The Duke of Danger

by Burke, Darcy

  She brought her hands to his waistcoat and madly fumbled with the buttons to strip the garment away. He took over, dispatching it to the floor with alacrity. She whisked the cravat from his neck and tugged his shirt from his waistband. All the while, he kissed her. Short, biting sensations and long, velvety explorations.

  Then his mouth moved from hers, trailing along her jaw, employing his lips and tongue with deft precision. Down her neck, he traveled as she clasped his head, guiding him lower. She closed her eyes in ecstasy, letting her neck arc back while she lost herself in utter thrall.

  His hand came up and cupped her breast through her nightrail. Awakened from her trance, she gasped even as she thrust herself into his palm. He shoved her robe from her shoulders, letting the silk fall where it may. His lips and tongue continued their path of seductive devastation, culminating with her breast. He licked her through the fabric and took her nipple into his mouth, sucking on her hard.

  She thrust her fingers into his hair, urging him to continue his assault. She’d never wanted this so badly, had never felt such a consuming need to be touched and pleasured.

  Or touch and pleasure in return.

  She reached down his back and pulled at his shirt, tugging it up over his head. He had to break contact with her, and she whimpered when he didn’t immediately return.

  Cracking her eyes open, she saw that he’d knelt before her. Cool air hit her fevered flesh as he lifted the hem of her nightrail, exposing her calves, knees, thighs. He held it at her waist and looked at her. She watched his blond head as he leaned forward and kissed her—just above her mound—with infinite softness.

  She nearly crumpled to the floor.

  “Emmaline.”

  The sound of her name on his lips, his voice raspy and deeply sensual, only heightened her arousal.

  “Emmaline.” He looked up at her, his eyes no less tortured than when they’d started.

  Was he asking her a question? She was completely befuddled. She didn’t want him to stop. Or to talk. Or to do anything other than what he’d been doing. Unable to form coherent words, she clasped his head and tugged at his hair in silent plea.

  His gaze dropped to her sex. He stroked her thigh, his touch gentle. Almost reverent. He exhaled, his breath teasing her heated flesh. He was so close. Geoffrey had kissed her there once, but only once and very briefly. She’d sensed there was far more to be discovered. She’d never thought to unravel those mysteries, but now…

  “Touch me,” she whispered, though her voice sounded loud to her ears. “Please.”

  His hand moved between her legs, and the contact was still maddeningly light. She wanted more. She wanted what he’d been giving her. She wanted to be consumed.

  His fingertips grazed her folds, sparking a craving she couldn’t control. She dropped to her knees, facing him. She clasped his head, cradling his face. “Why are you hesitating?”

  He looked into her eyes. “I don’t… Are you certain this is what you want? If you change the rules, I don’t think I can go back to the way things were.”

  Meaning, if they did this now, they couldn’t pretend it was a fake marriage. At least not in the physical sense.

  But he’d made a valid point. Why sentence them both to a lifetime of celibacy if they could share this? And yet she couldn’t give him more than that. “I can’t make you any promises,” she said. “I want you. Of that I am certain. Please don’t ask anything else of me.”

  He stared at her, and something in his eyes changed. Gone was the edge of despair, completely replaced with seductive heat. He pushed her back while guiding her legs out so that she lay back on the floor.

  He never broke eye contact as he came over her, lowering his head to kiss her hard and fast, his tongue sweeping against hers and his teeth pulling on her bottom lip as he withdrew. He moved his hands to the top of her nightrail. “Forgive me.” He tore the fabric straight down the front of the garment, splitting it in two from neck to hem.

  “I’ll buy you a hundred more.” His mouth descended to her breast and feasted on her aching flesh. She arched up, casting her head back and closing her eyes, giving herself over to mad sensation.

  His hand encircled her other breast, squeezing, then finding her nipple. Alternating soft rubs with harsh tugs, he ignited a fever inside her. This was what she wanted. It wasn’t soft or gentle. It was intense and fierce and deeply, deeply affecting.

