by Darcy Burke
Kate opened then closed her mouth. There was no real point in denying it, but nor did she wish the woman to proclaim it in public. “Mrs. Barton, I—”
Mrs. Barton tsked. “There is no point in playing the blushing maiden, and while you might consider it absolutely none of my business, I happen to know the duke has wandered into the hall where he always remains till the curtain closes.”
“Why in the devil would he do that?” The answer seemed altogether obvious, but she was trying to fight off the idea of him meeting woman after woman at the opera. “An assignation?”
Mrs. Barton laughed, a rich sound. “No. Not that. You see, the good duke is sweet enough to support the arts; he’s produced a number of my plays, and has many friends who are performers. Years ago, he and his former duchess came at least once a week. Now, he only comes to make an appearance and then goes off till the performance is over. I think the opera makes him quite melancholy. The hallway is quiet, barely lit and everyone is caught up in everyone else’s doing. So, he is allowed solitude.”
“Oh.” Kate couldn’t help but think that for all the man’s brusqueness, he understood how important his patronage must be to his friends. Even if the place, perhaps, gave him painful memories. She couldn’t stop the hint of admiration at his behavior.
Mrs. Barton tilted her dark head towards Kate, causing the sapphires in her hair to wink. “Odd, isn’t it?’
“A little yes,” she acceded.
“We could never say the duke falls into step with society. In fact, I think he’s marched an entirely new path.”
Kate shifted on her high-heeled slippers. This was all much appreciated information, but it still seemed strange that an actress, Mrs. Barton of all people, had followed her out of her box to have such a gossip on the way to the convenience. “I do beg your pardon, but what does any of this have to do with me?”
“He’s utterly alone,” Mrs. Barton said pointedly. “Utterly. Alone.”
They walked slowly, determinedly, and Kate realized they were walking around the outer circle, closer to the duke’s box. It became quite clear what this conversation had to do with her. “You mean? You’re arranging—” She gasped. Naturally, it should have occurred to her, but this whole intrigue business was still ridiculously foreign.
Mrs. Barton sighed and arched a brow. “Good. You’re a quick study.”
Kate couldn’t stop the silly grin from tilting her lips, or fight the sudden flush of anticipation racing through her. “Let’s say in my newfound freedom, I’ve been doing as much research as possible.”
Mrs. Barton bit back a laugh. “How wonderful. A woman should always aspire to the most rounded of educations.”
As they curved around, Kate spotted the duke slouched carelessly in a straight backed chair. One black leg stretched out, his polished shoe glinting ever so slightly in the amber glow of the candle light. He sat staring straight down at the floor as if he was contemplating some weighty secret. Perhaps even now, he thought of his wife.
The lines of his chiseled face were hidden in shadow, and his black hair was tied back with a simple velvet string. His strong hands rested on his thighs, the ruby signet ring on his left hand glowing like fire.
“Your Grace, what a delicious surprise,” Mrs. Barton drawled
Kate’s chest tightened with excitement. Good lord, he was so handsome. She desperately wanted to trace the contours of his face. But even more so, she wanted the assurance that deepened Mrs. Barton’s voice.
Oh so slowly, the duke turned his head in their direction. His face betrayed no emotion, except for the slight flaring of his nostrils and the faint press of his lips into an unwelcoming line.
Kate refused to hesitate, even though at this moment he looked as if he might sink his teeth into them both, and not out of desire. Well, if she had her way, he would indeed have his mouth upon her, but out of need. The need she had seen light his eyes on more than one occasion.
They paused a mere foot before him but he instead of looking at them, he returned his gaze to the floor.
Slipping her arm away, Mrs. Barton smiled. “I do believe Mrs. Darrell should like to know you. I’ve few doubts you will be just as pleasured to know her.”
The duke inclined his head but remained seated.
Mrs. Barton shook her dark head and walked past him. As she did, she rested her hand on his shoulder. “Do play nicely, Your Grace.”
