The Duke of Desire

by Darcy Burke

  She did as he bade, and he slipped his cock between her thighs, teasing her. She bent forward over the bed and thrust her hips back toward him. Her legs parted wider as she ground down, seeking him to enter her. But he didn’t. He moved back and forth, slowly, taunting them both with what would happen next.

  “Onto the bed,” he growled.

  She clambered up and turned to her back before peeling her stockings from her legs and adding them to the pile on the floor.

  He followed her onto the bed and stared down at her deliciously curved form. “You are so beautiful.” He stroked her breasts, caressing them softly at first before giving way to the primal need within him. He bent down and took one into his mouth, his tongue sliding over her puckered flesh before sucking on the red bud.

  She arched up and wound her fingers into his hair, tugging at him. He felt her entire body move, her hips seeking his, her breath coming in short pants.

  He clasped her other breast, so soft and round, filling his hand. He closed his fingers around the nipple, rolling it and then squeezing. Her fingers dug into his scalp in response, her soft cries filling the chamber.

  “Please, West. I can’t wait.”

  He was barely hanging on. Her orgasm downstairs had nearly sent him over the edge. He pulled his mouth from her breast and kissed her mouth. She opened for him immediately, her tongue driving into his mouth. He groaned, his body scalding with need.

  Her hand closed around his cock, and he almost spent himself in her palm. “Ivy.”

  She guided him to her sheath, and he put his hand over hers to slide his flesh into hers.

  Tight heat engulfed him as he pushed inside. He went slow—it was bloody torture—but she clasped his hip and pulled him into her. He couldn’t wait. He needed to move. Now.

  “Put your legs around me.”

  She shifted her pelvis, which drove him deeper, and curled her legs around his waist. Sheer lust overtook him, and he snapped his hips against hers, thrusting fast and hard.

  He kissed her again, their lips and tongues clashing as their bodies moved together. She rose off the bed, her hips grinding into his. She clutched at his back, her nails digging into his flesh. This was primal and urgent, nothing like the practiced seductions he employed.

  But she was different. He was mindless with need for her.

  She came again, her muscles squeezing him as she cried out against his mouth. He drove hard as blood rushed to his cock. He was completely undone, shouting as he spent himself inside her.

  It was several minutes, as he lay half on top of her, their hearts beating together, his eyes closed with a contentment he’d never known, when he realized what he’d done. He hadn’t pulled out before spilling his seed. It wasn’t infallible; nevertheless, he always did it. Nearly always.

  Well, the deed was done now. And he didn’t regret a bit of it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Eyes closed, she spun through the darkness, weightless and content. A fulfillment she’d never known lifted her up, and peace reigned.

  Ivy stroked her hand along West’s back as he shifted his weight from her. He left her body but kissed her temple, his lips gliding over her flesh. He cupped the side of her face and brought her mouth to his.

  He pulled back, his hand still caressing her cheek. “I’ll get you something to clean up.”

  Her eyes flashed open as reality assaulted her. She’d wanted to forget, and she had. She’d somehow forgotten that she was a lady’s companion and that she ought not be tumbling into bed with the Duke of Desire.

  She sat up. “Yes, please.”

  He left for a moment and came back to her with a cloth. “There’s a pitcher, but the water’s cold.”

  “I don’t need that.” She tidied herself and left the cloth on the bed, then went to dressing herself as quickly as possible.

  “Do you have to rush off?” he asked.

  “Yes. Lady Dunn rests in the afternoon, but if I’m not back before she wakes…” She shook her head. The viscountess wouldn’t mind, particularly when she knew Ivy had gone to the workhouse today. Only Ivy hadn’t been there the entire time.

  After her stockings were in place, Ivy pulled on her chemise followed by the corset. She had trouble with the laces, her fingers fumbling.

  “Here, let me help you.” He came off the bed in all his nude, spectacular glory. Ivy averted her gaze, but it didn’t matter. In her mind, she could still see the carved muscles of his chest and the thick flesh of his cock between his legs. She was certain the image would always be there, reminding her of this singular day.

  As soon as her laces were tight, she stepped away from him and swept the petticoat over her head. Next came the dress, and he helped her tug it down over her underclothes.

  She jerked away, glancing at him as he frowned. “I can manage.”

