by Sylvia Day
With the last of his strength he pushed her away. Her response was a growl and hard, deep suction.
He came like a geyser, groaning, blasting deep into the welcoming depths of her mouth. Her hand urgently stroked the length of him that would not fit inside her, pumping his cum up the shaft to spill over her working tongue. She wouldn’t stop, the demented female, taking him to heights of pleasure he’d never reached, then carrying him back down with long, savoring licks.
The mattress cradled him as he sank into it, devastated. Then it was Sophie who cradled him, her lush body coming to rest over his, her cheek settling over his madly beating heart.
“I love you,” he whispered, his damp face nestled in her fragrant hair, his arms hugging her close. “Christ, I love you so much.”
He felt her press a kiss into his chest. He gazed up at the canopy above them and basked in his contentment. The days ahead would bring challenges, but if the nights ended thusly, he would bear them all with nary a complaint.
“I will make you happy,” he promised. “I will do my best to make Thomas happy.”
“I know, my love,” she crooned.
“But”—his tone was a warning—“if you ever blow pepper up my nose again, I will take my hand to your arse.”
“Perhaps I shall like that,” she teased mischievously.
His cock twitched wearily, insanely interested despite being spent. “Bloody hell.”
CHAPTER 11
The day promised to be bright and beautiful the morning Justin began his campaign to win over the young Master Thomas. His mind was occupied with possible things to say, suggestions for activities they could share, answers to questions that may be asked of him. It was a dreadfully taxing business, this. The happiness of his fiancée rested on his ability to bond with her child. It therefore meant a great deal to him.
He intended to give the boy an active and prominent role in the wedding, but that plan would only succeed if the child was willing. To that aim he intended to make a nuisance of himself until they were friends. Of course, the emotions behind the plan were nowise near as simple as that.
He was nervous such as he had never been. Standing before the mirror that morning, he had rejected several cravats and coats, trying to picture himself through a five-year-old child’s eyes. Would Sophie’s son find him distant and hard to approach, as some adults did? Would Thomas resent him for winning some of his mother’s affection?
Filled with concerns and doubts, Justin took a deep, fortifying breath as the golden-bricked manor house came into view. Despite his mental preparations, he felt in need of a stiff drink by the time he reached the end of the front drive.
He dismounted and handed the reins to the waiting groomsman. Then he took the steps to the front door two at a time. Before he could knock, the portal swung open and Sophie was launching herself into his arms. His heart stuttered at the feel of her and he crushed her close.
“My lord,” she greeted, lifting to her toes and kissing him full on the mouth.
“Stop that,” he admonished, glancing nervously over her head. “What if he sees you?”
“My darling.” Her eyes sparkled. “How I love you. Thomas is in the nursery and cannot witness my affection.”
“You might be surprised. When I was his age, I was never where anyone would expect.”
Common courtesy dictated that they share tea with the countess first and so they did, both of them enjoying the obvious happiness Lady Cardington felt over their union.
And then it was time.
With her fingers linked with his, Sophie led him up to the nursery on the upper floor.
“Ready?” she asked when they reached the closed door.
“Yes.” As he would ever be.
She pushed the portal open and entered. “Tommy,” she called, her voice pitched sweetly.
“Hmm?”
The distracted-sounding reply made Justin smile. He stepped into the sunshine-filled room and found the source of his anxiousness seated innocuously on an English rug surrounded by a legion of tin soldiers. Nearby, on the window bench, a governess knitted quietly.
“I would like you to meet someone,” Sophie said, sinking to a crouch.
The small, dark head lifted, revealing handsome features and big brown eyes. Justin tensed as Thomas turned his head and found him, steeling himself for an unknown reaction.
Sophie made the introductions.
“Hello, Master Thomas,” Justin said carefully.
“Hello, my lord.” The boy’s inquisitive gaze dropped to the marquess’s riding boots. He frowned, then looked back at his toys.
Justin thought he had been summarily dismissed, which tied his stomach in knots, then Thomas picked up a soldier and held it out to him. “This one has boots like yours.”
“Oh?” Bending at the knees, Justin accepted the offering and remarked, “So he does. How lucky I am to have such boots.”
Thomas smiled. The gesture was Sophie’s in miniature, and Justin’s chest tightened. He sank the rest of the way to the floor.
“You can play with the red ones,” Thomas said magnanimously. “I shall be blue.”
“Thank you. I should like that very much.” Justin glanced at Sophie. She blew him a kiss that went straight to his heart, then rose and moved to the bookcase.
“Shall I read you both a story?” she asked, in a voice huskier than usual.
“Yes! The fables.” Thomas glanced at him. “You do enjoy fables, don’t you, my lord?”
“I do.”
The child beamed. “Excellent.”
And so it was a beginning. Auspicious, to be sure.
EPILOGUE
Tiptoeing carefully through the maze in the rear garden, Sophie shivered slightly at the thrill of being hunted. Somewhere, her husband was searching for her. She knew that the longer she kept him waiting, the hotter his blood would run. Just a sennight ago, she had managed to evade him for almost a half hour, and when he’d caught her . . .
