The Mad, Bad Duke

by Jennifer Ashley

  He moved his hands to the small of her back and she landed against his chest. He smelled like warm wool and musk and the fresh scent of the outdoor wind. She’d felt infatuation for handsome gentlemen before, but that faint excited flutter was nothing to the need that took hold of her now. The space between her legs was hot and wet, and because of her earlier visions, she knew what she wanted—him, inside her.

  “Alexander,” she said, desperate.

  “Not here.” He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her with him to another door in the terrace, this one leading to a small corridor that ran alongside the ballroom. “We will find a place.”

  They made it along the hall without encountering anyone, and Alexander pushed his way into a tiny anteroom. The room contained two low chairs and a Turkish sofa positioned near a semicircular table that held a tray of goblets. The walls were covered with gilded curlicues that snaked around busy paintings of gods pursuing naked goddesses and nymphs. The excess of gilding and clashing colors was a bit nauseating, but Meagan only noticed it distractedly.

  Alexander closed the door at the same time he dragged Meagan into his arms. His mouth came down on hers, rough and brutal. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and instead of resisting, which dimly she thought she should, she played her tongue along his, learning his heady and exciting taste.

  He slid his hands to her elbows, the thin silk sleeves tearing to make way for his fingers. He pushed his hands all the way to her bare shoulders and pulled the torn bodice down.

  She braced herself against his broad chest as he licked her neck in one long stroke. She flicked her tongue over his jaw, tasting sharp stubble. She licked again, liking the raw, masculine taste of his sweaty skin.

  Deep in the back of her mind, the sensible side of Meagan Tavistock shouted for attention. What on earth are you doing? You are compromised, you ninny of a girl!

  It scarce mattered. All that mattered was Alexander touching her.

  He nipped her, and when she made a faint noise at the small hurt, he bit harder. His hair broke loose from its bond and flowed over her neck, smelling of cologne and spice. She crumpled his sash of office beneath her fingers, the gold-laced cloth stiff and cool.

  “Do you want that off, love?” he murmured.

  “Yes.”

  She helped him push the sash from his shoulder, and he lifted it over his head and let it flutter to the floor. Then he stripped off his gloves and sat on an armless gilded chair, unfastening the cording that held his coat. Underneath he wore a lawn shirt that hugged his body, the hard muscles of his chest shadowing the opening beneath his collar.

  “Turn around,” he said. “I want to unlace you.”

  Willingly, Meagan turned her back, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to let him unfasten the catches that held her bodice closed. Lost in the moment, she saw no reason not to let him undress her. They seemed to be caught in a strange, wild feeling, dragged to a place where they were lovers. Being as intimate as man and wife felt perfectly natural to her.

  His fingers played and the silk bodice parted. He ran his hand down the placket of her short stays, drawing the stays apart, unbinding her. Last he untied the drawstrings of her chemise, pushing the garment down her arms, baring her back and bosom with hot, callused hands.

  She faced the door, bare to the waist, her breasts heavy and her nipples tightening. When she felt his tongue on her back, she groaned, closing her eyes.

  He traced her spine to her hips, pushing fabric aside until the gown and chemise slithered to a pool at her feet. He danced his tongue over the small of her back, then pressed warm lips to the hollow there, breath scalding.

  “Part your legs,” he commanded in a soft voice.

  She obeyed, sliding her feet apart, never minding she was standing naked except for stockings and slippers in front of a man she’d met a mere quarter of an hour ago. His tongue moved to her buttocks, swirling around each one, then to the backs of her thighs.

  She moved her legs apart still more, quivering for him, wanting him, ready to beg for him. Her mind was clouded with strange thoughts that tumbled one over the other and laced with the visions she’d had in her bedroom and the ballroom.

  He’d slid from the chair and was on his knees now, hands pressing her legs apart so he could find her with his tongue. He touched the curls between her thighs and she squeaked at the new sensation.

  “What is happening to me?” She moaned, lifting on her toes. “Alexander, what are you doing to me?”