With that, Mrs. Barton disappeared down the hall and into the duke’s box.
Standing right before the Duke of Darkwell, Kate could feel her skin heating to a fever in anticipation. Only his touch was going to ease the growing hunger inside her. The silence and unspoken desire stretched between them. Her breasts pressed tightly against her corset as her breath shortened with desire.
Kate licked her lips and then uttered words she had never said before, “Your Grace, I do believe it is my turn to pleasure you.”
Chapter Eight
If Ryder had been a man who believed in signs, it would be an indisputable dictate from the gods that he was to bed Mrs. Darrell. Or perhaps the gods just kept shoving her into his path as some sort of cruel punishment.
All he wanted was peace and quiet, and respite from the box that had been such a place of happiness for himself and Jane. And now, here Mrs. Darrell was, the one person he wished to avoid.
With renewed determination, Ryder stared at the garish carpet, refusing to look up into the pale, enigmatic face. Perhaps if he ignored her, the damn chit would leave him be because, quite frankly, he only had so much self-control and it was already a thread that was fast unraveling.
“Does His Grace find the floor to be particularly fascinating?” The toe of her teal slipper peeped out from beneath her skirts, and she rubbed it along the burgundy-colored carpeting. The action exposed her silk-stockinged ankle. “I find it rather uninspired myself.”
His lips twisted, fighting back amusement and the desire to reach out, take that delicate ankle in his grasp and stroke upward. “Do you make it a habit of studying floors?”
“Good Lord no, but it does seem to interest you.”
He couldn’t tear his eyes from her shapely ankle. Damnation, but he wanted to circle it with his hand and prop her foot on his thigh. From there, kiss his way up her leg till he met her soft flesh and then—he blinked. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be hard as a ship’s mast in a moment. “You wish to discuss my interests?”
“I do.” Her voice dipped, touched with huskiness. “In fact, I have every intention of finding out what pleases Your Grace.”
“Indeed?” This was fast heading to him sliding his hands up her skirts, and he was certain that once committed he would be unable to untrench. “What if my principle interest is solitude?”
She took another step closer till her skirts brushed his muscled thigh. “Does Your Grace intend to become a monk? Along with solitude, will you take the vows of poverty?” She lightly bit her lower lip. “Of chastity?”
A dry laugh rumbled past his lips, and he shook his head. Oh, what was he doing? He was holding onto honor with a faltering grasp, that’s what the bloody hell he was doing. Yet, to his own shame, he wanted to see how far she would go. Would she truly play this game out to the end? “You are the second person to ask me that in a very short space of time.”
“Is there any truth to it then?” Her delicate hand, studded with a pearl ring, very lightly brushed his arm. “I should be very sad.”
Lust slammed through his body at the not so innocent touch. Her hand was so light, and yet firm upon his body, he could only imagine those slender fingers wrapped around his cock. “Why should that sadden you?”
“I should be bereft of that marvelous body of yours.” She stroked his arm, bending ever so slightly, so her breasts pressed against her corset into two delicious rounds. “But then, I could go to you for my confession.”
It was tempting to look up and see if her angelic face was flushed with need, but he forced himself to stare strai
ght ahead. The carpet. He could focus on the carpet. Not on her hand, tracing over his arm.
“Confession?” he prompted, damnably curious to see her in this new role of seductress. She was doing a remarkably good job so far.
“I have a great deal to confess,” she breathed.
Somehow, he resisted the urge to shift on his chair, but blood was rushing straight to his groin, and by the second he was growing harder. Still, he wasn’t going to let her know how very much he was enjoying this game. “You were not given to sin before?”
She trailed her hand down from his shoulder to rest upon his bicep. Her fingers curled at his muscles. “Not until very recently.”
It was instinctual. Ryder flexed his muscles, developed from hours and hours of training. He wanted her to know he was strong. “What are the nature of your sins?” he said quietly, his voice half invitation.
“Lust. I lust for a man I should not.”
