by Lavinia Kent
“Then sit on the desk, facing me. Let me admire you. I always wanted to have a woman in here. My tutors were always male.”
Facing him, she placed a hand to each side, firmly on the desk, and boosted herself up, settling her hips on the smooth surface. Her breasts bobbed with the motion. She placed her hands behind her, arching her back up, staring at the ceiling, ignoring his hungry gaze. “No, don’t come nearer. You wanted to look, to admire—not touch. You may have the reward that you asked for, but only that reward.”
“Then pull your skirts up. Let me see you.”
Should she? Still not looking at him, she shifted side to side, maneuvering her skirts until a cool breeze brushed her. It was hard not to lower her head to him, to look for the desire she knew must be there, but she knew far better. If she looked, she would be caught.
“God, you are so beautiful. I wish I had known this moment would come when I was just a lad.”
There was a small crack running clear across the ceiling. She wondered if that lad had ever stared up at it.
Forcing herself to calm, she bent her neck and looked him full in the face, focusing on nothing except his eyes. “Do you love me—now?”
The words were out. They could not be pulled back.
“Do I love you?” He repeated the question back, as if delaying for time.
“Yes. It is not a hard question. It is the last of the reasons I did not love you. I refused to love you if you did not love me.”
His eyes bore into hers as if trying to see her soul. “You say ‘did not.’ ”
“Just answer my question.”
“Yes.”
What did that mean?
“Yes, I love you. I did not mean to. I certainly never expected to—but how can I not when you are always there, always loving me, supporting me?”
“And, yes—did not. I do find it impossible to keep not loving you.”
Smiling, he walked toward her, his eyes moving from face, to breast, to lower—and back. She wanted to shut her legs against his perusal, but knew that he had earned this. Stopping between her legs, his hands dropped to his breeches. She could feel them move, feel the loosening of each button.
His hands slid about her hips, pulling her forward, her skin sliding across the cool wood.
And then he was in her.
Never had they progressed with so few preliminaries, and yet it was right. It was perfect.
Holding her hips firm, he began to move. Slow, definite strokes.
His eyes found hers and held hers, neither one looking away as their bodies began the ancient dance.
Away. Together. Press. Withdraw.
Their breath flew from one to the other, each exhale drawing an inhale.
Her legs drew up, wrapping about his thighs, angling her forward until he pressed against that perfect point.
Together. Press. Withdraw.
Each motion drew them closer together, both physically and emotionally, until she was not sure where he began and she ended.
And then the pace grew faster, breaths grew to pants, to moans.
She could feel him tense, feel him strain, the veins in his neck standing out.
Her own body tightened about him, reaching, wanting, needing.
And then it was there.
“Now.” The voice was his, but the thought her own.
The world collapsed, expanded.
She clung to him, tight, her legs pulling him ever closer. Even as her passion spent, she refused to let go, to lose this moment.
She felt his climax, heard his cry—felt his body tense, and then relax. His head fell forward, his brow resting upon her breasts.
“I didn’t mean it to be so fast. I should have given you more time, more preparation.” His words came out in a single breath, warm against her skin.
“I am fine—more than fine.”
He looked up, meeting her gaze. “It was wonderful, better than any schoolboy fantasy.”
She smiled at that. “I’ve never had a schoolboy fantasy, but I must admit to finding the experience rather spectacular.”
“Spectacular. I like that. I may have to tell you that I love you more often.”
“And don’t forget that I am beautiful.”
He pulled back, pulling out of her. His look took her in, all of her. “You are beautiful.”
Heat rose in her cheeks, and she ducked her head, moving to straighten her skirts and to place her breasts back into her bodice.
“I’d offer to help,” he said as he fastened his breeches. “But I am afraid that would only delay us longer, and I would hate for my mother to come searching for us.”
Annabelle could not bear to imagine the very proper duchess finding them in this fashion. She quickly slid off the desk and began to brush off her skirts. “Do you think we’ve been missed?”
“Very probably, but given the situation, what matters a little more gossip?”
“That is true.” She lifted her head and looked at him. “What now? I mean I think things are settled between us, but I can’t imagine that is enough to still the gossip.”
“I imagine your friends and my father have that well in hand by now. You would never believe it, but the duke is better at manipulating gossip than any old biddy. I think he even rather enjoys it.”
Annabelle was not so sure about any of it, but would have faith in her husband. She nodded. “And what of Margaret?”
He stilled. “What of her?”
“How do you intend to tell the world she is your daughter? And Grace? They must both be introduced to society.”
“Are you sure? Margaret is not.” There was a strange catch to his voice.
“I am sure. I know that life here is not the same as it is in America, but some things are simply right.” She moved nearer the door.
“I do not deny it, but let us leave it for another day. I must get Margaret to agree and she is far from sure of what she wants. Besides, are you confident you are not merely trying to head off my mother before she begins to talk of grandchildren and an heir to the dukedom?”
Annabelle smiled, her hand dropped to her stomach, but she did not reply. Some secrets could wait a few more days.
THE MAIDS
“There are two of them. I don’t think there have ever been two of them before.” Abby hurried up to the window.
Jane scurried up behind. “Do you think it’s because there hasn’t been one for a few days? Oh, I like this one. The Countess of Westhampton looks so regal, like a foreign queen. I know the whispers about her are not always nice, but I’ve decided that it is because she just doesn’t let people know her. I know Lady Smythe-Burke likes her. I’ve heard her say so.”
Bending forward Jane examined the print. Lady Westhampton truly did look splendid, the gems about her neck sparkled and Jane could almost smell the rose she held loosely in one hand. She was so caught by the countess that she almost didn’t see the man on his knees beside her. That was surprising because he was portrayed as a big, slightly bearish man, a man who, judging by the look on her face, would do anything to win the lady’s approval. And the countess, she looked as if he didn’t exist.
“Do you think that’s the same man in this one?” Abby pointed at another cartoon. This one was not as skillfully drawn as the other and the sentiment was quite different. It showed the man in the foreground, his face tanned, his look disdainful. It was the countess on her knees here–looking like she was ready to please him any way that he wished. She clung to his leg, her look beseeching, her hands begging. And the man looked away, his interest clearly anywhere but on the woman at his feet.
And suddenly Jane knew. “I heard a rumor that he was back, but I did not believe it.”
Abby turned from the window and stared at her friend. “Who? Do you know who he is?” She gestured at the drawing of the man.
“I do believe that’s the Earl of Westhampton, returned after four years to claim his wife.”
“But why two such different cartoons?”<
br />
Jane could only stare—stare and wonder.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Most days Lavinia Kent loves her life and knows that she has found her own happily-ever-after with her husband and three children. But on those other days (you know which ones!), she is very glad for the wonderful romances, sensuous gowns, and tall, sexy men that fill her mind—and then her computer.
Lavinia lives in Washington, DC, with her family and an ever-changing menagerie of pets. She attended Wellesley College as an undergraduate and holds an MBA from Georgetown University.
What a Duke Wants is Lavinia’s fourth book from Avon Romance. She also has a fun and, sexy serial of e-novellas, The Real Duchesses of London, available from Avon Impulse.
She can be contacted at her website www.LaviniaKent.com or through Facebook and Twitter.
ALSO BY LAVINIA KENT
A Talent for Sin
Bound by Temptation
Taken by Desire
The Real Duchesses of London
Kathryn, The Kitten
Linnette, The Lioness
COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ANNABELLE, THE AMERICAN. Copyright © 2011 by Lavinia Kent. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition August 2011 ISBN: 9780062107947
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062115713
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