He explored her mouth at first with dreamy intimacy—lingering, savouring every moment...a kiss for his tired soul to melt into. He shifted to ease the fullness in his groin and angled his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue thrusting now with more urgency, his fingers curling into her silken tresses, holding her head still as he plundered her mouth. Her hands skimmed his back restlessly as a low moan sounded in her throat and her body arched beneath him. He forced his mouth from hers, raising himself on one elbow to look his fill, his heart pounding in his chest.
Heavy lids half-covered slumberous midnight-blue eyes. Her sweet-scented skin was flushed and her lips...oh, her lips, were softly sheening and succulent. Her breasts rose and fell with every fragmented breath, the sound intensely, intoxicatingly feminine.
‘Dominic...’
Her voice low and husky, she reached for him again, her fingers insistent as they clutched at his shoulders. He brushed her hair back from her temple and took her lips again in a slow, intoxicating kiss that made his senses swim and every nerve ending pulse with life. Every thought that tried to intrude was ruthlessly quashed.
She was all that mattered. All he wanted. She...this...was what he needed.
Her arms wound around his neck and her fingers tangled again in his hair. His fingertips skimmed down the side of her face to her neck and lingered over the sensitive skin by her ear as a delicate shudder racked her. He deepened the kiss, plunging his tongue again and again, and she responded—each sensual stroke ensnaring him deeper in her spell. He stroked her neck, inside the open collar of the shirt she wore, tracing the delicate skin over her collarbone, then moving lower, seeking...he bit back a groan as his hand closed possessively around her breast, only the fine fabric of her chemise between his hand and the heat of her skin, her nipple a hard bud against his palm.
He dragged his mouth from hers and nuzzled her neck, searching for her pulse, laving it as it hammered beneath his tongue. His own heart pounded, sending hot blood surging through his veins, around his body, flooding his groin.
How long had he dreamed of her breasts? Conscious thought played no part in him tugging both shirt and chemise free from her waistband. He pushed both garments high, then reared back to gaze his fill at her beautiful, full breasts, the nipples and areoles a dusky pink. Each firm globe more than filled his hands. She shivered, a low moan escaping her lips as he teased her nipples into hard peaks, rubbing and tugging.
Her hands were on his jacket, pushing it open. On the buttons of his waistcoat. Again he reared back and shrugged out of both garments. She watched him, her eyes glinting.
‘Your shirt,’ she whispered. ‘I want to see.’
He didn’t think he could get any harder, but he did as he pulled his shirt over his head and saw her reaction. She reached up, and stroked her hands up his belly and across his chest, then down each arm to his hands.
‘Help me.’
She sat up, took hold of her shirt and began to pull. He needed no further encouragement and the feeling of those wonderful breasts as they brushed against his chest was torture. He dipped his head and she gasped as he paid homage to them, licking, sucking and nipping to his heart’s content while she explored his arms and torso—seemingly fascinated with the dark hair that covered his chest. He didn’t know who initiated it, but before long they were on their feet, ripping off the rest of their clothes.
He stilled, feasting his eyes on all that glorious, naked flesh and gently, reverently, he cupped her upper arms, willing his body to be patient even as slender fingers wrapped around his length, squeezing and stroking. He removed her hand and pulled her towards him, kissing her long and deep as her body softened, moulding into his, and she moaned her pleasure.
He wanted nothing more than to lay her full length on the floor and to plunge his aching arousal into her heat, but he wouldn’t rush this. He would make it good for her. So he laid her down and followed her. He took his time, worshipping her with his touch and his mouth, listening to her sighs and her gasps of pleasure, learning her, feeling her body arch beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders, the impatient tilt of her hips, her husky ‘Dominic...please...’
And when her fingers clutched harder and her head moved restlessly from side to side, when she was hot and wet and ready for him, he moved between her open thighs, positioned his throbbing shaft at her entrance, reached again for the pearl hidden in her secret folds and he pressed.
