The Duke of Danger

by Burke, Darcy

  Not trusting himself, he sat opposite her. The coach rumbled forward, then stopped. They were in a queue, and it would take a few minutes at least before they were on their way. He wanted to weep in frustration.

  He looked over at Emmaline. She was removing her gloves. After dropping them on the seat beside her, she pulled the curtains closed on the windows. What was she doing?

  She came off the seat, and his heart began to pound. She knelt on the floor of the coach in front of him and pushed his legs apart. His breathing picked up, his chest rising and falling with increasing speed. Moving forward, she looked up at him as her fingers unbuttoned his fall.

  “Emmaline.” Her name escaped his mouth in a growl.

  She arched a brow at him but said nothing. Cool air streamed over his cock, but it didn’t lower his temperature in the slightest. He burned for her.

  Keeping her gaze locked with his, she cradled his flesh, her hand wrapping around the base and then slowly, gently, maddeningly stroked along his length. Blood rushed through him as desire pooled in his gut. He half closed his eyes, still watching her, but reveling in her touch.

  Her hand picked up a bit of speed. His body tensed, and he sucked in a breath. He curled his hands around the edge of the cushion on the seat.

  Her thumb swirled around the tip, spreading the moisture she found there and using it as she worked his shaft. Suddenly her other hand cupped his balls, massaging them. He groaned, closing his eyes as he cast his head back against the squab.

  Then he felt her mouth close around him. Sweet, hot, and deliciously wet, she sucked him briefly before using her lips and tongue to take him deep into her.

  He tipped his head forward and opened his eyes the barest amount so he could watch her. All he could see was her blonde head moving over him.

  Surrendering, he fell back once more and welcomed the darkness. All that mattered was her—her hands, her mouth, her tongue, her incredible passion.

  He began to move his hips, coming up off the seat. He couldn’t help it. He wanted to drive into her and lose himself completely.

  Letting go of the cushion, he palmed the back of her head. She went faster, deeper, pushing him to an impossible height of rapture. He was going to explode.

  He pulled at her hair. “Emmaline.” She sucked him hard. “Please. Stop.”

  She wrapped one hand around his thigh, her fingers digging into him. “Why?” she rasped.

  He opened his eyes and reached for her. “Because I need to put myself inside you.”

  She arched her brow and gave him a saucy smile. “But you are.”

  How he adored his woman. “Lift your skirts and ride me.”

  She found the hem and tugged it up, baring her delicious thighs. He helped her get to her feet, but she had to bend because of the height of the coach. He cupped the back of her neck and kissed her, his tongue thrusting deep into her mouth and sweeping along her velvety softness. He didn’t remember the last time he’d been so incredibly aroused, so desperately in need of another person.

  He felt her knees against his thighs as she straddled him. Her skirts were full and awkward, and he worked to push them out of the way with his other hand. He stroked her bare thigh as she positioned herself over him.

  She clutched at his shoulders while he found her sex. She was so hot and so wet; he slid his finger into her with ease. Her gasp filled his mouth.

  With a twitch of her hips, she sought more. And he gave it to her. He clasped his cock and guided it to her opening. Sensing him, she came down, enveloping his length in her sweet channel.

  She pulled her mouth from his and took a deep breath. He withdrew his hand from beneath her skirts and used both hands to clutch her waist.

  His mouth free, he kissed her neck, employing his lips and tongue to tease her flesh. He traveled lower until the edge of her bodice prevented him from going farther.

  She did exactly as he’d asked, riding him with increasing speed. Already close to the edge from her prior attentions, he was nearly ready to spill himself completely. He didn’t want to leave her behind.

  Digging his fingers into her hips, he held her hard and fast as he lifted his hips and drove into her. She cried out as he filled her. Again and again, he thrust and withdrew, their bodies working together to find release. He was so close…

  He burrowed his hand beneath her skirts once more and found her clitoris, thumbing her until her muscles tightened almost unbearably around him. He couldn’t hold back another moment. His orgasm burst over him, drawing a near shout from his throat.