Damnation. She wanted this as badly as he, but soon this game would go too far. “But I am not your confessor,” he said quickly. The last thing he wanted was a detailed account of her desires. He’d go mad, and there’d be no holding back.
“I’m glad for it,” she said softly, her voice a caress that threw oil onto the fire that was burning inside him.
At last, he looked up and met her gaze. It was a mistake. A damned idiotic error, and he was determined to rip his gaze away and leave her once again standing alone. He couldn’t do it. The hunger in her blue grey eyes compelled him to see what she would do next in her quest. Worse, there was no calculation in her gaze, only a longing mixed with absolute determination.
“This is what I want,” she whispered as she lifted her hand to his face.
Her silken fingers cupped his cheek with gentleness, but it was heightened with desire as she bent and let her mouth linger over his. For one brief moment, he was certain she was going to kiss him, but she didn’t. The scent of cinnamon and roses surrounded him, and her curled hair brushed his cheeks and shoulders. She was waiting. Waiting for him to give into their mutual pleasure. God, he wanted it.
Why not? Why could he not have one moment of heaven in his eternal damnation? Swallowing a strong mix of self-loathing and regret, he worked at the ribbon around his wrist. His fingers shook as he plucked at it. At last it came free and gently, he tucked it into his pocket. Her lips pressed together at his movements, and he knew she wanted to know why he did what he did. But he couldn’t let himself think or mention Jane’s name. Not at this moment.
Not when he wanted this woman before him so much. Indeed, after so much pain, he did deserve just a taste of her.
Before he could think further or let reason test his shaky argument, he slid her onto his lap. He tilted her head back and for a moment, traced his thumb over her lower lip. Winding his fingers into the curls at the nape of her neck, he lowered his head. . . and gave her the softest of kisses.
She gasped into his mouth and arched towards him. The faint touch of their lips was almost cruel considering how much he wanted her, but they were going to enjoy every moment they had.
He traced the line of her lips with his tongue, and she opened to him. Tilting her head further back, he devoured her mouth, sucking gently on her tongue. He fed her kiss after kiss until her hands were grasping his coat. His body was tense, more than ready for her, but he controlled himself by smoothing the line of her throat, moving lower and lower until his lips met the plump rounds of her breasts. He slipped his hand into her corset and lifted her breast so he could swirl his tongue around her nipple. So sweet and soft, it drove him further down the path of no return.
She moaned and leaned into him, pushing her nipple against his lips. He smiled as he drew the soft flesh into his mouth and ever so slightly nibbled at the hard peak.
Her hands wound into his hair, and he savored the slight pull of her fingers tugging at him. But with each caress, he felt himself teetering on the brink of self-control. If he didn’t stop them, they were going to have sex here, in the middle of the opera’s empty hall.
The thought was horrifyingly erotic.
What was worse, Mrs. Darrell didn’t seem to care. She was mindless under his touch, and he had to—her hand trailed over his thigh and cupped the hard shaft pressing painfully against his breeches.
He sucked in a harsh breath. Reaching down, he pressed her hand tighter to him.
“I want this,” she whispered.
Christ, and he wanted to give it to her. The sounds of the opera were still in the third act. It would be some time before it was over and they were secluded enough. Or at least so he convinced himself as he started working at her skirts.
She kissed him wildly as she massaged her hand over his cock. He yanked at her skirts, exposing her thighs. “Straddle me,” he ordered.
Without question, she did. Her skirts hitched up at her waist, pouring over his legs. He groaned, knowing her sweet slit was completely exposed. He slid his hands up her thighs then ran his forefinger into her soft folds. He hissed at the feel of her slick hunger. She was more than ready, but he wanted her mad for it. Ryder stroked his finger, moistened by her own dew, over her sensitive folds then coated her swollen little nub.
Kate’s breath turned harsh. She held onto him as if she was lost in a storm and he was her only anchor. His finger swirled and flicked till her thighs tensed and then he drove a single finger deep inside her. Her body jerked, and her head dropped back.