She screamed his name as she reached her zenith and, as her body shuddered with ecstasy, he thrust inside her. It took only a few thrusts for him to reach fulfilment, but he was happy. Her pleasure was his pleasure, her ecstasy, his ecstasy.
He gathered her close and settled down with her in his arms.
Chapter Eighteen
She felt so right in his arms, nestled into his chest, her hair tickling his chin.
But...
Those warnings he had successfully kept at bay came clamouring into his brain. The head-banging, gut-churning reasons why he could not even dream of marrying Liberty Lovejoy, even though his soul cried out for her. Even though he had, tentatively, begun to believe dreams might come true.
‘Make me proud, my Son.’
His mother’s words...uttered in that cold, demanding voice...the one all three of her children had striven to obey, desperate to win words of praise and approval. A taunting reminder of the past. Those insidious words—sneaking around his head, prying into the corners where hope had dared to germinate, marshalling his embryonic dreams together and, mockingly, dismissing them as the unworthy fantasies of a child.
‘Never forget your duty—you were born to be the Duke. Never disgrace your position in society—the eyes of the world will be on you. Judging you. Never let them see weakness. You are not the same as other men, driven by base desires. You are the Marquess of Avon. You will be Duke of Cheriton one day, and your son, and your son’s son, and countless generations to follow will also fulfil that role. Do not allow your weakness to contaminate the bloodline—it is your destiny to keep it pure. Choose your wife with care and with pride and, above all, with your intelligence.’
Nausea and a deep, throbbing dread filled him. He tightened his embrace and breathed in her sweet, subtle essence—mixed now with the scent of their lovemaking. Honour whispered he must offer for Liberty. His heart craved nothing more than to spend his life with her. But duty and cold hard reasoning dictated otherwise.
He scrambled to his feet and grabbed his clothes, pulling them on hastily and haphazardly, the battle between heart and mind filling his head.
‘Dominic...?’
Low, pained, questioning...her voice grabbed at his emotions and twisted. Hard. There was Liberty to think of...her feelings. Her future. And that tipped the balance of the scales in favour of his honour and his heart.
‘I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened...would never have happened had you not...had I not...’ He was gabbling...his words sounded cold. Heartless.
‘Never forget your duty, my Son.’
The scales tilted the opposite way. But he could not abandon Liberty. Not now.
‘I will apply for a special licence in the morning. Get dressed. I will escort you home.’
‘What?’
He looked at her then—sitting before the fire, the flames bronzing her skin, highlighting the honey and gold of her hair, her brother’s shirt clutched to her breasts, her midnight-blue eyes with those glinting gold flecks, huge...searching...uncertain.
What more could he say? He could not reassure her, not properly. How could he when he barely knew which way was up? How could he, with his head churning with such conflict? Everything was in turmoil...his carefully laid plans...he barely knew what to think, let alone what to say or do. For once in his well-ordered, meticulously planned life, he was lost. The path he had followed from childhood had not only forked, it had vanished, leaving him frantica
lly searching with no clue which way to turn.
A childhood memory surfaced of tumbling out of a tree, scrabbling at the branches, trying desperately to slow his fall. He felt the same sensation now—as though he were tumbling, ever faster, out of control.
His heart twisted in his chest at her beloved face, her doubt. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her, but he couldn’t find the right words, not when he was still reeling. He needed space and time to get his thoughts straight. But he would make it right—explain properly—later. He just needed time to think.
He softened his voice. ‘Get dressed, Liberty. I will call on you in the morning and we will put this right.’
Her eyes flashed and she bounced to her feet.
* * *
That shouldn’t have happened...would never have happened had you not...
He hadn’t needed to finish that thought... Liberty could read between those lines. What he meant was: it would never have happened had she not defied all the rules of proper behaviour and come here clandestinely, and then compounded her offence by drawing him out about his mother and resurrecting all those painful memories for him.
