The warm tones of her gown enhanced the moss of her eyes as he approached her, and he won a laugh from her that settled somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. “Good heavens, that is quite a small fraction. Would one even pronounce the ‘Y’?”
“I can’t be certain.” He caught her waist and pulled her against him, savoring the already familiar crush of her breasts into his chest. “But one could rectify the matter by referring to one’s husband by his given name.”
“Oh?” She raised a brow in feigned innocence and batted her long lashes. “And what is that? My memory is appalling, I’m afraid, and I’ve forgotten.”
“Perhaps I can stir it for you, buttercup.” He gave in to temptation and lowered his mouth to hers. How naturally they fit together. How easy it was to slide his hand into the soft confines of her neat coiffure, cup her perfectly shaped head, and angle her just as he wanted her. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, demanding entrance, and she opened for him without hesitation, her tongue tangling with his.
She tasted of chocolate and decadence, and he wanted more. Always wanted more. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? His hands tightened on her waist, and he led her backward until they reached his desk. He could never have his fill of her.
He dragged his mouth from hers and trailed a fervent line of kisses to her ear, tonguing the silky patch of skin behind it. She tasted of vanilla and the light salt of her skin. She moaned and clutched at his shoulders. So responsive, his Daisy.
“You’ve bewitched me,” he accused softly into her ear. “I’m meant to be attending estate matters and all I want is to lift your skirts and feel if you’re as wet for me already as I suspect you are.”
She would be drenched when he touched her, and this he knew by the way she strained against him, as if she desired all points of her body to be in simultaneous contact with his. He felt the same. He wanted every inch of her flawless skin naked and pressed against his, from her hard, pink nipples to her pale, curved legs.
“Shall I leave you to estate matters?” she asked, breathless.
He tore his lips from her neck to survey the contents of his desk. Correspondence. A stack of news. Some pens and sheaves of paper. His ledger. To hell with all of it. With one swipe of his arm, he sent it raining to the carpet. Papers flew, somersaulting over themselves, pens clanging together, the news crumpling into a heap.
“I do believe I’ve had enough of estate matters for the nonce,” he decided, grinning down at her like a lovesick fool.
No, surely not lovesick. Nor a fool, he corrected himself hastily. It had only been a week, after all. Love didn’t come upon a man so precipitously, and especially not when the lady in question was suspected of treason. He was sure of it.
In an effort to ward off further maudlin sentiment, he took her mouth with his once more, and this kiss was unapologetically demanding. He sucked on her lower lip, then caught it between his teeth and tugged. Frantic, fierce need speared him. The need to have her, to consume her. His cock twitched against his trousers, his balls already drawn tight in anticipation of flooding release.
Her palms, which had dropped to his chest and had been conducting a slow, torturous exploration over his waistcoat and shirt, gently pushed, putting enough distance between them to break the kiss. Her gaze sparkled into his, the green of early spring rebirth after the barren death of winter.
“You’ve a duty, Sebastian,” she said then.
For a heartbeat, he stilled, the blood pumping through his veins turning to ice. Was it possible that she somehow knew after all? Jesus, why would she repeat the words his own conscience riddled him with every day?
And then she tilted her head in that way he’d come to know meant she was being earnest, cupping his jaw in her hand. “I don’t wish to distract you from your work. I missed you, but I don’t wish to be unfairly demanding of your time. I’ll leave you to it, then. I need to go over the menu with Mrs. Robbins, and I’ve yet to make myself at home in your library. Father thought reading invited sloth, so I haven’t read as much as I would have preferred.”
He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. She was babbling, and she was adorable, and he was going to come out of his skin if he wasn’t buried deep inside her in the next five minutes.
“Daisy.” He pressed a kiss to her open palm, and held her to him when she would have attempted to make her retreat. “You may distract me any time you wish, buttercup. My time will always be yours, and if you want to buy an entire new library’s worth of books that are to your liking, I won’t blink a bloody eye. Read until you need spectacles. But you’re not leaving this room until I’ve made you spend.”
Her eyes widened, cheeks going rosy. Lovemaking remained new to her, though she’d proven an apt and willing pupil. She was still very much an innocent, however, and he would enjoy debauching her for the rest of their lives.
The rest of their lives.
The unbidden thought sent something profound streaking through him. And it wasn’t dread or a sense of futility. It wasn’t guilt or duty. It was… Christ, he didn’t know what it was.
Rather than further complicate matters, he lifted her onto the desk. His hands fisted in her billowing skirts, crushing the fine silk, but he didn’t give a damn. Slowly, his gaze never leaving hers, he drew them to her waist, petticoats, chemise, and all, and lifted them so that they lay atop his desk.
As he surveyed his handiwork, his mouth went dry. She was perfectly coiffed and demure from the waist up, her bodice in place, hair as elegant as when she’d entered the chamber. But from the waist down, she was pure, unadulterated siren. Lacy drawers hugged her hips. Narrow ankles clad in silk stockings peeped from beneath, and her heeled black leather shoes dangling over the floor somehow rendered it all incredibly erotic.
He wished he could keep her here, in this moment, forever.
Beautiful and bold and undeniably his.