  “Loving you,” he said against her skin. He withdrew and placed his hands on her buttocks. “Turn around. I want to see you.”

  Meagan swallowed hard and pivoted in a slow half circle, stepping out of the pile of her dress. He looked up at her, his eyes a heated blue, the ruby glittering among the dark strands of his hair.

  He slid his hands from her hips up her waist to her breasts, his thumbs caressing the aureoles. “You are beautiful.” His voice was thick and low, his accent deepening, as though he had to struggle to say English words. “You are glorious, lush, like a goddess.”

  She laughed lightly, though it sounded a bit hysterical. “Is there a goddess Meagan?”

  “We will invent one. I will have you sculpted by an artist, just as you are now, so beautiful for me. Or I will hire a portrait painter and have him paint you lying on a couch, waiting for me in nothing but your stockings and slippers.”

  She shook all over but tried to make a jest of it. “I should look silly covered in paint.”

  His gaze turned feral, his smile telling her he’d not think her naked body streaked with paint silly at all. He took her hands and guided them to hold her breasts. “Stay like that,” he said. “Rub the tips for me. Feel the pleasure of it.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her abdomen, warming her skin with his breath, trailing little kisses to her navel, into which he flicked his tongue. Meagan tentatively squeezed the tips of her aureoles, gasping at the little tingle that sped from them.

  Alexander rubbed his fingers over the coil of hair at her thighs, his voice admiring. “Beautiful.” He splayed his hands on her thighs and moved his thumbs across her mound. He kissed her where his thumbs played.

  “Alexander,” she whispered.

  He dipped his tongue to the part of her that ached most of all. He licked her, rubbing the little nub of skin, his tongue expertly understanding how to make the rasping feel she craved without knowing she craved it.

  She wanted to push her hips on to him, and at the same time stand still so he could continue. She kneaded and stroked her own breasts, wanting to touch him instead, but having a strange, crazed need to obey him. They were caught in this madness together, she and he, magic that swirled around them and pulled them to each other.

  She wanted to scream. She was going to cry her dark pleasure up to the gaudy gods and goddesses writhing above her. It was building, she could feel it in her throat and in her lungs, and best of all, in the fiery friction of his tongue on her.

  But just then, behind her, the door handle rattled. Gasping, Meagan stumbled back from Alexander and half turned, nearly losing her balance.

  She clearly heard the voice of some lord or other saying to one of his cronies, “Let us step in here, and you can tell me what those damn fools in the cabinet are saying.”

  The door opened an inch, then another man said, “No, let us escape to Mount Street and my man will cook a chop for us. The suppers at these balls are thin and my blood needs warming with good port.”

  The first man pronounced it an excellent idea and closed the door with a thump.

  Meagan let out her breath. She swung back to Alexander, ready to frantically point out that they’d almost been caught.

  The look on his face stunned her. He was smiling, his eyes hot and animal-like. Nearly being found out had excited him. He rose in one sinuous movement, lacing his arm behind her back, and kissed her deeply. His tongue stroked the inside of her mouth, opening her wide for him, the
rings on his fingers like bands of ice across her skin.

  He broke the kiss and crossed to the door to turn the key in the lock. On his way back, he loosened his cravat and untied his shirt. Then he unbuttoned his trousers, calmly pulling open the fly. He pushed his trousers down to his ankles without shame as he sat down on the chair.

  She stared, eyes wide, at the erection that stood long and stiff between his legs. His thighs were brawny with muscle, sinews working as he pulled his loose shirt off over his head, tossed it away, and held out his arms to her. “Come to me.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Love you, Meagan. Come to me; I’ll do the rest.”

  It seemed wrong not to do as he said. Somewhere inside her, the sensible Meagan protested, but her voice was faint and far away and of little importance here.

  She moved to the chair and carefully straddled his legs. He caught her hips and lowered her to him, pulling her forward to skim his body.

  “Will it hurt?” she whispered.