Humiliation burned through her as she tugged Gideon’s shirt over her head and pulled on his pantaloons, wriggling to fit them past her hips.
‘A licence will not be necessary, Dominic.’
Her gamble had failed. She had hoped—stupid, forlorn, immature hope—that by loving him...by showing him what he could have in his life...he would finally open his eyes and his heart to the truth. He did love her—he had proved that with every kiss, every caress, every touch. He had proved it every time he looked at her with his heart in his eyes.
But that was not enough. If he was only offering for her under duress—from some stuffy, ridiculous sense of honour—she could never accept, no matter how much she loved him. He might love her now, but she feared that love would never survive if he was ashamed of her. And his reaction...his words...confirmed that fear.
‘I have taken your innocence. We must be wed.’
‘You did not take my innocence.’ God help her, she lied. She had been intimate with Bernard, but they had never actually made love. But the act had not hurt as she had thought it might. It had been wonderful...swept along on a tide of passion...the slightest of discomforts when he first entered her...but she had been wet, and so ready for him, longing for him. There had been no pain. ‘Bernard and I...’
She had no need to finish; she read his comprehension in his eyes. And was that a tinge of relief? Her heart tore...not even in two, but into shreds. Too numerous to count.
‘You need not concern yourself with me. Just promise me you will think twice before pledging yourself to Lady Sybilla.’ She couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t bear to think of the cold, lonely life that awaited him. She went to him, touched his arm. ‘Please. You deserve better than her, whatever her pedigree might say.’
‘You must marry me!’ His silver gaze pierced her, filling her with sudden hope. Hope that was dashed with his next words. ‘What if you are with child?’
Liberty swallowed hard. ‘And what if I am not? Marriage is for a lifetime and my grandfather was still a lowly coal merchant.’
Please. Argue with me. Tell me you’ve reconsidered. Anything!
Dominic passed one hand around the back of his neck, then picked up his discarded coat, shrugging into it. ‘We will talk about this tomorrow. But...’ he paused, and she saw his throat move as he swallowed ‘if you find there are consequences you must let me know.’ He avoided her gaze. ‘I will see you want for nothing... I will pay you an allowance. Buy you a—’
She shoved him. He staggered back a pace, taken unawares. Liberty followed him, thrusting her face close to his. ‘I do not want your money.’
She cast an eye around the room. Boots. She grabbed them and easily pulled them on as they were many sizes too big for her. Jacket. She snatched it from the chair, passed it wordlessly to Dominic. He held it for her while she wriggled into it. Hat. She bundled her hair into a rope, piled it on top of her head and rammed the hat down hard, relishing the pain as the brim folded her ears and trapped them. Any pain was preferable to what she felt inside.
She reached for the door. ‘And I do not need your escort.’
He reached past her and held the door shut. ‘I will not allow you to walk the streets alone.’
‘I got here without mishap. I can get home.’
He released the pressure on the door and Liberty marched into the hall and out of the front door, crossing the street to make her way home. There were a few people about, but most were in carriages. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the pavement in front of her and walked as quickly as she could. As she reached the corner, a movement caught her eye.
Dominic. Five paces behind her.
‘Berty!’
She ignored his whisper and increased her pace to a trot, a stitch forming in her side at the unaccustomed exertion. He made no attempt to catch her up. Good. The less she had to do with that stubborn numbskull in the future, the better she would like it! Lord Arrogant could ride to hell backwards on a donkey for all she cared! He didn’t deserve her!
As they turned into Green Street, however, he caught her up and grabbed her arm, forcing her to a stop.
‘What are you doing? Someone might see us,’ she hissed.
They were close to a street lamp and Dominic manoeuvred her so her face was in shadow. She supposed she should be grateful for that. She wasn’t so enamoured of the lift of one dark eyebrow and the quirk of his lips that she could now see quite clearly, with the lamplight illuminating his features.
