by Darcy Burke
Yes. She was average and in every way unremarkable except for the sheer determination and unmistakable intelligence glowing in her stormy eyes. A smile, a rarity for him, pulled at his lips. He had no doubt that those plain blue-grey eyes could riot into a tempest that would ignite the coldest of blood.
And she had come to him, the coldest of them all.
“So, my dear, you’ve come to the Duke of Debauchery, have you?” he drawled, giving her a mock bow, the smoke from his cigar swirling about his hand.
She frowned, a spark lighting her eyes. “When you put it like that, it certainly sounds...”
Lifting the cigar to his lips he drew in another long draw of the heady smoke, then tilted his head to the side, curious to see if she would prove to be just like the rest of the silly women who came to him. “Dramatic?” he asked, smoke whispering from his lips.
“Boring, actually.” She shifted on her slippered feet and smiled ruefully. “I must confess I expected a more enticing introduction.”
Ryder stared at her for a moment then laughed. The deep wave of sound started in his stomach and poured from his lips. “Well, good. At least you’re not a soft bit of lace.”
She smiled, even though her brows drew together in confusion. “That I am not.”
“No sherry for you then?” He crossed to the gold and black sideboard table standing near the fire.
“Brandy.”
Ryder glanced back over his shoulder. She smiled at him. He nodded. “Certainly.”
The woman was clearly unlike any of the others who had come to him. Of that, he was now most certain. She had no guile or artifice, and he had the terrible feeling that if he asked her a question she would give him an honest, unguarded answer. This didn’t bode well for the evening. For the whole truth and honesty game was not for him. He much preferred the veil of lies that men and women wove to keep each other at a distance.
He grasped the cool decanter and poured the amber liquid into two crystal snifters. If she’d been one of the other wool-headed young women or bored wives, he would have sat and ordered her to come to him. She certainly didn’t meet his usual requirements, not having any of the self-obsession he usually preferred in the women he allowed into his bed. Self-obsessed women he found, never became obsessed. Thus, he could boot them out the door with a bauble and a smile.
But there was something raw and innocent about her that had more fire than the most practiced of women. He lowered his gaze to her left hand. No ring. Nor did there appear to be a line about the finger which might indicate its temporary removal for a romp in his bed.
She was of an age to be married at least a few years over and yet, she was not. Was she a virgin? As he lifted his gaze back to her face, he realized it didn’t matter. Whatever her experiences, though few he was certain, she was unguarded and unaccustomed to the ways of an affair.
Oddly, instead of observing him observing her, she was glancing about, taking in the room, her hands clasped calmly before her as if she hadn’t stepped into one of the most notorious houses in London. As if she hadn’t heard the earlier sounds of his fury or noticed all the books and vases strewn across the floor.
Ryder ground his teeth together as he avoided looking at her simple dress and plainly styled hair. She was so unlike the powdered and belaced tarts who came for a tumble. This one, whether she knew it or not, needed more than a tumble to awaken her body. She needed the one thing he never gave—a meeting of the minds.
Slipping his cigar between his lips, Ryder looked down at the two glasses and for a moment considered tossing the contents and sending her off. But tonight the darkness was pressing on him with renewed vigor, and for the first time in a long time he actually allowed himself to consider indulging in a bit of company to ease the pain.
Ryder cradled the snifters of brandy as he slowly approached her.
The young woman’s eyes widened and her gaze traced over his face and then over his black clad shoulders, muscled from hours of boxing drills and fencing rounds. He smiled at her blatant but genuine innocence. He couldn’t help it. His damn lips had curved of their own volition. He extended the snifter. She yanked her gaze from his chest, down to the brandy.
He waited for her fingers to stretch out.
It was the softest touch. Her gloves, plain cotton, brushed his skin. He allowed the moment to linger. The roughness of his hands brushed against the delicacy of hers. Her breasts lifted in a sharp breath, and that single movement sent the blood in his body shooting straight to his groin. He was used to it. Desire was part of his strange and empty existence. But when he met her eyes, his chest tightened with a sensation he hadn’t felt in far too many years.