“Sebastian,” she said his name quietly, and it held a wary note of protest.
“Buttercup,” he returned, his fingers finding the button on her drawers, just below the point of her corset. He slid it free of its mooring and pushed the undergarment down her legs, leaving her nude from the waist down except for her stockings, garters, and shoes.
He nearly came right then and there as he drank in the sight of her. She was so fucking beautiful it hurt to look at her. His chest physically ached. And his cock, well, Jesus, that was another matter entirely.
He sank to his knees on the soft carpet, ignoring the startled sound she made, and urged her legs apart. “Open for me, darling?”
He had seen her before, had tended to her intimately on their first night. But this was different, in the undeniable daylight of his study, in the midst of the afternoon, and he was intending to dance a different sort of attendance upon her.
She hesitated only a moment before giving in to him, sliding her legs apart so that he could see the heart of her, as pink and beautiful as her full mouth and hard little nipples. He hummed with pleasure as he ran his hands along the soft expanses of her inner thighs and lowered his head.
His tongue traced over her pearl slowly, allowing her to get accustomed to him. One swipe, then another, and another. He ran circles over her, teasing and leisurely, listening for her intakes of breath, attuned to the tilt of her hips and the rocking of her body against his mouth as he learned what pleased her.
A lilting moan tore from her, and it was his name, and he felt it all the way to his cock. He sucked then, loving her on his tongue, in his mouth, and nipped her with his teeth. She tasted musky and sweet and like the affirmation, it seemed, of life itself. He ran his tongue over her seam, finding her wet and hot, and then let his tongue find its natural place inside her. He filled her as deeply as he could, thrusting, worshipping, claiming.
She surrounded him, enveloping him, her fingers in his hair, her cunny soft and wet and so bloody sweet he never wanted to stop. With one hand, he cupped her pert derriere, angling her
against him to maximize his ability to pleasure her. His other hand splayed over her mound, his thumb finding her pearl with unerring accuracy. Again and again, he sank his tongue inside her as he worked her clitoris. Her cries of pleasure grew in crescendo, raining around him so that he was completely surrounded in nothing but Daisy. Her scent in his nostrils, her taste on his tongue, her moans in his ears, her slick flesh beneath his touch.
She was going to come. He sensed it, reveled in it as her body jerked into his with increased insistence until all at once, she was arching against him, trembling and crying out, her release liquid and sweeter than honey on his tongue. He lapped it up, his cock so hard he feared he wouldn’t even make it inside her before he lost himself.
Tearing his mouth away, he stood and in one swift motion, he pulled her from his desk and spun her around so that she faced it. He couldn’t look at her for one moment more. He’d never felt closer to another woman in his life. Had never wanted anyone the way he desired her. And yet everything was a lie. He was a lie. But as much as he couldn’t face her, he also couldn’t bear to let her go.
“Sebastian?” Her tone held a note of question.
“Hush,” he soothed into her ear before pressing kisses to her throat. He clamped his hands on the sweet curves of her waist and guided her forward, grinding his hips into hers from behind. “I’m going to make you fly again, buttercup.”
He hefted her skirts out of the way and tore open his trousers, pulling himself free of his smalls. He dipped his fingers into her silky heat and then smeared her wetness over his aching cock. One swift undulation of his hips brought him inside her.
“Oh,” Daisy said.
He kissed her ear, her throat, stilling though he was half certain stopping now would kill him. “Do you want me to continue, love?”
“Mmm,” she hummed, arching her back and bringing him even deeper inside her tight sheath. “Please.”
He didn’t need to hear it twice. Burying his face in her hair, he pounded into her. His fingers sank into her folds, finding her pearl. She met him thrust for thrust, her head back, her breath coming in pants as she cried out his name. She came before he did, tightening on his cock with so much force that he lost himself in the next instant, sliding home within her as he exploded.
There wasn’t time for him to withdraw, and in truth, he didn’t want to. He let out a hoarse cry of his own as her body milked him dry. Deep inside her, he came, filling her with his seed, sealing their fates.
She was his, and that was that.
He collapsed against her, kissing her throat, still inside her, and he had never known another experience in his life that had been as true and real. “My God, Daisy,” he rasped into her skin. “My God.”
There was nothing else he could say.
our Grace, there’s another delivery of books. Where would you prefer them to be placed?”
At the sound of Giles’ crisp, perfectly modulated voice, Daisy turned away from the wall of spines she’s been attempting to organize. His expression was placid, unflappable as always. If he thought it odd that his employer had purchased half a dozen crates of books for his new duchess, the butler didn’t show it for a moment.
“More books?” she repeated in question, though she needn’t have. The first delivery had come just after breakfast, followed by another and yet another. She should have expected that Sebastian wasn’t finished. That he executed this gift as he did all things, with a complete disregard for half measure. “You may as well send them up. What is it they say, Giles? In for a penny, in for a pound?”
But the staid butler didn’t answer. He bowed. “As Your Grace wishes.” And then he disappeared, leaving Daisy alone in a sea of books once more.
Alphabetize, or shelve the books according to subject matter? That had been the question troubling her the most until Giles’ return to the library. But given the number of deliveries they’d already received, another question was beginning to supersede. Where to put them all?