‘They might indeed. But that doesn’t matter because we will be married, Liberty. I will call on you tomorrow at noon and I shall request a private interview.’
She thought quickly. If he did that, there would be no doubt in her sisters’ or Mrs Mount’s minds that he intended to propose to her. Her heart quailed at the thought of trying to convince them she would refuse...they had all noticed how friendly the two of them were and her sisters had both, laughingly, accused her of carrying a torch for Lord Avon.
‘Come at two,’ she said. They had arranged to pay visits tomorrow afternoon...she could easily excuse herself.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Are you up to something, Berty? Because, I warn you, I expect you to be at home. Or I shall come looking for you.’
She suppressed the shiver his softly spoken words aroused. ‘I will be there.’
He tilted her chin with one long finger and for one wild moment she thought he might kiss her. But he merely said, ‘Good.’
Anger sustained her as she crept indoors and upstairs. Safely back in her bedchamber, she struggled out of Gideon’s coat—hearing an ominous rip in the process—then shed the remainder of his clothes and shoved them beneath her bed, out of sight. She would deal with them in the morning. She had the rest of her life to deal with them. She burrowed under the bedclothes and, finally, she gave way to her misery.
* * *
After Mrs Mount and her sisters left the house the following afternoon, Liberty paced around the small salon feeling like a caged animal. She didn’t fool herself Dominic would give up easily—he would consider himself honour-bound to marry her even though it had been her decision to visit him and they had been swept away on a mutual tide of passion. Her stomach swooped and her skin tingled at the memory of his touch, his whispers, the caress of his lips...and of him. The spicy, musky scent of aroused male; the salty tang of his skin; the texture of his hair-roughened skin beneath her questing fingertips; the slide of skin over his hot, hard length as she stroked. His weight on her, between her thighs...her belly tightened at those memories and hot, sweet need pooled at her core.
They had both lost control, that was the honest truth, and she did not shy away from her own culpability—it was more her fault than his. She had gone to him
with the genuine aim of stopping him from making a dreadful mistake. Had she truly believed he would suddenly discard his belief in his duty? A belief that had lasted a lifetime. How utterly foolish, to think that she—Liberty Lovejoy—could ever influence a man like the Marquess of Avon.
But then, once they were alone together...when he told her about his mother...oh, then her heart yearned to heal him. And she had wantonly indulged her own desire to make love with the man who haunted her dreams, knowing she might never again have the chance.
And because it was more her fault than his, she would save him from another mistake and protect him from marrying her out of a misguided sense of honour. It was a marriage she was afraid he would come to regret and she could not bear that he would grow to rue the day he met her.
If she allowed herself to, she could sink into a swamp of despair. But a thought had surfaced...the faintest glimmer of a hope. There was no doubt that Dominic would try by any means to persuade her to accept his offer today. And she could not, would not, accept.
But...if the possibility of a child were removed...what then? What if, by some miracle, Dominic did change his mind? What if her gamble had borne fruit and opened his mind to the possibility of another way...of a marriage for love instead of duty?
It was a fragile hope, but it was all she had to cling to. If, of course, he did love her. Last night, she had been convinced. Now, in the clear light of day, she was not so sure.
All she could do, for now, was to remain steadfast in her refusal of him. For both their sakes.
And pray she was not with child.
She was so lost in thought she jumped when Ethel opened the salon door to announce Lord Avon. Her heart hammered and it felt as though every muscle in her body turned to jelly. She hauled in a steadying breath and smoothed her palms down the skirt of her gown.
‘Show him in, please, Ethel.’
She took advantage of the few minutes it would take him to come upstairs to check her reflection in the mirror on the wall by the door. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes somewhat wild and there was a quiver in her lower lip she could not quell without taking it between her teeth and biting down on it. She patted her hair into place, then hurried to stand before the window, feeling more confident with the light at her back.
Daring to Love the Duke's Heir Page 21
