Nothing Compares to the Duke

by Christy Carlyle

“Extraordinary.”

  He smiled and slipped his hand down to grasp hers. “There’s more, sweetheart. A great deal more.”

  After settling on the bed, Bella remembered why she wished to take this slow. This was real. Years of dreaming of this moment paled in comparison. Rhys knelt over her as she lay back, then swept his gaze over her body from head to toe.

  “You’re beautiful, Bella.” When he placed a hand on her leg, she realized he was trembling. “I’ll try to go slow.”

  With deliberation and care, he stroked his fingers up the length of her leg, leaving a trail of warmth wherever he touched. At the top of her thigh, he nudged her legs open.

  Bella bit her lower lip as he slid a finger along her body. She was wet and every ounce of need inside her converged on the spot where he touched her. When he slid a finger inside, she bucked instinctively and then gasped. The movement drew him deeper.

  “I love your eagerness.” He looked up at her, eyes glittering with hunger and need. “And that you trust me, at least for now.”

  “I do.” She did. The past and future couldn’t touch them in this moment. She’d wanted this too long. Waited for so many years, dreaming that she might have this with him.

  Her admission seemed to embolden him. He grinned wolfishly and then lowered his head to kiss her, slipping his tongue inside and stroking at her very center. Pleasure like she’d never known drew a deep erotic moan from her and she arched to get him closer.

  “Oh, Rhys.” Bella stroked a hand through his hair.

  He stilled and lifted his head, one brow arched in question.

  “Please don’t stop.”

  He couldn’t stop if he wanted to.

  Over the years, he’d mastered self-control in the bedroom. He could pleasure a lady for hours before seeking his own release.

  But with Bella, he was trembling as if she was the first woman he’d ever touched.

  This mattered because she mattered as no one else ever had.

  She was too sweet against his tongue. Too soft under his fingertips. He couldn’t get enough of her.

  She clutched at his hair, his shoulders, digging her fingertips into his skin. He sensed when she drew close to her release, the way her body tensed, the way her breath tangled in her throat.

  “Let yourself have it,” he whispered against her thigh.

  She did and quivered against his mouth, crying his name so sweetly the sound sent a ripple of pleasure straight to his groin.

  He lifted onto his knees and stared down at her, flushed and glistening and sated. She was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen. Then she looked up at him, squinting her eyes and smiling as if emerging from a pleasant dream.

  “Show me the rest,” she said on a husky whisper.

  The chuckle that rumbled in his throat was a kind of joy he hadn’t felt in so long it felt new.

  “Oh, I intend to.” He braced himself over her, and she opened her legs, letting him nestle against her. They fit together as if their bodies had been waiting for this moment.

  He knew he should take his time. Savor every second.

  She bucked up against him, drawing him inside and gasped when he settled against her.

  “We’ll go slow,” he said, and then took her mouth. He kissed her deeply, taking his time as he built a rhythm between them.

  But when she moaned against his mouth and angled her hips, his control slipped. He bent his head and kissed her neck, nipping at her skin with his teeth. Then she arched against him, raking her fingernails along his shoulder.

  “More,” she whispered against his cheek.

  He quickened his pace, reaching down to shift her body so that he could thrust deeper. She lifted her head to kiss him and he groaned against her lips. He rasped out her name and he lost any semblance of control.

  This was Bella. Never had it felt like this. Right. Necessary. He couldn’t get close enough to her and he hated the thought of never being this close to her again.

  “Please,” she rasped.

  Her body told him she was as close to falling over the edge as he was.

  “What do you want, love? Tell me.”

  “Just you.”

  Rhys looked down at her and the look she returned tore something inside of him free and mended it all at once.

  He bent his head, took her nipple into his mouth, and thrust deep until he felt her body tense and then melt beneath him.

  His own release drew him under and pleasure washed over him. When he could breathe again, she was kissing him. Stroking his face with her fingers.

  Rhys rolled onto his back and drew her with him, holding her near and trying not to think of the moment when he’d have to let her go. He’d felt sated before, but never like this. The satisfaction wasn’t just a physical release. Something else had changed inside of him.

  After they lay together, warm, quiet, catching their breaths, Bella lifted her head. “You asked what I wanted. It’s always been you.”

  “Bella—” Protests filled his mind. He didn’t deserve her desire, but, mercy, how he wanted it. So much.

  As if she sensed his conflict, she laid a finger across his lips and then replaced it with a kiss. “We’ll always have this moment.”

  “Yes.” He didn’t want to think about what that meant. That she might regret this later. That they might never make love again. He didn’t want to ask any questions, because he feared all the answers.

  So he kissed her again.

  Rhys’s eyes flickered open and Bella’s scent tickled his nose. He studied the ceiling above his head and realized where he was. Not his own bed back in London, nor the one he’d begun sleeping in since returning to Essex.

  The seaside. The cottage. Bella.

  He reached for her and his hand closed around warm sheets and an empty space. She couldn’t have been gone long.

  Sitting up, he noticed the light filtering through the curtains was still bright. Not too many hours could have passed since he’d dozed off.