Ryder fought the sudden urge to jerk back. Not in fear, but because her eyes were full of invitation. Invitation to know her utterly. Completely. To his shock, he heard a part of himself he’d been certain was dead and gone, whisper for him to not only take it. To seize it.
Chapter Two
Well, this was definitely intriguing.
Kate took the snifter and tossed the contents back in one swift move. Despite her determination, the fact that she was going to have sex with this lion of a man was suddenly a very compelling and mutually alarming realization. She stuck out her hand, the empty glass thrust towards him. “Another.”
His black brows lifted, and his sensual lips twitched with amusement. “Whatever the lady requires.”
Drawing in a steadying breath, Kate stared at his broad shoulders as he returned to the decanter. Goodness, he was something! The Duke of Darkwell, indeed. He certainly suited the name. From the black silk shirt that hugged his broad and muscular chest and shoulders to the black breeches and boots that encased his strapping legs, he was the picture of a dark knight. Even his hair was pitch black, and it brushed past his shoulders, feathering lightly about his forehead.
In fact, there was only one little bit of color to his dark wardrobe. A simple cream ribbon was tied around his wrist, bared by his slightly rolled, full sleeves. It was such an odd touch to him she was tempted to ask about it. But she was not here to inquire after his wardrobe.
So instead, Kate savored the scent of his cigar spicing the room. She drew in the sensuous aroma, wondering if his tongue would taste the way the cigar smelt. As if he knew what she was thinking about, he dashed it out in a porcelain dish and eyed her. Quickly, he tossed the contents of his own glass, perhaps not wanting the lady to feel alone in her hasty consumption of her beverage.
He took both glasses in one hand as he turned to her. “You’re new to London.”
A blush warmed her cheeks at his quick assumption. “Is it so obvious?”
He hesitated for a moment, and his dark eyes lingered on her face then trailed to her plain grey gown. “Yes.”
Shifting uncomfortably, Kate resisted the urge to smooth down her unfashionable skirts. Percy, bastard that he was, had spent thousands of pounds of her money on his own frippery. Clothes that had assisted him in the seduction of countless women. And he’d insisted, no demanded, she dress as befitting a wealthy country wife. Her gowns had been atrociously expensive, yet surprisingly meant to deter the interest of other men. Percy had almost dressed her as if she was his doll.
Since his death, it had been an act of defiance to dress plainly. But perhaps her cousin Imogen had been right. It had been a mistake to come to him so attired. Maybe he didn’t find her attractive in her simple clothes. And perhaps, such clothes weren’t fitting for the games she now intended to play.
It was amusing really. For she could buy and sell every single shop on Bond Street, even after her husband had done all in his power to spend her money. “That will change.”
“Will it?” he asked so softly, it sounded like regret deepened his voice.
Certain she was mistaken, she took a step forward, her slippered toes brushing the rich carpet. “I haven’t come to London to sit idly.”
“I see.” His knowing eyes caught hers, and heat spiked down her spine.
“Just one moment.” He paused by the table covered with liquor and pulled back his black sleeve, exposing a slender, ivory ribbon tied about his wrist more fully. Ever so gently, he tugged at the knot. The slip of fabric slid free, and he reverently laid it onto the silver tray housing the decanters.
Again, she was tempted to ask what it was, but as his strong fingers lingered over the thin strip of fabric, she felt as if she’d be invading something sacred.
Wordlessly, he turned and crossed to her. The air warmed, and Kate’s breath came a little faster. Her plan was mad really, and his role in it the maddest part. But she desperately needed madness in her oh so practical life. Just once. Or if she were lucky, twice.
Kate licked her lips. “I’m rather eager to grow accustomed to London’s ways.”
He offered her the full glass, his broad shoulders blocking her view of the opulent room. “And you’ve come to me to help you . . .grow accustomed?”