  “It might. I will try to make it gentle for you. You are wet for me; that is good.”

  She knew what he meant. Her opening was full of warm liquid, which excited her, and the more excited she became, the more it filled. She remembered from the vision the feel of him inside her, and knew she was going to experience it in truth.

  “Spread your legs a little more,” he instructed.

  She complied. He slid his hand between her thighs and parted her petals with his fingers. His erection moved into her as he slowly and gently lowered her down to him.

  Her head went back as he stretched her, filling her unbelievably. She clutched his shoulders, her nails biting his flesh, and he smiled against her mouth, taking her lips in a series of kisses.

  “You are mine,” he growled, voice fierce.

  “If you insist.”

  He laughed, low and dark. The tightness inside her hurt, and it did not.

  Meagan knew the moment her maidenhead broke—her entire body squeezed itself to one point, then suddenly opened, snapping a string that had kept her tethered, setting her free.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I belong to you.”

  He spoke a string of Nvengarian, low and muttered, as though his mind could no longer conjure English words. He filled her fully, thighs tight against hers, the feeling astonishing and strange. It was not pleasure that flooded her, or pain, but a rightness, as though she’d been born for the moment she would couple with this man.

  He slid his fingers to her buttocks, dipping slightly between them, and then sensation took over her and thoughts went to the wind. She screamed aloud, but he caught the screams in his mouth. She writhed, his erection straight up inside her, knowing she’d never feel anything else as wonderful as this.

  Never let this end. His mouth was all over hers, his eyes closed tight in his own world of pleasure. He smelled of sweat and sex, tasted of brandy and his own hard spice. His shoulders moved beneath her hands, solid muscle under tight flesh that she wanted to touch forever.

  He was a beautiful man, and if anyone should be painted, it should be him, standing hard and upright and naked, half turned to the viewer perhaps, in a room with a tumbled bed where he’d waited for her.

  I need this man. I need him inside me and to love me and to teach me.

  She fancied she felt something click inside her like a clasp closing, and she also fancied for some reason that she heard Black Annie’s soft laughter.

  Alexander released her mouth to babble more Nvengarian against her skin. “Shengen dem, me coura sel.”

  “What do you mean? Tell me what you are saying.”

  He dragged his eyes open, cheekbones flushed, and focused on her with effort. “I want you, my heart.”

  Her own heart banged in her chest with ferocity. “I want you too.”

  His brows drew together as though in concern. “I’m coming,” he murmured, then his head dropped back, and he thrust and thrust into her, his hot seed spilling into her. She wriggled and writhed, loving the feel of him, laughing.

  “Meagan,” he breathed, then he lifted his head. “Damnation.”

  “Do not say you are sorry. Please, do not.”

  He kissed her, hard and possessive, nothing apologetic about it. “My heart,” he whispered again, and wound his arms around her.

  “Say it in Nvengarian. I like to hear you say it.”

  “Me coura sel.”

  As his tongue formed the l, she wrapped hers around it. He completed the kiss, then pulled her close and let her rest her head on his shoulder while he smoothed his hand down her back.

  “I feel blessed,” she whispered, inhaling the salty scent of him. “My Alexander.”

  “Meagan,” he murmured, his fingers continuing the slow dance on her spine. “Red is a beautiful color. Warm, like fire.”

  She smiled, happy. Nothing existed but her, and him, and this room, and that was just fine with her.

  The sensible young woman deep inside her put her hands over her face and groaned. Oh, Meagan. What have you done?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Alexander held Meagan on his lap, still buried deep inside her, wanting to stay there forever. He knew the love spell—a lust spell, to be more accurate—made him feel this way, but wrapped in its tendrils he did not care.

  Dangerous things, love spells. They rendered the victims completely unable to do anything but seek pleasure in each other. Outside this room a ball raged on, and Lady Anastasia awaited him. He had been meant to question von Hohenzahl about a secret weapon he claimed would make Austria powerful against Nvengaria, and Alexander was already late for the appointment.