  After donning his shirt and trousers, he explored the cottage, but he could sense immediately that she wasn’t there. The vibrant energy she exuded was missing.

  He slipped his boots on and ventured outside.

  She stood near the beach, not at the water’s edge, but further back, where she could remain dry but look out onto the sea. Her hair was down. He’d removed every single pin. The breeze whipped her skirt around her legs and swept long red-gold waves of her hair off her shoulders.

  “I woke and you were gone,” he said gently as he approached, wary of disturbing her reverie despite how much he wanted to coax her back into the cottage. Back into his arms.

  She glanced back at him and offered him a soft smile. “Not gone. Just here, looking at the sea.”

  It wasn’t any sort of invitation, but Rhys stepped beside her, close enough that his arm brushed hers. He needed to be connected to her again. It took control not to simply haul her into his arms, but he sensed she’d stepped away somehow. Not just from the cottage, but from the intimacy they’d shared.

  “Regrets?” He was terrified of her answer, but he had to know.

  Bella smiled and swept a strand of hair from her face before turning toward him. “No regret.” Stepping closer, she slid a hand around his waist.

  Rhys wrapped both arms around her and let out a sigh as he rested his chin against her hair.

  “I will never forget our time here.” She tipped her head up to look at him.

  The look in her eyes didn’t match the contentment he felt.

  “We could come back anytime you like.” Rhys offered her a smile.

  “I almost prefer that it remain special. Unique.” She pulled away from him a bit and Rhys loosened his hold. “We should return to London. Meg will begin to wonder where we’ve gone.”

  “And then?”

  “We’ll carry on with our plan,” she told him matter-of-factly. “And see if we can’t find Mr. Radley in Bishopsgate.”

  “I meant us.”


  “I think . . .” She lifted onto her toes and kissed him softly. “This will be a separate piece.”

  Despite the heat of the sun, a chill swept down his neck. “What does that mean?”

  “Like a puzzle piece. One part of our relationship that is important but separate from the rest.”

  “An exception to the rules.” Rhys loosened his hold on her and tried not to let the bitterness welling inside him sweep away all the contentment he’d felt an hour before.

  “A wonderful exception. But yes.” Bella stepped away. “Shall we collect our things and head back to town?”

  The longer he looked at her, the deeper he saw behind the cool confident facade she was projecting. Her lips trembled as she gazed at him, and she held her shoulders with a stiffness that belied unease.

  It was fear.

  “You needn’t worry, Bella. Whatever you wish, I’ll agree to it.” Could she really be worried he’d speak of these private perfect moments to anyone else? “Trust me.”

  “What I wish is to return to London.” She took one step forward and reached down to clasp his hand. “I wish for us to remember this day fondly but realize it is a moment apart.”

  They walked back to the cottage hand in hand. Rhys stroked his thumb against her skin, savoring every moment of contact.

  She hadn’t told him he’d never get to touch her so freely again, but he sensed it. He feared it. Somehow, when they went back to London, he was supposed to put all of this aside.

  He agreed to let her take the lead.

  But he had no idea how to stop wanting her, especially now that he knew how perfect it felt when she was in his arms.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rhys swung with his left fist again and felt a satisfying burn in the muscles of his shoulder and arm.

  He was striking at the air, but he imagined punching the heavy leather bags suspended from the ceiling at the boxing salon he frequented in London.

  Two more quick jabs, one with his left fist, one with his right, and he turned to the desk behind him. Taking up the letter lying there, he squinted at the words again. He’d made three attempts, in between shadow boxing, to make sense of the whole damned thing.

  It wasn’t that the words weren’t written clearly. Iverson’s penmanship was impeccable. What Rhys lacked was focus, but one thing was clear. The letter brought good tidings.

  Iverson informed him that a recent investment had paid dividends, far more than expected. His bank account had grown to the point that he wouldn’t worry overmuch about paying milliners and modistes for all the fripperies Meg had purchased in the last weeks.

  But money and Radley and stolen ducal funds weren’t what occupied his mind.

  There was only a single thought in his head. Or rather every thought for the last several days had been about one woman. A lady who’d been in his head so long he couldn’t recall a day when she hadn’t crossed his mind. But this was different. Now he knew what she tasted like. How she sounded when she lost herself in the rapture of release. What her body felt like next to his when there was nothing but heat between them.

  He’d chastised himself from the moment he awoke. As completely and utterly ridiculous as it was, he missed her. And that in itself was strange. He rarely missed anyone, let alone a woman he’d bedded once.

  But of course she wasn’t any woman. She was the one who he’d thought about every day. And now he feared the new memories they’d made would haunt him after their scheme was finished.

  He had no regrets. Enjoy all. Regret nothing. The problem was that he could never be satisfied with returning to how they’d once been. Friendship was well and good, but now they’d shared more. And he wanted more still.

  Unfortunately, as far as he could tell, Bella wasn’t suffering any of the same worries. They’d been back from the seaside for three days and hadn’t exchanged a word. He’d considered sending a note. The previous day he’d walked halfway across the field between Edgecombe and Hillcrest before turning back.

  He’d vowed to himself that he’d accede to Bella’s wishes.