Following their conversation in his study—and the sizzling interlude that followed it, the likes of which still made her cheeks heat several days later—Sebastian had surprised her with a trip to a book shop. How marvelous it had been to be surrounded by walls of books, their heady leather and paper scent, and to know she could read any of them she liked.
“There are three crates’ worth, Your Grace,” Giles confirmed then. “I didn’t wish to presume and have them brought here immediately given the library’s current state.”
Daisy cast a wry glance about her at the butler’s apt observation. Crates littered the elegant carpet, some half-empty and others yet filled to the brim. Although the scene had the appearance of mayhem, she was methodically working her way through all the books on Sebastian’s shelves, deciding which books to keep, which to store, and which others might be donated.
“The library is yours,” Sebastian had told her at the book shop. “Remove whatever displeases you. Fill it with whatever you like.”
“It’s your library,” she had said. “I wouldn’t dream of encroaching.”
“It isn’t encroaching when you’ve been issued an invitation, buttercup.” He’d touched the tip of her nose then, and she had felt his heat even through his gloves. His expression had been serious, almost sad. “The library is filled with musty old tomes from the last three dukes, and I haven’t done much to make it my own. It is only right that you should make it yours.”
His soft words and solemn regard had made her heart pang. How was it, she’d wondered, that she could have been so wrong about him? He had seemed arrogant and aloof. On the first night they’d spoken, they’d matched wills and wits, and she’d been so certain he was an autocrat like so many of his fellow lords. Like her father. But in truth, he was multifaceted and complex, and he’d appeared in her life when she’d needed him most, setting her free.
“Your Grace,” she had protested.
A ghost of a smile had flitted over his sensual mouth then, and he’d brushed her bottom lip with his thumb. “A full ‘Your Grace.’ Where have I erred?”
She had frowned back at him, looking about to make certain they hadn’t an audience. “You are too generous.”
And he’d shaken his head slowly. “I’m selfish. Far too bloody selfish. I enjoy your happiness, Daisy. It occurs to me you’ve had far less of it than you deserve. Buy all the books you want. That’s why I’ve brought you here.”
In the face of his disconcerting kindness and the temptation of pages waiting to be turned, she gave in. She had lovingly browsed the entire shop, lingering over her choices as she narrowed her selections down to eight books. Sebastian had followed her, watching, making several recommendations. He’d urged her to purchase more but she’d refused, not wishing to overindulge in his generosity. She’d left the shop thrilled, thinking the matter settled.
Until the first delivery had arrived that morning. And the second. Then the third. Each opened crate revealed more than the last. Here was a treasure trove of literature waiting to be devoured: Shakespeare and Chaucer and Trollope and Dickens, Browning and Tennyson and Byron and Austen. History books, books in French and Latin, the two languages she’d told him she was well-versed in.
Best of all had been the single book, wrapped in fine paper and delivered by hand. She’d opened it to find an edition of Gulliver’s Travels, Sebastian’s bold scrawl on the first page.
A favorite for a favorite—
S.
If her heart had been Pegasus, it would have galloped and flown from her chest. But her heart was only mortal, formed of weak flesh, and it had pounded instead. Pounded with the knowledge that the mysterious feelings flitting through her over the last fortnight had solidified into something tangible and definable. Something quite frightening and altogether unexpected.
Love.
Daisy stared at the row of spines before her, unseeing. Over the past few hours, she’d had a great deal of time to think. Alone, in this vast chamber with nothing but a cheer
fully flickering fire in the grate and hundreds of small worlds confined in pages and words, she had realized that she loved Sebastian.
It didn’t matter that their marriage was new, that there was so much of him she had yet to discover. The heart knew what it wanted, and it stubbornly wanted the man who had listened to her, who had rescued her, who had made her feel at home for the first time in her life. It wanted a handsome duke who could make her laugh or make her melt with equal proficiency.
The door opened, and with it came three strapping footmen, bearing crates laden with more books. “Over there, if you please,” she directed, enjoying the task laid before her. It was good to finally have a sense of purpose.
A sense of belonging.
She felt it here.
Now, if only she could manage to conquer Sebastian’s heart the same way she meant to surmount his library. As she watched the footmen gingerly make their delivery, she realized she was still holding the Swift volume. She’d carried it about all morning, unable to relinquish it to the shelf.
And of all the words waiting to fall beneath her eye in the cavernous chamber, there were only five that mattered to her the most.
A favorite for a favorite.
he realization struck Sebastian, much as he suspected lightning might, on a cold, foggy March morning as he reconnoitered with Griffin for the first time since his wedding night.
Then again, it wasn’t so much a realization as it was a revelation. Or perhaps, to be more accurate, a fallacy. For it was improbable, foolhardy, and altogether wrong. He said it aloud into the mists anyway because he couldn’t contain the words in his mind any longer. Not for one moment more.
“I’m going to keep her,” he announced, aware that his awkward phrasing made it sound more as if he’d decided to keep a racehorse rather than a wife and mother to his future children.
Her Reformed Rake (Wicked Husbands Book 3) Page 17