  She continued to move over him as she came. Her cries filled the coach until he kissed her again, taking her ecstasy into himself so they could share it as one.

  As the world righted itself, Lionel became aware of their surroundings once more. He reached over and flicked the edge of the curtain aside so he could gauge their location. “We’re nearly home.”

  She eased away from him, half falling back onto her seat.

  He lurched forward to help her, his hands clasping her thighs. “Are you all right?”

  Her answering smile was soft and thoroughly satisfied. “Excellent, thank you.”

  Male pride swelled in his chest. “Good.”

  He settled back against the squab and fastened his buttons. He was a bit of a mess, but he didn’t care. He’d never experienced such an erotic, fulfilling encounter. And she was his bloody wife.

  He’d never felt luckier.

  With that sensation came a thread of unease. He didn’t deserve such riches. Or didn’t he remember? Had he already forgotten the crimes he’d committed?

  The coach came to a stop, and he forced his mind away from such darkness. Maybe he’d paid enough for his crimes. If Emmaline wanted to have a real marriage, why hold himself back? If she didn’t want to punish him, why should he punish himself?

  She wants to shag you. That doesn’t mean she’ll ever love you.

  The door opened, and Lionel jumped out. He turned and helped her, offering his hand. She took it and climbed down, her mouth still curved in that deliriously wonderful smile.

  God, he could feast on that for a lifetime.

  They walked into the house together, where Tulk greeted them.

  She withdrew her arm and looked up at Lionel. “I’m going to bed.”

  “I’ll walk you up,” he said, hoping that they might share a bed even while that agonizing voice in his head told him that was never going to happen.

  “That isn’t necessary.” She smiled again, and damn, he could grow used to that. “I’m meeting Ivy at the orphanage tomorrow to see how we can best apply the funds she raised tonight. I’ll be gone most of the day, I think.”

  Disappointment curled through him. “I have appointments as well, and business in the House of Lords that could take us into the night.” The disappointment became frustration.

  She nodded. “Thank you for telling me. Good night.” Her gaze dipped over him, making his body thrum once more, then she turned and ascended the stairs.

  “You had a good evening, my lord?” Tulk asked, sounding a bit smug.

  “Yes. And now I’m going to bed too.” Before his butler could ask him any annoying questions.

  “Sleep well, but I suspect that won’t be a problem.”

  Lionel ignored the smirk in Tulk’s tone even as he felt pleasure in knowing Tulk was right. He climbed the stairs and categorized the evening as a total success. Theirs might not be a love match, but if they could enjoy each other’s company and share their life, he would consider himself beyond fortunate.

  And damn the voices in his head.

  * * *

  Yesterday at the orphanage had passed in a blur as Emmaline and Ivy had made plans with the headmistress for how to spend the funds. In the long term, they would build a new orphanage, but for now, they needed to complete several repairs.

  Exhausted, Emmaline had fallen asleep listening for Lionel’s arrival. But it had never come. Instead, she’d had to settle for dr
eams of him instead. While exciting, they were nothing compared to her husband in the flesh.

  She finished fastening her morning gown and looked at herself in the glass. What was she doing? She’d become an utter wanton. What other reason could there be for surrendering herself completely to Lionel?

  And so what? There was nothing wrong with enjoying the marital bed. Her friends had encouraged her to do so, and after everything she’d endured with Geoffrey, she couldn’t bring herself to stop.

  “Lark, I’m going to take my breakfast in the sitting room.”

  Her maid, who was tending to Emmaline’s night clothes, looked up. “I’ll bring your tray there in a few minutes.”

  “Thank you.” Emmaline went into the sitting room, her nerves suddenly spiking into awareness. Would Lionel be there, or had he already gone for his ride this morning? She knew he rose fairly early, but she was up early today too.

  Disappointment cast its shadow as she realized the room was empty. With a sigh, she went to the window, curious to see if he was leaving the house.