  Lately, he hated himself for that vow. Pursuit was his instinct. Yet she deserved better than a man with his tendency to act on every impulse.

  At the edge of the conservatory, he leaned his forehead against the cool glass and stared out toward Hillcrest. They were engaged, for bloody sake. He could at least pay her a visit.

  “What do you think?” Meg stood on the other side of the conservatory in a gown of deep purple with a row of satin flowers at the neckline and beads sparkling along the hem. “It’s a ball gown.”

  “Quite a ball gown.” Rhys smiled at her excitement.

  She was practically bouncing while standing in place.

  “You don’t think it’s too much?”

  “You look lovely.” And far too innocent. For the first time, he felt real trepidation about the sort of men she might encounter on the marriage mart. He was prepared to offer a generous dowry, but she was so eager to fall in love, he feared she’d be easy prey for fortune hunters.

  “For a gambler, you certainly have a difficult time concealing what you’re thinking.”

  “Do I?” He must be slipping. His unflappable facade had been honed with years of practice.

  “You’re worrying. Mama used to wear that same frown when she fretted.” She stepped toward him, drawing her beaded train behind her. “She fretted a great deal.”

  “Father gave her plenty of reasons.” Rhys thought of Mrs. Turner and his stomach twisted.

  “Please don’t fret about me before I’ve been to my first ball.” She offered him a mischievous smile. “Bella has prepared me better than you can imagine.”

  Just the mention of her made his mouth water. “Oh did she? How’s that, then?” He flicked his shirtsleeves down and buttoned the cuffs, trying for as much nonchalance as he could muster.

  “She says there are ways to discern a gentleman’s motives, even if he wishes to hide them from you.”

  “Quite a skill to impart.” Rhys swallowed hard. He had no doubt he was the reason for Bella’s distrust of men’s intentions. “How does one discern a man’s true intentions?”

  Meg blinked. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to confide them to a gentleman.”

  “I’m your brother.” And a wastrel by the standards of London good society. “You’re probably right. Perhaps it’s best if you ladies kept these secrets among yourselves.”

  “Do you mind if I show you one of the other dresses? It’s one I may wear to our visit to the Duke and Duchess of Tremayne.”

  “Which visit?”

  “Did I not tell you they’ve invited us to dinner next week? You and me and Bella. I assumed you’d wish to go and I told them we’d attend. Is that all right?”

  “Yes, of course.” A chance to see Bella was exactly what he wanted. “When Bella was imparting advice, did she divulge anything you can share?” Anything about him, in other words.

  “She did tell me how to politely decline an offer of marriage and the reasons one should.”

  “I expect you will receive proposals.”

  Meg dipped her head and looked up at him through gold-brown lashes. “I do hope so. But you needn’t worry. With Bella’s help I’m sure I’ll make the right choice. As she said, there are ways to know when you’ve met a man you wish to marry.”

  His heartbeat clattered in his chest so loudly he wondered if Meg could hear. “What ways?”

  “Once I’ve discerned that a gentleman’s intentions are honorable, I should consider whether he makes me laugh.”

  Rhys sifted his memories for times he’d made Bella laugh. There were plenty to choose from.

  “Whether his looks please me and reflect a kindness of spirit.”

  He was kind. Wasn’t he?

  “Oh, and also whether he is well-read and well-spoken and is someone I could imagine conversing with every day for the rest of my days. But most important is that he treats me with respect and thinks highly of me.�
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  “Funny, because those will be my requirements for any gentleman who wishes to offer for you too.”

  Meg giggled. “I promise I’ll choose a good man.”

  A good man. Meg deserved no less. Bella too.

  Could he ever be a good man? He’d been lucky. Popular. Successful in accumulating wealth. But good was something he’d never quite managed.

  He could imagine himself approaching it. Mending his worst habits. Striving to be the kind of man he’d often wished he could be.

  He knew he shouldn’t expect Bella to wait for that. She deserved the best, now and always.

  The problem was that he wanted her as he’d never wanted any woman.

  “You are planning to leave some of your books here?” Bella retrieved two more volumes from the shelf her father indicated and added them to a pile they’d built on the top of his desk.

  He stared at her with his nose turned down, eyes looking up from over the rim of his spectacles. Then he looked at the pile. “Of course I am. But I do take your point. Those two won’t be necessary. They will likely have books at the school.”

  “They’ll have a library certainly.”

  “They do. I inquired and they assured me they’ve established a respectable library and would like my input as they add to the collection.” He pointed to a letter in the center of his desk blotter. “The school is rather fledgling, you see.”

  “Then they definitely need you.” Bella approached and took the books he’d collected into his arms and seemed to have forgotten he was holding. “Mama too. She’s quite good at organizing.”

  “As are you.” He indicated the book piles on the desk. “Arranged by topic, publication date, and then author?”

  “Of course. Is there any other way?” Bella smiled at him. Her insistence on helping him organize his collection pleased him and had since she was a child.

  “May I interrupt?” Louisa pushed the study door open but didn’t enter the room.

  “Of course,” Bella’s father told her. “The more the merrier.”

  “Actually, I was hoping for a word with Bella. I’ll return her to you as soon as I can.”