She smiled tentatively. It was as if he had read her thoughts. He was the first true step in her quest. “Yes.”
Staring down at her, his dark eyes glittered with intent and a spark of something hotter. “Why?”
The simplicity of his question was intimidating and fascinating. If he were frank, she would speak so in return. Still, the words lingered in her throat, and she had to take a quick sip of brandy before confessing. “I wish to finally know pleasure.” Lord alone knew Percy Caldwell had given her only enough intimacy to be declared her husband.
A soft laugh rumbled from the duke’s lips.
She frowned. “You think I jest?”
The Duke of Darkwell brushed her hand aside then lifted his own strong one to slide a curl back from her forehead. His fingers lingered at her temple and wound into the curls just behind her ear. “I believe you to be quite serious. Your being here, alone, in my room, makes me quite aware how you wish me to—how did you put it?” He gazed down at her through half closed eyes, “Pleasure you.”
Kate couldn’t stop herself from smiling, even as heat raced straight between her thighs.
“The real question is exactly how did you wish me to please you?”
She stilled under his touch. Was there more than one way? The possibility was thrilling. “Tell me my choices and I’ll tell you how I wish it.”
The duke’s dark brows drew together, and his eyes glowed with fascination. “You realize a husband could satisfy you without the ruination, darling?”
She was not about to explain and let talk of Percy destroy her perfect night. Once, she’d been foolish enough to believe a man could love her. She’d never make that mistake again. And she certainly would never give herself into another man’s control. She’d rather be dragged through London’s streets as a proclaimed harlot before becoming a man’s possession. All she sought now was to know pleasure.
She tilted her head into the cup of his hand and looked down at the amber liquid glowing like gold in her glass. “I wish to be free, something a wife could never truly be.”
“Ah. I see.” Though there was understanding in his voice, there was a slight sadness to it as well. “A woman of intelligence.”
Her gaze snapped up to his. Was he mocking her? But when her eyes met his, she saw utter candor. “You understand.”
“I understand the need to be your own person. And far be it for me to criticize your pursuit of sin. According to the scandal sheets, it is my primary reason for existence.”
The hint of bitterness was unmistakable in his dark eyes, and for some inexplicable reason, Kate felt the sudden urge to take this big man in her arms and comfort him as she had never been comforted. “It is not?” she asked gently.
Silence stretched out between them and for a moment, Kate could have sworn he was about to speak, but he dropped his hand from her cheek and gestured to her glass. “Come now, you are not here to hear me bare my soul. You are here because you have dreamt every night of a man’s hard body against yours, his mouth on your breasts.” He leaned towards her and whispered softly, “His fingers teasing your body into the heat of desire.”
Kate gasped at the shocking words, but the excitement rushing through her was far more powerful than the shock. What he couldn’t know was she had felt a man’s touch, but it had been cold and unkind and meant to keep her in the proper place of a man’s wife. Now, she wanted the caress of a man who cared for a woman’s enjoyment.
Kate started to shake her head. Because at this moment, she longed to hear the serious words he had stopped himself from speaking. But he took her glass and set it and his upon the mantle. He clasped her hands in his and then very slowly, in the glow of the fire, he lowered his mouth to her fingertips and drew her gloves from her hands with his teeth.
The fabric glided against her, awakening her fingers, giving them life she’d never imagined possible in appendages meant for practical use. But apparently with the duke, even things meant for practical use were also meant for luxurious comforts.
As he tugged the remaining glove aside and let it fall to the India rug beneath their feet, he gently pulled her into the heat of his body. “You have dreamed of a man’s kiss,” he murmured. “Dreamt it upon your lips, upon your nipples, upon the soft folds of your sex.”
Before she could offer untruthful protest at the images he was fanning to flame in her head, he leaned in and with feather light pressure kissed her temples. Her breath caught in her throat, and she could taste his spicy aroma; leather and the seductive scent of Spanish oranges. Just as she arched towards him, he brought his lips achingly close to hers, tempting her. She opened her mouth slightly, leaning closer, longing for him to seal the kiss.