“Let yourself enjoy it.”
Hell, how he wanted to take her into his mouth, but that would be for later. Right now, he needed to be inside her. As she rocked against his finger, he quickly undid his breeches.
“I need more,” she urged.
“I do, too,” he breathed against her neck. He wanted them to come together and he was going to do everything he could to give her exactly what she needed.
Kate’s body was wild with desire. She knew she needed his hard shaft inside her body. Lord, she’d never had a real desire for the male part. She’d heard it could be heaven, but she’d certainly never experienced anything like it. Right now, oh, she was at heaven’s door.
Her body was liquid fire, and she had to hold tight to him to keep herself from falling.
When he drew his finger out of her, she moaned in protest. She wanted more not less.
But soon, he was freeing himself, and he took his hard shaft in his hand. Kate readied herself, but instead of thrusting into her body, he very slowly rubbed the plump tip of it up and down her slit. She jumped at the delicious sensation. Sheer torture. It felt like silk being rubbed between her thighs.
Kate groaned and tried to move her hips in such a way that would force him to thrust deep inside her. Instead, he teased her with the tip of him, running it up and down, and over her most sensitive spot, resting it against her opening until she frowned.
He took her hand and guided it down to his thick, hard length. Kate marveled at its strength. Velvety soft, it was hard and hot. She very carefully rubbed her thumb over the little slit at the top, spreading a bead of moisture over the head.
The duke grabbed her waist, and the muscles in his neck tightened. “Do with me as you will.”
Shocked he would give her control, Kate loved the sudden realization she had power over him. She caressed the long shaft and his thighs tensed beneath her. After a moment, Kate couldn’t wait any longer, and she guided the tip to her opening. She lowered herself down onto him.
As he entered, there was a moment of discomfort. Years of living in a loveless marriage had left her body almost virginal, but it was over quickly and she welcomed him inch after hard inch. Her eyes widened as his large length filled her deliciously, making her feel as if his body was somehow part of hers.
His dark head dropped back, and he let out a sigh as she slowly rode him. Gazing at her with half-closed eyes, the pure desire in him heated her own veins with the need to please him. At first, she was confused as to what to do. She’d never been in any other posit
ion but on her back and in the dark.
Here in the faint glow of the candles, her legs on either side of his hips and her toes balancing on the floor, all she could do was feel. Feel everything, the solid feel of his erection stroking her, the cool air on her skin and his soft breath lightly brushing her hair as she bent over him. And she let sensation take over. Her hands went to his shoulders and his hands to her waist. Rising up and down on her toes, she delighted in the delicious feel of him stroking her inside. Guiding her pace with his hands gripping her waist, he tilted his hips up, thrusting to meet her.
If that wasn’t enough, he moved one hand to the place where their bodies met. He circled his fingers over her tight little spot. Goodness, the world was bursting apart, and she was about to go with it.
In the back of her brain, the orchestra come to a sudden stop. A series of screams echoed around them from the theater. It didn’t strike her as odd, not when her body was in the throes of such passion, but the duke stopped. His body froze, and his eyes opened. She grabbed him tighter, but he stilled her, his hands locking down on her body.
“Fire!” A voice screamed.
Kate frowned, trying to make sense of the sudden change. Her entire body felt like liquid. She was so close.
“Fire,” the duke hissed, looking up at her.
“What?” she murmured, so hot she could barely stand it.
“Fire,” he said tightly, his face darkening as he struggled to slip his cock free. “There’s a bloody fire!”
The rush of hundreds of feet thudded on the carpeted surface, and Kate abruptly realized what was happening. Good lord! Quickly, she stuffed her breasts back into her corset, then scrambled to unseat herself, but her feet caught in her skirts. It was all she could do to keep herself from falling to the floor.
“What are we going to do?” she demanded. Hysteria seized her and she quipped, “Make a full confession?”
