Her Favorite Duke

by Jess Michaels

  “Yes,” he said, his tone filled with frustration that told her she wasn’t moving fast enough.

  “I’m—I’m sorry.”

  He stared at her a long moment, then motioned to the door. “Go on. We’ll have plenty of time to talk once we’re both warm.”

  She left him, her hands shaking, not just from the cold but from the notion that within moments she would be naked with him. Naked with the man she loved more than anything in this world.

  And she had no idea what would happen next.

  Simon stood in front of the fire that now glowed hot and bright in the main room of the cottage. It helped a little, but he was still wet to the bone and cold. Of course, he also had a cockstand that rubbed painfully against the front of his soaked trousers.

  “That’s a first,” he muttered.

  Cold and wet normally weren’t normally conducive to such a thing, but here he was. Hard as steel, listening to Meg get undressed through the thin wooden door. Just a tiny barrier between him and smooth skin, long legs, open arms that he could...

  “No,” he managed to remind himself through clenched teeth. “No.”

  The door behind him opened at last and he forced himself to turn and look as Meg exited the bedroom. His mouth instantly went dry. She was wrapped in a thin gray blanket, in a rather poor toga style. Her hair was half down, tendrils of it teasing beneath the edge of the covering and pressing wet curls against all the skin that was exposed to him.

  And there was so much skin. Most of her shoulders were bare, her back was bare, her neck was bare, as were the swell of her breasts that peeked up over the edge of the blanket. And then there was leg. So much smooth, glorious leg. The blanket only reached to just above her knee and he stared at those legs.

  “Simon?” she said, her voice tense.

  He forced his gaze back to her face. “Yes. Good.”

  She wrinkled her brow at his response and came farther into the room, toward the warmth of the fire. Toward him and his raging cockstand, which was now even worse, if that were to be believed.

  “I-I left another blanket on the bed for you,” she said.

  He nodded and stepped back from her. His tone was sharp as he repeated, “Good.”

  He walked away without saying anything else, only pausing to grab the stack of wood he’d placed near the bedroom door so he could build a fire in there, as well.

  He shut the door behind him, shut himself into almost pitch darkness and leaned back against it with a ragged sigh. There were tests in a man’s life. He knew that, he’d encountered many. This was one, wasn’t it? A test of control. Of loyalty.

  He had to pass, that was all there was to it.

  He set the logs down and went about making a quick fire. Once it had begun to glow, he stood before it, undressing. His hands kept brushing that unwanted erection and he grunted at the sensation.

  He let his trousers fall, tugged his sopping wet shirt over his head and then took himself firmly in hand. The only way to make this better was to slake the need. So he stroked once, twice, leaning one hand against the mantel as he pictured going back into the main room, pressing Meg against the wall and lifting her onto him. Taking her with long, steady strokes until she shattered around him, whispering his name into his shoulder.

  He came in pearly spurts, biting his lip to keep from crying out at the pleasure that coursed through his body. Once he was spent, he pressed his other hand to the mantel and leaned there with his full weight.

  “Get yourself together,” he cursed, hating himself for what he’d just done. What he still wanted to do.

  He picked up all their wet clothes, rung them in the cracked washbasin near the door and began to hang them. His went first, then her dress. His breath caught as he lifted her chemise. It was see-through thanks to the wetness. He shut his eyes as he draped it on the back of a chair and turned it to face the fire. Her stockings, silky and fine, went next to it, and then he wiped off his hands and gathered up the blanket.

  It wasn’t going to cover much, but he did his best, wrapping it around his waist like it was a kilt before he drew a long breath. He had to go back out there. He had to face Meg. He had to face his fantasies.

  Right now.

  He pushed the door open and caught his breath. She was bent over the fire, putting another log in to feed the massive flame. Her blanket had dipped in the process and he caught a glimpse of the side of her full, lush breast.

  She straightened and turned as if sensing him there. Her breath caught and her gaze slipped down from his face to his bare chest. She just stood there, staring at him like he was staring at her, and everything in his world grew tight and focused.

  Meg wanted him. He’d seen that before, but now it rose up, rushing toward him like an out of control phaeton. She wanted him and they were alone and no one would ever have to know.

  “Graham,” he muttered under his breath, trying hard to think of the man who he’d considered one of his best friends for so long.

  She swallowed hard and motioned him closer, like a siren driving him toward rocks. “Come warm up,” she said, her voice rough.

  He moved to stand with her and they stared into the flames, their bare arms nearly touching, but not quite. An almost perfect metaphor for their entire relationship, it seemed. Almost there, but not quite.

  As if she read his thoughts she moved to face him. Her expression was taut with tension and her hands trembled at her sides. He held his breath, waiting for whatever she was going to say. It looked important. It looked life-changing. And he wasn’t certain he was ready for it.

  Everything Meg had ever wanted to say to this man sat on the tip of her tongue, ready to be confessed in the strange little world only they inhabited. But as she stared at him, at his tense face, at his gloriously handsome face, her nerve faltered.