Instead, he lifted his hand to her throat and tilted her head back. “What else have you longed for?” he whispered just before he planted an open-mouthed kiss to the soft skin. “Because I know what I wish,” he said. “I wish to give you pleasure. Again and again.”
Kate jumped at the exquisite sensation of his lips gently pressed against her and at the words he tempted her with. The soft heat of him was bliss, and she remained absolutely still, fixed with curiosity and the onslaught of ecstasy.
Her breasts rose and fell as liquid heat raced from his mouth, through her veins, and straight to the place between her thighs. His tongue brushed her skin and traced in a slow circle, then he lightly bit the sensitive spot.
Immediately, Kate’s fingers wove into his dark hair, pulling him closer. Goodness, she was sinking into pleasure and drowning in too many clothes. Mindlessly, she reached up to her cloak, but he brushed her hand aside and gently tugged at the long green strings.
It whooshed to the floor, sliding along the plain fabric of her gown. The sound of it sent a shiver of anticipation running along her skin. In moments, her skirts too would be nothing more than a pile of burdensome linen on the floor.
She had no idea what she needed, but it was clear he did for he kissed the line of her throat and paused just as he neared her breasts. Kate arched her back towards him. His thick, but lush black hair tickled her skin as he very lightly licked the v of her breasts.
This was what she had wanted for so long. For years she’d been locked away, never knowing the slightest touch. Now, this man was thrusting her into a world of sensation. One she had always known existed but never taken part in, and she wanted to completely offer herself up to it.
He kissed the tops of her breasts and braced her sides with his hands, as if he knew her knees might buckle at this sudden, scandalous touch. Desire burned through her and her inhibitions faded under the persuasion of the brandy and the duke’s skilled mouth. She let her head drop back and her bonnet tumbled to the floor.
At the soft thump of it landing, he lifted his head.
His eyes, hooded with hunger, traced over her face. Wordlessly, he swept her up into his arms and carried her to the sapphire brocade settee just before the fire. Gently, he placed her down, reclining her against the embroidered pillows.
He knelt before her, a fascinating process of long limbs and muscles at work. Heavens, how she longed to see his body. Never once in her whole life had she seen a naked man. Anatomy books had been the closest thing, but here he was in the flesh. With a boldness that surprised herself, she took fistfuls of his silky shirt.
Barely pausing, he tugged the shirt from his black breeches and yanked it in one swift move over his head.
Kate gasped. The fire glow cast his body in bronze and every single muscle was highlighted by shadows. Her breath came fast as she drank in the sight. His nipples, darker than his skin tone, were taut, and his muscles. . . only in the sculptures in her father’s gallery had she ever seen such hard evidence of a male’s physical power.
The duke’s black eyes burned like fired coals as he guided her hands to his bared chest. Kate’s face burned at her own scandalous behavior and yet the desire pounding through her now and waking between her legs demanded she take whatever he offered.
Eyes widening with amazement, Kate let her hands wander over the hard hills and valleys. Slowly, she explored down to his breeches. He felt like silk over iron and impulsively, she lightly grazed her nails along his belly.
He drew in a sharp breath and clasped her hands with his. Kate drew back, sure she had done something wrong.
Slowly, he guided her hands to rest on his shoulders. “You were born to this, darling, but this is about your satisfaction. Not mine.” His hands skimmed the hem of her gown. “Now, rest easy.”
Kate stared down at him, her hands resting on the cool brocade of the settee. She wanted to reach out and grasp him again, but was certain she would break the spell if she did. So, she remained silent and allowed him to work his magic upon her.
Slipping his hands underneath her full skirts, he teased his fingers over her ankles. Her eyes flared wide, and as he slid his hands up her calves, pausing at her knees, her mouth fell open. Her heart slammed in her chest. Instinctively, she parted her thighs. Her cheeks flared with embarrassment, but a soft moan hummed from his throat and so, she parted them a little further.