  He skimmed his fingers across Meagan’s flesh, enjoying her softness. His own wife had been very slender, like Anastasia, and neither woman had been the delight to hold that Meagan was.

  Alexander’s wife had never loved him, nor he her, though he’d trusted her and viewed her as a partner. The Grand Duchess of Nvengaria had been a fashionable, beautiful woman and his most staunch supporter before the wasting disease had taken her. But she’d had her own lovers, and tender affection had not reigned between husband and wife.

  He felt tender affection for the woman presently in his arms. “Meagan.” He repeated her name just to hear the sound of it.

  “Alexander,” she said into his shoulder.

  He kissed her red hair, loving the taste of her. He was dimly aware that he’d taken her virginity and he’d have to do something about that, but the feel of her naked body against his was most satisfying for now.

  Behind his initial sated comfort, his razor-sharp mind worked, listing the myriad things he’d have to do. Everything would have to be right, from the jewels to the legal documents to the ceremony itself, done beforehand so if he’d given her a child this night, no one would count his next son or daughter a bastard.

  The English had such peculiar rules for bastardy, such as the child never being able to inherit his father’s lands, whereas in Nvengaria, illegitimate children were treasured, and inherited what was their due. Also, a Nvengarian child conceived while the parents were betrothed was not considered illegitimate, unlike in England.

  And who, who, his mind cried, wanted me to drop my seed into this innocent girl?

  It had been cruel to use her, and when Alexander found the man, or woman, he’d make them pay. He knew, even in the lassitude of afterglow, that he’d ruined her in the eyes of her world, and he determined that someone would make recompense for that.

  But all would be well. He had a solicitor and a team of people at his disposal who could make this situation only a small snag in the fabric of his life. It would be smoothed out, and they’d go on.

  “Alexander.” She raised her head and gave him a sleepy smile, and he knew he loved her.

  Then, suddenly, the love spell faded. He saw the languorousness leave her at the same time the warm contentment drained from his own limbs. They sat face to face, returning to sanity together, cool worry entering Meagan’s
brown-gold eyes.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked softly.

  She shook her head. “I thought it would, but it felt—strange.”

  “The spell helped with the pain.” He put his hands on her hips and gently eased her to her feet. “Likely so we would not turn back.”

  She stepped away from him, shaking, her face flushed with embarrassment. There was a dabble of blood on his half erection and some spattered on her thighs. He lifted his cravat from the floor, using the linen to gently clean her.

  “You will not be able to return to the ball,” he told her.

  She shook her head, her loosened hair dancing enticingly on her shoulders. She could not understand how erotic she looked clad in only her silk stockings and slippers, the stockings tied with gold lace garters.

  “I will tell Stepmama I am sick and must go home,” she said.

  She was strong, this English girl. She did not break down or fling accusations at him but only looked sad, as though something beautiful had been taken from her, and she regretted its loss.

  “You will go nowhere.” Alexander rose from the chair and refastened his trousers. “I will send the appropriate messages, and you will go home without seeing anyone. I will take care of things.”

  “You are no doubt right.” Her voice was quiet and controlled.

  She retrieved her chemise from the floor, her backside half turned toward him, and Alexander’s semi-erection became a full one again. The love spell was powerful, but even without it the beauty of Meagan, like a goddess casual in her nakedness, would be an intoxicating sight. The fool who’d wasted money on the spell need only have paraded Meagan before him, and Alexander would have become randy and willing.

  No, in truth he would never have taken an innocent. That had been planned most carefully by some enemy.

  Silent tears streaked Meagan’s face as she pulled the chemise over her body. She wiped them away, but they continued to flow. Her shaking fingers could not do up the ribbon that held the chemise closed.

  “Let me.” Alexander tied the tape of her chemise, then picked up the stiff stays and put them around her body, gently rethreading the laces he’d so eagerly untied. He helped her pull the cream silk gown on and buttoned the cloth-covered buttons up the back.