  What good was saying anything? It was evident that Simon wanted her, but he had made no attempt ever to act on that desire. Perhaps that meant it was nothing more than need, not love. If she said what she felt and he didn’t truly care, he would think less of her. If he did care…well, that almost made it worse. They could never be together. James had guaranteed that by promising her to Graham all those years ago.

  She swallowed her confessions back and whispered, “It’s getting dark.”

  He glanced toward the boarded windows. Far less light was coming past the gaps now. “Part of that is the heaviness of the storm, but it’s also getting late. We…” He hesitated and turned his face away from hers. “We might not make it back tonight, Meg.”

  She stiffened at that statement. She’d been so wrapped up in Simon all afternoon, she’d never considered not making it back a possibility. But now it loomed up, a crushing reality that had consequences. So many consequences.

  “But…but if we don’t make it back, people will…they’ll know we are both missing,” she whispered.

  His mouth turned to a grim frown and he refused to look at her. “Yes. I’m certain our mutual disappearance has already been marked by more than just James and Emma.”

  She couldn’t help but gasp. “They’ll think—if we spend a night away alone together, they’ll think—”

  Simon bent his head even farther and his hands clenched against his thighs, outlined beneath the blanket. “Yes. They may think very ill of us, despite the circumstances,” he admitted quietly. “But Graham will know better, won’t he?”

  He said Graham’s name softly, almost like he was afraid of invoking him by saying it. She shivered as she thought of her fiancé, thought of what he’d say when she returned.

  “In truth, I…” she began, then stopped. But as she stared at Simon, his outline in the firelight, she knew honesty was where they would end up tonight. It was too hard to pretend with him, the man who knew her most and best. “I hardly know Graham at all.”

  His gaze jerked to her and she couldn’t tell if that statement surprised him or made him angry. “What do you mean?
” he snapped. “You’ve been engaged for years, Meg. Of course you know him.”

  She nodded. “So many years. And yet he isn’t my friend. Not like you.”

  He turned toward her, leaning in, and her heart almost stopped. He looked like he wanted to touch her, and she found herself lifting her face toward his in readiness for the moment she’d been waiting for all her life.

  But he turned away instead and moved toward the opposite side of the room. “I’ll look for food,” he murmured over his shoulder.

  Meg moved toward the settee that he had apparently uncovered after he built the fire earlier and took a place on it, covering her face with her hands. She was trembling, and it wasn’t from the cold. She wasn’t certain she would survive this.

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  Chapter Five

  It was slim pickings, but a packet of dried fruit Simon assured her had been brought to the cottage by James and the other men just a few months ago and a bottle of wine would tide them over. It wasn’t as if they were going to stay here forever. Simon almost laughed at that thought, though there was nothing funny about this situation. If they were going to stay here forever, never go back to the consequences, Simon knew exactly what he’d do. And it would have nothing to do with food or honor.

  Meg shifted in her place at the table and adjusted her ever-sliding blanket. It was fascinating to watch it move over her skin, and yet he forced himself to look away. These wayward thoughts were entirely too dangerous in their current situation. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to lose all reason and do something rash that could never be taken back.

  The room was utterly quiet, and Meg looked upward, drawing his attention to the banging of the rain on the roof. It had eased up slightly from the torrent it had begun as hours before, but it was still far too hard to consider making a run back to the house on foot. Especially in the increasing darkness outside.

  “It’s not going to stop, is it?” she asked, her voice thin and her face pale in the candlelight.

  He swallowed at that question. It could fit so many things about this situation, but she meant the rain. He had to focus.

  “No, I don’t think we’ll see it let up any time soon, considering it’s been doing this for almost two hours.”

  She bent her head. They both knew the consequences of what had happened here. They would spend a night together, unsupervised. The talk when they returned to James’s estate would be vicious and instantaneous. Probably it was already happening amongst the party guests.

  Because of that, Meg and Graham would likely have to marry right away after this. If she had a child any time in the next year, people would whisper that it could be Simon’s, even though that would not be possible.

  A child. Simon gritted his teeth. The idea of her having a child with Graham was the thing he most often tried to avoid when he thought of her future. Of course, it would happen eventually. Northridge needed heirs and spares to carry on his title, just as they all did. Graham and Meg would probably have a huge family in the end. How could he resist her, after all, once he’d had a chance to touch her?

  Simon’s stomach turned.

  “What do we do?” she asked.

  The resignation to her tone cut him to his very bone, and there was nothing he could do to console her. Especially not with his body on edge like this.

  He sighed. “Go to bed,” he suggested. “We’ll go to sleep and wake up early and hopefully be able to make our way back through dryer elements.”

  She lifted her gaze to his and her body let out a great shiver. He frowned. Despite the blankets and the fire, she was still cold. Come to think of it, so was he. And with night descending it was only going to get worse in the drafty cottage.

  He stood up and looked down at her. He was about to suggest something that was likely the worst idea he’d ever had. Something he wasn’t completely certain was for her own good or his satisfaction. Something ungentlemanly no matter how much he tried to tell himself otherwise. If she slapped him across the face, he would deserve it. And yet he was still going to say it.

