Penhale. Her husband. After all these years of being in love with the man and terrified of him at the same time, he was now her husband.
Lucette quietly left the room and she was alone. There was time for only one deep breath to quell her anxiety before he opened the adjoining door. He must have been listening, waiting for the maid to leave. He paused, one hand on the latch. She could see he was nude under his deep garnet robe with the belt loosely tied, baring his broad chest and the peppering of dark hair that trailed across it. As he closed the door and moved toward the bed, she realized what was different this time. She would finally get to see him naked.
And they had all night, not just a few stolen moments snatched up greedily.
Tonight it was official.
She opened her mouth to say something foolish, but he picked her up, lifting her without breaking his stride, and planted her on the bed.
“You look like an angel,” he breathed, running the silk and lace of her peignoir through his long fingers.
And he, she thought with a happy tremor, looked like a wicked devil.
With a casual flick to the belt, he let his robe fall, and she caught her breath. Without clothes he was more muscular, more solid than she expected. His shoulders stretched before her as he raised his arms, swiftly lifting the nightdress up over her head, tossing it to the carpet, where it fell atop his discarded velvet robe.
He pulled her closer to the edge of the bed, kissing her belly.
“Marcus.”
He stopped, his hands splayed over the small of her back. “Emma?”
“I love you.” She’d sworn never to say those words, but there they were. And there he was.
He smiled, eyes twinkling up at her as she took his face between her hands.
“I shouldn’t, of course. But I do.” She lowered her head and kissed him.
And then she was tumbling back onto the bed. He followed her down, his body stretched over hers. He slid his warm hand between her thighs and caressed her while he kissed her lips, her neck, her breasts, trailing his tongue across her skin. She touched his flexing shoulders, ran her fingers across his hard muscles, and down the flat plains of his stomach, marveling at his incredible beauty. He parted her legs, settling between them.
“Are you ready for me, Mrs. Craven?”
She’d been ready for hours and he knew it. “Be gentle with me, your grace.”
He chuckled, sliding a finger into her. “Do I have a virgin bride on my hands?”
“Yes, your grace,” she purred. “Of course, your grace.”
“Or do I have a wanton strumpet?”
“I can be all those things. Whatever you need.” She gave his words back to him, pert and saucy.
Holding himself over her, he probed gently with his finger, while she lay still, playing the role of a new bride.
“Hmmm. You seem ready,” he muttered, bending his head to lick her taut nipple.
She arched, writhing under him. When her hands reached for his cock, it stretched toward her eagerly. “Ooh, are you sure this big thing is going to fit inside me, your grace?” she whispered, batting her lashes.
“Guide me in, sweetheart. I’ll do my best.”
Instead, she teased a little longer, one hand stroking up and down, the other cupping his heavy sac, playfully pretending to explore new territory. The little wet bead at his tip told her he wouldn’t wait much longer.
With a grunt, he spread his knees, forcing her thighs wider apart, suddenly urgent. “I’m coming in. Make room.”
“You’re awful bossy, toff,” she reverted to her cockney sparrow, wriggling away. “I suppose you always get what you want, when you want it.”
“That’s right, cheeky brat. Now lay still and take what your lord and master has to give you.”
Giggling, she stuck out her tongue.
“And put that away unless you mean to use it.”
She twisted over, almost catching him with her knee, scrabbling away.
He dived after her across the satin, rose-embroidered coverlet and captured her ankles. As he pulled her back down the bed, she stretched out on her belly, laughing.
“If that’s the way you want it, madam,” he growled thickly. “It’s all the same to me.”
“Ouch, you bugger!” She could barely curse for laughing.
“I ought to punish you anyway, for what you’ve done to me.”
“I’ll shoot you again, if you ever spank me, you rotten, no good…”
But spanking wasn’t what he had in mind. Her words ended on an abrupt squeak of surprise when he penetrated her, quite suddenly, from behind, once again astounding a woman who once thought no man could ever startle her.
The Duke of Penhale had his virgin bride after all.
* * * *
According to rumor, the Duke of Penhale made love to his scandalous mistress and his wayward duchess that evening, both at the same time and in the same bed. He was, it was widely agreed, the most decadent rogue of all time. Without a doubt, the last rake standing.
And soon after, Le Petit Oiseau vanished behind her red velvet curtain for the final time. The enigma of her disappearance was never solved, but occasionally, while tidying the Duke’s bedchamber, Gudgeon would find a small, persistent, totally baffling, pink feather. The existence of which was never explained.
The End
Evernight Publishing
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Last Rake Standing Page 9