  She ran her hands over his back, relishing the hard planes of his muscles. He was bigger than Geoffrey and unbearably masculine. And that made her feel absurdly feminine.

  His mouth moved lower, licking along her abdomen, while his hand massaged her thigh. He lifted her leg and pushed it out, opening her as she felt him settle between her knees. He guided her leg onto his shoulder, and then his fingers were on her sex.

  Where he’d been tentative before, now he was swift and sure with his touch, stroking her and finding that sweet spot that made lights dance behind her eyelids.

  He pushed her other leg wide, opening her farther before his finger swept inside her. She cried out as she clutched at his head and shoulders. He slid his finger into her repeatedly, picking up speed. Then his mouth was on her, and every inhibition she possessed fell away.

  He held her leg, his fingers digging into the flesh of her thigh as her muscles clenched around him. Ecstasy pulsed in her core as sensation overwhelmed her. She gasped for breath, her fingers clutching at him while his lips and tongue devoured her flesh.

  This wasn’t a kiss but a possession. He laid claim to her body, and she surrendered willingly. He lifted his head slightly, just long enough to slide his fingers into her once more. He thumbed that sweetest spot, and she splintered in two. But he wasn’t finished with her. His mouth covered her once more, driving her over the edge of sanity and reason into a blissful darkness that threatened to swallow her whole.

  And she didn’t care.

  On and on he continued until she was a limp, spent mess. When she opened her eyes at last, he was just withdrawing. He came up on his knees and looked down at her, his eyes dark and enigmatic.

  Then he looked away, and she had the sense he was going to leave her.

  The hell he is.

  “Well, that was a nice start.” She sat up, her nightrail hanging ruined from her shoulders. She shrugged it from her arms and reached for his waistband. “Time to finish.”

  Chapter 9

  The satiny feel of her thigh would be forever imprinted on his hand. It had taken an unprecedented force of will for him to remove it and back away from her. But now she was sitting up and practically glaring at him, her eyes blazing, her body magnificently nude—so fair and lustrous in the candlelight.

  She was the personification of the tumult inside him. Part beauty, part furor, and wholly captivating. He couldn’t leave her now.

  He held himself still as she flicked open the buttons of his fall. The fabric fell open, and because he wasn’t wearing smallclothes, he was completely exposed. She wrapped her fingers around his cock. He closed his eyes and savored her touch. She moved slowly but firmly, her hand gliding over him from base to tip.

  She began to move faster, and blood pulsed to his cock. He thrust into her hand, his hips moving of their own volition.

  “Emmaline, if you want to finish…”

  Her hand paused, and he opened his eyes. Her gaze was slitted with desire, and his body raged anew with need.

  He swept her into his arms and stood, then carried her to the settee, where he laid her atop the cushions. She was so beautiful, from her dainty toes to her shapely thighs to the sweet curve of her breasts to the gilded blonde of her hair. But he longed to see it loose, and it was captured in a plait.

  He knelt next to the settee and tugged at her hair. She lifted her hand and loosened the plait. He pulled the strands free, running his fingers through the silken locks. When it hung just past her breasts, he looked his fill. Then he brushed it back from her face and kissed her, driving his tongue deep i
nto her mouth.

  She opened for him, her arms coming around his neck as she kissed him back with a ferocity that curled his toes and flushed his skin. She met him stroke for stroke, and he practically shook from the wonder of it.

  After a long minute of sparring with her, he left her mouth and found her breasts once more. They filled his hand, and she was so wonderfully responsive when he lavished attention there. He tweaked one nipple between his fingertips as he suckled the other. She groaned, and he couldn’t wait to feel the moisture that had certainly flooded her core.

  Skimming his hand down across the smooth plane of her stomach, he found the thatch of curls that guarded the sweetest perfection he’d ever tasted. He touched her, and yes, she was wet. She moaned as he stroked her flesh, and dug her fingers into his back.

  “Please.” She pulled at him.