  He needed to say it.

  “Meg, the best way to fight a chill like this is…body heat,” he managed to force out past suddenly very dry lips. “Would you be…opposed…to sharing the bed? For the purposes of increasing warmth only.”

  Her mouth opened in shock and he saw a dozen emotions cross her face. One was most definitely the kind of interest that an unmarried lady would do well to deny. He tried to ignore that interest and gritted his teeth as he waited for her to process the request.

  “But we’re…naked. Our clothes won’t be dry for—”

  “Hours, yes,” he agreed. “We can’t put them back on until morning, probably, or risk getting even colder.”

  She swallowed. “So we would lay naked together in a bed.”

  When she said it like that, it slammed Simon up short. “Yes,” he whispered. “But I promise you Meg, I wouldn’t do anything untoward. As soon as morning came, I would leave you. We will go home and there is no reason in the world that anyone would ever have to know what happened here. I’ll tell your brother and Graham that I slept in the outer hall and that you took the bed. I’ll even tell them that you leaned a chair against the door to protect your chastity.”

  “You would lie,” she said.

  He shrugged. “I would protect your future.”

  She turned her face at that statement. “It would be our secret,” she said, still soft and her tone as unreadable as to her thoughts.

  He nodded slowly. “Yes.”

  “And you are certain it will help with warmth?”

  “It will,” he said swiftly, for that, at least, was true even if the remainder of his motives were suspect.

  She stood. “Then we should do it. I can see you’re cold—you stayed in wet clothing far longer than I did. I would rather have this secret and not get sick or freeze than mince and mewl and protect myself from you, someone I trust implicitly.”

  Simon swallowed back a strangled groan. If she knew the wicked things in his heart, she would not trust him. No one would trust him. He hardly trusted himself.

  But he smiled at her and motioned for the bedroom. “You go in and get yourself situated under the blankets so I won’t…see anything. I’ll stoke the fire out here and join you in a moment.”

  She gave him one last lingering look and then slipped past him and into the bedroom, where she shut the door behind her. When she was gone, he let out a long, heavy breath.

  This was a terrible idea. Terrible. And yet everything in him thrilled at the idea of this one stolen night with Meg.

  Meg watched as Simon leaned over the fire in the bedroom and stoked the flames as high as they would go, sending a bright glow into the small room. He took the time to adjust their drying clothing, turning each item and moving the chairs and pieces to different hooks. When he touched her chemise or her stockings, she jolted with the intimacy of that action.

  When he was done, he faced her at last, and she caught her breath.

  In the firelight, with that blanket riding low in his hips and his bare chest so perfectly muscled, he was beautiful. So beautiful he almost didn’t seem real anymore. But then he never had been fully real, in a way.

  Simon had always been her fantasy man, brought to life in physical form. A man with mischievousness and fun, intelligence and strength, confidence and competence. She had spun him up to be almost perfect, so much so that whenever they’d been apart, she’d told herself that her memory couldn’t be right. But then they’d meet again and there he was: perfect.

  Perfect for her.

  Except that he was forever out of reach. At first because she’d been far too young for him to consider. Then because James had set her marriage to Graham, ending all possibility of a different life or future.

  But tonight Simon moved toward her and she could almost pretend this was their wedding night. That he was hers and ton
ight he would make her his. Her body reacted to that fantasy, her nipples abraded by the rough blanket and her thighs getting wet with excitement she should not feel.

  He turned his back to her, and she supposed she was meant to close her eyes. She did so, but only partially, still wickedly watching him as he dropped the blanket around his waist and added it on top of the covers that would protect them from the outside temperatures. Her mouth went totally dry as she stared at his muscular backside, his strong thighs. Then he turned and she almost gasped out loud and gave away her naughty observation of him. His member—she knew men called it a cock—was…well, it was very large and it appeared to be semi-hard. How he roamed about in the world with that thing between his legs, she did not understand.

  He pulled the blankets back and she squeezed her eyes shut the rest of the way as he moved himself into position next to her. The bed was narrow, only barely fitting two people, and their arms touched as he settled into place on the flat pillow.

  “Good night, Meg,” he said, his voice rough and low beside her.

  “Good night, Simon,” she whispered back as she stared up at the ceiling.

  They lay like that for she didn’t know how long. It could have only been moments, but it felt like hours. She was so fully aware of the brush of his arm against hers. The weight of his body on the uncomfortable mattress. The sound of his breathing in the silence of the room.

  Her mind spun on all of it, wildly out of control. No matter how much she wanted it, this night should not have happened. And Simon would likely suffer for it more than she would. Oh, people would whisper and hiss and she might lose some friends who judged her or called her a wanton without any basis for such censor. But once she married Graham, people’s memory of this mistake would fade.

  But for Simon, the effects would likely go on longer. And she could imagine James and Graham would not be happy with him. She would protest their judgment, of course, but would it matter? She could well picture James telling Simon he shouldn’t have followed her at all or should have taken a horse to get back sooner or should have, should have, should have…