as he held out his hand to Melisande.

  She had never felt quite like that before, as if she was trapped in a hazy dream. She couldn’t stop the inexorable forward motion of the scene even as she knew she should turn and run away.

  Yet she couldn’t leave. She suddenly felt less alone than she ever had before in her life. She was caught up in scandal yet again—but Grayson was right there with her.

  She slowly took his hand, feeling as if she moved in a trance, and he drew her to his side.

  “Your fiancée?” Lord Abercrombie said with a bitter laugh. “Don’t be absurd, man. The lady—and I use the term loosely—is not in your orbit, Lord Grayson.”