  He moved onto the settee between her legs, but was content—for now—to continue his ministrations. His cock throbbed with need, and soon he would sink into her. But a voice in his head was still surprised at this turn of events. She clearly wanted him, but would she regret it?

  “Emmaline.”

  She opened her eyes and looked up at him. Her expression was glazed for a moment until she blinked.

  “I know you want this now, but will you have regret tomorrow?”

  She didn’t immediately respond. He watched as a dozen emotions—indefinable—flashed in her eyes. “I will not. Please… I need this.” She squirmed beneath him, her hips moving against his hand, which he’d stilled between her thighs.

  This. Not him, but this. But no, she’d said before that she wanted him. He needed to be sure.

  “Say my name.”

  Her tongue swept across her bottom lip, provoking his cock to twitch. “Axbridge.”

  “No, my name. My given name. Say it.”

  She stared up at him, her gaze dark with desire. “Lionel.”

  “Tell me you want me.”

  “I want you. Lionel.” She reached for his cock once more, her hand closing around him with delicious softness and heat. “Lionel.”

  He pushed forward, wrapping his hand over hers as he guided himself to her wet sheath. She pulled him to her, and he slid inside, closing his eyes as a pleasure almost bordering pain sliced through him.

  Her hand fell away, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, drawing him more deeply inside her. He paused like that for the barest moment, savoring the feel of her tight heat encasing him. Then her heels dug into his backside, and he gave in to primal instinct.

  He drove into her, nearly mindless with need. Her gasps and cries filled his senses along with her scent and the tantalizing feel of her body entwined with his.

  She pulled his head down, taking his mouth and adding taste to his sensual feast. The kiss was wild and hot, but quick as they both fought for air. He moved faster, snapping his hips into hers. He looked down at her body as she rose to meet his thrusts. He leaned forward and took her nipple into his mouth, insatiably hungry for every part of her.

  She sucked in a sharp breath in response, her hands burrowing into his hair, holding him to her breast. Her muscles tightened around his cock, signaling her orgasm. She cried out, gripping him tightly, and he was undone.

  He came in a rush of blinding pleasure, his body stiffening momentarily as his release spilled forth. He cast his head back and let out a guttural groan, unable to contain the rapture commanding his body. Then he continued to move, pumping himself into her and glorying in her response.

  Gradually, they slowed, the sounds of their breathing filling the chamber. He didn’t want to crush her with his weight, so he withdrew and stood up from the settee.

  He went to fetch his cravat, and when he came back, she was sitting up. He handed her the garment. “Not the best tool, but I thought you might want to clean up.”

  “Thank you.”

  He turned his back to her to offer a modicum of privacy and rebuttoned his fall before turning around.

  She’d risen from the settee and strode forward, her nude body beyond beautiful. He bent to grab her robe, then handed it to her. “My apologies about your night rail.”

  She arched a brow at him. “You said you’d buy me a hundred more.” Her lips curved into a half smile, and he realized she was having fun.

  Fun?

  Could things really be different between them?

  She took the garment and pulled it around herself, shielding herself from him. Disappointment pierced him like an arrow to the gut.

  Her gaze drifted to his left shoulder. She stepped closer and reached out, her fingers skimming over his flesh. “What’s this?”

  Hell and the devil. He glanced down at where she touched him, but of course already knew what she was referencing.

  “It’s a scar.”

  Her mouth twisted, and she flashed him a look of frustration. “I can see that. What is it from? It looks like you were shot.”

  He moved away from her in search of his shirt. “Yes.”

  “When?” She followed him. “It also looks relatively new.”

  He bent to pick up his shirt and pulled it over his head, his back to her.

  When he didn’t answer, she grabbed his bicep and pulled him around to face her. “Did Geoffrey do that?”

  He kept his expression impassive. “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He looked away from the insistence in her eyes. “I saw no reason to.”

  She stepped toward him and tugged the opening of his shirt to the side so she could see the scar once more. “This matters. He shot you. I would have liked to have known.”

  “Why? Would it change anything? I still killed him.”

  She flinched, dropping her hand. But she didn’t move away.