She stifled a moan as sudden lewd images filled her mind and made her lustful. She would never look at the alcove near the music room in quite the same way again.
A twig snapped, and Sophie dropped to a crouch. She waited with bated breath, then, when she felt certain the way was clear, she crawled through a small gap and emerged in the neighboring row.
“Caught you!”
Screeching, Sophie flailed slightly as she was hauled to her feet, then the maze fell silent as Justin smothered her protest with a deep, possessive, toe-curling kiss.
“Umm . . .” she moaned, rubbing against his big, hard body. “You, my lord, give perfect kisses.”
He pulled back far enough to reveal his silently chastising arched brow. “Do not attempt to distract me from your mischief, Lady Fontaine. A woman in your condition should not be crawling through bushes.”
“Nonsense!” she protested.
“It is not nonsense. Shall we ask Thomas how he feels about your activities?”
Sophie pouted. “You have me at an unfair advantage. The two of you are always joining forces.”
“Because we love you. He is desperate for a sibling, as you well know since he has plagued us for one since the day we wed.” Justin pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. “You mustn’t overtax yourself, love.”
Wrapping her arms around his lean waist, she rested her cheek against his heart and sighed. “I am only a few months along. Besides, I feel the need to point out that sharing your bed can be far more strenuous.”
That comment earned her a gentle swat to the derriere. “Insatiable wench.” He linked his fingers with hers and led them out of the maze. “I beg to service you with my mouth and have you plead for my cock until I can either do as you ask or never manage a moment’s rest.”
“You have a divine mouth,” she murmured, hugging his arm. “I love it, as I love all of you. But that other part you mention is . . .” Sophie purred softly. “Well, it is quite irreplaceable.”
He shot her
a scorching side-glance, and she grinned impishly in reply. They approached the manse with rapid strides, their eagerness to be alone and as close as two people can be goading them to haste.
“My lord! Come swiftly!”
They paused at the sound of Thomas’s cry. Turning their heads, they found him standing at the edge of the garden.
Just beyond him was the stream and by the looks of his wet pants, muddy sleeves, and beleaguered-looking tutor he had been enjoying himself immensely there. George and Edward sat on their haunches to the left and right of him, guarding him as they’d been doing since the first night the three had slept under the same roof. They shared his room now, which suited everyone perfectly.
Justin lifted his hand and waved.
Thomas rimmed his mouth with both hands to amplify his voice and shouted, “I found a five-legged frog!”
The deep pride revealed on her husband’s face brought tears to Sophie’s eyes. Being enceinte, she was more emotional than usual, but the depth of affection Fontaine bore for her son had moved her from the beginning. It was one of the many reasons she loved him as she did—with every breath in her body.
“We must go see this wonder of nature,” he murmured.
“Yes, my love.” She lifted their linked hands and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “We must.”
* * *
“Pregnancy suits her,” the dowager marchioness said to her dearest friend as they admired the handsome family from their vantage on the rear terrace.
“Most decidedly,” Lady Cardington agreed, stirring sugar into her tea.
The gentle summer breeze pressed Sophie’s golden muslin skirts to her body, revealing a softly swelling belly. “I cannot tell you how it affects me to see her so happy. She was deeply grieving when she carried Thomas. It was difficult to see such a happy event marred by such despair.”
The dowager offered a sympathetic smile. “She is an admirable woman, Caroline.”
“And your son is an admirable man, strong enough to make decisions with his heart and disregard those who have smaller minds. I knew they would be perfect together.” Shaking her head, Lady Cardington rearranged the cashmere blanket that warmed her legs. “Those two. You do realize that I have never looked at pepper the same way again?”
“Oh, dear heavens, neither have I! But you did warn me.”
“Yes. She was a fanciful child. Always concocting some mischief or tall tale. I had thought that light within her had died with Langley, but Fontaine’s affection has restored it.”
“And Sophie has shown him a different view of the world that has altered him for the better. They are well-met. Of course, you and I knew that from the beginning.”
The two women leaned back in their wrought-iron chairs and shared a secret smile.
“Beautifully done,” one said to the other.
The laud was apropos of both of them.
Don’t miss the book that inspired Bared to You.
Read Seven Years to Sin, available now!
CHAPTER 2
“And this,” the captain said, turning slightly to gesture at the gentleman, “is Mr. Alistair Caulfield, owner of this fine vessel and brilliant violinist, as you ’eard.”
Jess swore her heart ceased beating for a moment. Certainly, she stopped breathing. Caulfield faced her and sketched a perfectly executed, elegant bow. Yet his head never lowered and his gaze never left hers.
Dear God . . .
What were the odds that they would cross paths this way?
There was very little of the young man Jess had once known left in the man who faced her. Alistair Caulfield was no longer pretty. The planes of his face had sharpened, etching his features into a thoroughly masculine countenance. Darkly winged brows and thick lashes framed those infamous eyes of rich, deep blue. In the fading light of the setting sun and the flickering flames of the turpentine lamps, his coal black hair gleamed with health and vitality. Previously his beauty had been striking, but now he was larger. More worldly and mature. Undeniably formidable.