  The sound of a door drew her to turn. Lionel stepped into the sitting room, and her body vaulted into total awareness. Dressed in riding clothes, he came toward her, his gaze registering a mixture of surprise and appreciation.

  “Good morning.” His deep baritone danced across her flesh. “This is a delightful stroke of luck.”

  “I thought I would take breakfast here since I didn’t see you yesterday.”

  The door from the corridor opened, and Lionel’s valet entered bearing a tray. His gaze flickered with a bit of surprise as well, but he quickly concealed it with a nod. “Good morning, my lady. Shall I fetch a tray for you?”

  “My maid is doing so, thank you.”

  The valet set the tray on a round table with two chairs and arranged the dishes for Lionel. He also set a stack of newspapers on the table before departing.

  “Please, let’s sit,” Emmaline said. “Don’t wait to eat until mine arrives.”

  He looked uncertain but held her chair for her while she sat down. “If you insist.”

  “I do.” She picked up one of the papers, the Post, to scan it while she waited for Lark to arrive with her chocolate and toast. The smell of his kippers and eggs made her hungry.

  “What do you have planned for today?” he asked.

  “I plan to ride this afternoon,” she said, her gaze halting as she saw the word marquess in the newsprint. She read the short entry:

  Perhaps a certain marquess and his new wife may be a love match after all. It seems unlikely they would fall in love since he murdered her previous husband. However, rumor has it they’ve been in love for some time and plotted her husband’s death. A revelation to be sure, but well played by the marquess under the guise of honor…

  “What is it?” Lionel’s sharp question prompted her to raise her head.

  He stared at her in stark concern, and she realized she’d let out a gasp.

  “This—” She fought to find the words and couldn’t, so she handed him the paper.

  His gaze moved over the print. She watched as his mouth tightened, and the color leached from his face.

  Lark arrived at that moment, and they were silent while she delivered Emmaline’s breakfast, then took her leave.

  “Who would write such a thing?” Emmaline whispered.

  He tossed the paper onto the table in disgust. “Some gossip-mongering, vulgar, utterly offensive busybody. And I’ll have their head.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He stared at her, then jolted, shifting in his chair. “I meant ensuring this person isn’t given a voice in that newspaper again.” He looked down at his plate and picked up his fork, his motions slow and measured.

  He seemed distraught, and her mind worked, thinking of what he said and her response—and his reaction. “Did you think…” She took a breath. “I didn’t think you meant anything threatening. I didn’t think you would call them out. You’re done dueling.”

  He took a bite of kippers, then sipped his coffee. When he lifted his gaze to hers once more, there was a distance in the depths of his eyes. “I am. This gossip is distressing, but it is just gossip.”

  “Does that mean you aren’t going to go to the newspaper?”

  “No, I will.” His eyes regained a bit of their heat. “I just don’t want you to be affected.”

  It was hard not to be. To think people would believe such a horrid thing of her—and of him. And yet, with his reputation, should she be surprised? Yes, it was nasty gossip, but far worse for him. People already thought badly of him, as Lady Dunn had indicated the other night.

  She folded her hands in her lap. “Perhaps we should share what really happened, that I asked you to marry me to save me from a marriage I didn’t want.”

  He let out a dark laugh. “And you think that will recommend you?”

  “It would certainly be better for your reputation,” she said. “I know that matters to you.”

  “Not as much as yours does.” He sat back in his chair. “I appreciate your concern. I won’t allow Townsend’s memory or your marriage to him be disparaged. I know you loved him.”

  Yes, she had. Or thought she had. She really didn’t know anymore. She’d begun to question her choices, her feelings, everything to do with Geoffrey. The pressure from her parents to marry had been so great, especially after an engagement to Sutton never came to fruition. When she’d met Geoffrey, he was charming and handsome, and he made her feel like she was the most important person in the world. He paid her every attention, told her she was beautiful and intelligent, and that whoever was lucky enough to marry her would be the richest man in the world.