  He did it for her, stepping to the side. “He shot me, I shot him. He died. I didn’t.” He prayed she wouldn’t ask for more. He didn’t want to tell her the truth of things, that her beloved Geoffrey had fired early. He wouldn’t ruin her memory of him. Nor would he attempt to improve his own lot by telling her. He couldn’t think of anything more despicable, especially when it wouldn’t matter. So Townsend had shot first? That didn’t forgive the fact that Lionel had killed him.

  She turned from him and picked up her ruined night rail. “I’ll order more tomorrow—but not a hundred.”

  “Emmaline.”

  She pivoted but didn’t meet his gaze. The fiery woman who’d demanded his attention had gone.

  “What else will happen tomorrow?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure.” She lifted her eyes to his. “But it won’t involve regret.”

  She left the room, closing the door behind her.

  He picked up the whiskey glass that she’d set on the desk and downed the contents. His body was still warm from their exertions, still thrumming from pleasure. He could scarcely believe what had just happened, and to hear her say she wouldn’t regret it… Hope filled his chest but was quickly replaced by a shaft of ice.

  There was still so much between them. Enjoying physical pleasure was only a part of a real marriage. He’d seen one firsthand, felt the love and admiration that had flowed freely and unabashedly between his parents.

  Did he want that? Of course he did.

  Did he want that with Emmaline?

  She was his wife. If he didn’t find it with her, he never would. For he’d pledged himself to her forever.

  She was his only chance for the life he wanted, even though he might not deserve it.

  * * *

  Lark finished pinning Emmaline’s hair and stepped back. “All ready, then.”

  Emmaline surveyed herself in the glass. For the first time in months, she actually looked well rested. In fact, she maybe even looked…happy? Satisfied at least. Yes, definitely satisfied.

  Last night’s events in Lionel’s office had been thoroughly unplanned and yet precisely what she needed. The question was whether they would do it again.

  Lark fetched a pair o
f gloves and handed them to Emmaline. Her gaze was hesitant but inquisitive.

  “Is there something you want to ask me?” Emmaline asked.

  “I found your night rail this morning.”

  Emmaline worked to keep the heat from her face. She’d brought it upstairs with her and tossed it on a chair prior to collapsing in bed exhausted. “Oh. I’m going to order a few new ones.”

  Lark’s mouth curved into a small smile. “Dare I hope the circumstances of your marriage have changed?”

  “Hope? I didn’t realize you had an opinion one way or the other.” Lark had been supportive of Emmaline—after the initial surprise of learning that she was to marry the man who’d killed Geoffrey. She understood why Emmaline had wanted a marriage of convenience instead of a forced union with Sir Duncan.

  “I haven’t spent time with his lordship, of course, but everything I’ve heard of him recommends his character,” Lark said. “His staff is quite devoted to him.”

  Yes, Emmaline had noticed that also. “I suppose things have…progressed,” she said. “But we are a long way from happily married.” She wasn’t sure that was even a possibility.

  “This will please the staff, particularly Mrs. Wells. She’s been growing more distressed by the day that you and his lordship don’t even dine together.”

  Emmaline drew on her gloves. “I hope they aren’t gossiping about us overmuch.”

  Lark picked up Emmaline’s bonnet and set it on her head. “I wouldn’t call it gossip. They truly care for his lordship—and you—and only wish to see you happy.” She tied the ribbons beneath Emmaline’s chin.

  “Mrs. Wells is eager for children.” And it was now possible she would have them. Emmaline hadn’t considered that last night. She hadn’t considered much of anything beyond how wonderful he’d made her feel and how marvelous it had been to just let go.

  “Yes.” Lark finished with the bonnet and stepped back. “Are you?”

  No, she was still trying to become accustomed to what had happened last night. Things had changed. She just wasn’t sure how much. If there was a child… Well, she wanted children, so there were certainly worse things that could happen. She also knew he wanted children. He’d asked about them when she’d proposed their arrangement. He’d probably be delighted.