Breathtakingly male.
“Lady Tarley,” he greeted her, straightening. “It is a great pleasure to see you again.”
His voice was lower and deeper in pitch than she remembered. It had a soft, rumbling quality to it. Almost a purr. He walked with equal feline grace, his step light and surefooted despite his powerful build. His gaze was sharp and intense, assessing. Challenging. As before, it felt as if he looked right into the very heart of her and dared her to deny that he could.
She sucked in a shaky breath and met him halfway, offering her hand. “Mr. Caulfield. It has been some time since we last crossed paths.”
“Years.”
His look was so intimate she couldn’t help but think of that night in the Pennington woods. A rush of heat swept up her arm from where their skin connected.
He went on, “Please accept my condolences on your recent loss. Tarley was a good man. I admired him, and liked him quite well.”
“Your thoughts are appreciated,” she managed, in spite of a suddenly dry mouth. “I offer the same to you. I was deeply sorry to hear that your brother had passed.”
His jaw tightened and he released her, sliding his hand away so that his fingertips stroked over the center of her palm. “Two of them,” he replied grimly.
Jess caught her hand back and rubbed it discreetly against her thigh to no avail. The tingle left by his touch was inerasable.
“Shall we?” the captain said, tilting his head toward the table. He pulled a chair out for Jess, then the men sat.
Caulfield took a seat directly across from her. She was discomfited at first, but he seemed to forget her the moment the food was brought in. To ensure the steady flow of conversation, she took pains to direct the discussion to topics addressing the ship and seafaring, and they easily followed. No doubt they were relieved not to have to focus on her life of limited scope, which was of little interest to men. What followed was a rather fantastic hour of food and conversation the likes of which she’d never been exposed to before. Gentlemen did not often discuss matters of business around her.
It quickly became clear that Alistair Caulfield was enjoying laudable financial success. He didn’t comment on it personally, but he participated in the discussion about the trade, making it clear he was very involved in the minutiae of his business endeavors. He was also expertly dressed. His coat was made with a gray-green velvet she thought was quite lovely and the stylishly short cut of the shoulders emphasized how fit he was.
“Did you make the trip to Jamaica often, Captain?” Jess asked.
“Not as often as some of Mr. Caulfield’s other ships do.” He set his elbows on the table and toyed with his beard. “London is where we berth most often. The others dock in Liverpool or Bristol.”
“How many ships are there?”
The captain looked at Caulfield. “ ’Ow many are there now? Five?”
“Six,” Caulfield said, looking directly at Jess.
She met his gaze with difficulty. She couldn’t explain why she felt as she did, but it was almost as if the intimacies she had witnessed that night in the woods had been between Caulfield and herself, not another woman. Something profound had transpired in the moment they’d first become aware of each other in the darkness. A connecting thread had been sewn between them, and she had no notion how to sever it. She knew things about the man she should not know, and there was no way for her to return to blissful ignorance....
THE DUKE’S TREASURE
MINERVA SPENCER
Dedicated to Jeffe and George
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank Alicia Condon for bringing me into this project, Pam Hopkins for her calm and thoughtful advice (especially when I’m impatient), Jeffe Kennedy for offering stellar input and fantastic insights that have earned her drinks for life, George M. who made the time to read my work (over and over) and give me priceless, line-by-line critiques, even on short notice and in the midst of his hectic schedule,
and last, but never least, to my husband, Brantly, who continues to love and support me in everything I do and really is my greatest treasure.
CHAPTER 1
London, 1816
There were few things Beaumont Halliwell, Sixth Duke of Wroxton, loathed more than unpunctual behavior—especially on his wedding day.
Beau took out his watch; it was four minutes after the last time he’d checked. His bride-to-be was officially late.
He slipped the watch into his pocket and drummed his fingers on the carved altar rail, staring at the stained-glass window on the east wall. It cast a colorful, but sullen, glow over the dark flagstone floor and battered pews, but it did little to shed light in the ancient church.
The window was a depiction of Queen Elizabeth with two massive bells at her feet. He assumed they were a reference to the church bells alleged to have rung so joyously the day Princess Elizabeth was released from the Tower prison.
Prison.
The word clanged in his head like the slamming of a cell door. Yes, prison was a good thought to keep in mind just now. Of course, as a duke and counselor to the Sovereign, Beau could not actually be thrown into debtors’ prison—as much a relief as that thought might be at this particular moment.
No. There would be no prison for Beau. Instead, there would be marriage. Although there would not even be that if his betrothed did not arrive.
Beau felt no relief at that thought: if he didn’t marry Josephine Loman, he’d have to marry somebody similar—and this time Beau would have to find a rich wife rather than having one tossed into his lap.
He snorted. Good God, what a blur these past months had been.
Beau had known the moment he’d learned of his brother’s death that he couldn’t hide from his responsibilities indefinitely. But a series of momentous events conspired to keep him from assuming his ducal duties.