  It had been quite enough to make her fall heedlessly in love with him and then elope after her father denied his suit. In hindsight, it had been a terribly impulsive decision, much like asking Lionel to marry her.

  Not that this marriage felt like a mistake. Well, it had at first, but with each day, she began to see the differences between him and Geoffrey. When their elopement had graced the scandal pages for a while, he’d laughed and enjoyed the notoriety, while she’d buried her embarrassment.

  Meanwhile, Lionel would do what he could to ensure no one denigrated her marriage to Geoffrey. She could attribute it to his guilt, which she’d caught sight of from time to time, but could it be more than that?

  She looked over at him. He’d gone back to eating while she’d indulged in her reverie. “You are very kind.”

  He’d picked up his coffee cup but paused before taking a drink. “I owe you a great deal.” He sipped the coffee, then set it back on the table.

  Maybe it was just his guilt, then. She longed to know the reason behind the duel. What had Geoffrey done that was so terrible to provoke this incredibly honorable man?

  She folded her hands in her lap. “When Geoffrey arrived back home after the duel, he was quite pallid. He told me you were a vile criminal, a murderer since you’d already killed another man. I told him he wasn’t going to die, that the physician would take good care of him. The physician stitched the wound, told me Geoffrey would sleep for some time, and that he—the physician—would return that evening.” The memory poured out of her. She’d never shared it with anyone. “I checked on Geoffrey while he slept. He was still pale, but I retreated to the drawing room. A few people stopped in to visit, and when the physician arrived again, he came to tell me that Geoffrey had died.” She focused on Lionel’s ashen face. “While I sat in another room, Geoffrey simply passed from this world. Maybe if I’d stayed with him… But I was so angry with him for what he’d done.”

  Lionel came around the table so quickly, she didn’t even see him move. He knelt beside her chair and took her hands in his. She turned, facing him as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “You are not to blame. I am. I took his life.”

  “Why? What did he do?” Emotion nearly closed her throat, and the words came out strangled and tight.

  Were those tears starting in
Lionel’s eyes? He blinked, and she couldn’t know for sure. “He threatened to expose a friend of mine. I couldn’t allow him to do that. I meant to convince him to simply apologize and stop, but he refused.” He quickly stood and backed away from her. “I’m so sorry.”

  Then he was gone.

  A tear tracked down her cheek, and she did nothing to check the flow.

  Chapter 13

  It seemed there was plenty of guilt to go around. Lionel handed his horse off to the groom and strode to the house. His ride had helped banish some of the darkness his conversation with Emmaline had wrought. But not all of it.

  Then again, it seemed the darkness—the regret, the guilt, the despair—would always be with him. He just needed to find a way to live with it. He’d done it before, after the last duel with Addison, but this time was so very different.

  This time, he had a constant reminder, in the form of his wife, of the wrong he’d done. How did you learn to live with that?

  Entering the house, he went upstairs to change, intent on paying a call on the editor of the Post. Hennings was waiting for him with his clothing already laid out. “Did you have a good ride, my lord?”

  Lionel stripped his coat away and handed it to the valet. “Yes.” He unbuttoned his waistcoat.

  “May I saw how delighted I was to see you dining with Lady Axbridge this morning?”

  Handing Hennings the waistcoat, Lionel grunted. “It didn’t end particularly well.” He unknotted his cravat and tugged it free, then sat down in a chair so Hennings could remove his boots.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Would you care to discuss it?”

  Hennings was always eager to provide his ear and offer advice if it was warranted—whether Lionel wanted it or not. If he agreed to share information, he also agreed to listen to Hennings’s opinion. So far it had served him well, even if the man was occasionally frustrating. But then he supposed the best parents—or their surrogates—were.

  “She told me about Townsend’s death. The doctor stitched his wound, then left him to sleep. She didn’t sit with him, and when the doctor returned, he found that Townsend had died.”