  “Ivy—”

  She heard the query in his tone and sought to cut him off before he could ask her things she didn’t want to answer. “I need to go.”

  “Yes, but we should talk. For a minute at least.”

  She fastened her dress and didn’t look at him. “About what?”

  “About what happened.” His finger came under her chin and gently lifted. “I’m not going to let you run off.”

  Outrage curled in her belly, and she shook his touch away. “You’re not going to let me.” She blinked, thinking him mad. Or at least stupid. “You don’t have a say in what I do. This was a mistake. I never should have come.”

  He pulled on his pantaloons. “It wasn’t a mistake. It was wonderful.”

  She shoved her feet into her shoes and began hunting for her hairpins. It took a minute, but she gathered what she could and did her best to coax her hair onto her head. She probably looked ridiculous, but she’d cover it with her bonnet. Where the devil was her bonnet?

  “Ivy?” He’d donned his shirt as well as his stockings and boots.

  She snapped to attention, nearly forgetting he was there. Which was absurd. As if she could forget him. Forget what they’d just done.

  She swung her gaze to his. “Will you say it was wonderful when I end up with child?” Anguish bunched through her, and she bent slightly, like a reed giving way to the wind. She wouldn’t collapse again. She would not.

  “Yes. I will say that forever.” He came toward her, his brow furrowed. “I forgot myself earlier. If there is a child—”

  She cut him off again, uninterested in his plans. “If there is a child, it will be my problem. But never fear. I neglected to tell you that part. Bothwick got me with child. So you see, I can deal with such inconveniences.” She nearly choked on the word after her earlier encounter with Peter.

  His eyes widened. “Ivy. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Indeed, since she’d told him everything else. “Because it’s private.” She’d never talked about it with another person after leaving home. Not until today. Not even Lady Breckenridge knew that Ivy had lost a baby. That had happened well before they’d met and at a different workhouse altogether.

  “What happened to the child?” His question was low and dark, his gaze apprehensive.

  “It died.”

  He tried to take her into his arms, but she backed away.

  “Don’t.” She heard her voice crack and summoned her anger. Not at him, at herself. She’d foolishly given in to her desires again, and she had no one to blame but herself. Guilt and shame scratched up her throat and turned her insides to pulp. “Let me go.”

  She stumbled from his bedchamber into a short corridor that led to a sitting room.

  He came up behind her, barely touching her back. “I’ll take you out. Let’s get your gloves and bonnet first.”

  He led her back down the servant stairs and into the drawing room. Her hat was on the settee and her gloves were on the floor. He fetched the items and brought them to her.

  She snatched the bonnet from him and went to a mirror on the wall. Her hair was a fright, but she slapped the hat over the top of
it, effectively disguising the mess. She swiftly tied the ribbons beneath her chin, then turned to take her gloves, since he’d followed her.

  “I understand you need to leave, but we aren’t finished.”

  She drew on her gloves sharply, causing pain between her fingers. “We are. I enjoy my life. You’ve done nothing but tempt me down a path I’ve already traveled and have no wish to revisit.”

  He pinned her with a dark stare. “I am not the same as him.”

  No, he wasn’t. But that didn’t mean he was better.

  “I’m leaving now, and you can’t walk me out looking like that.” She didn’t dare lower her gaze to where his shirt gapped open, revealing a delicious glimpse of his chest and throat. Too late.

  She stepped around him, careful not to get too close, even though she was drawn to him like a magnet.

  “I’ll call on you,” he said.

  She wanted to tell him not to bother, but not as much as she wanted to leave. Before she changed her mind. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and left without looking back.

  West nearly went after her. Until he remembered that he was only half-dressed.

  Bloody hell.

  He retreated to his study, his booted feet thundering across the floor as he went straight for the whiskey bottle. He poured and froze.

  He’d just done this a short time ago when he’d fetched a glass for Ivy. Everything she’d told him rioted through his mind.

  Whiskey sloshed onto his hand. Swearing, he replaced the decanter and promptly tossed what he’d poured down his gullet. Setting the glass on the sideboard, he licked the liquid from his hand. He smelled and tasted like her.

  He’d never imagined she’d been through so much. Now her association with workhouses made sense. When he thought of her as an inmate… He wanted to kill Bothwick.

  And a baby…

  White-hot fury gathered inside him, and he had to take deep breaths to calm his suddenly racing heart. He was going to kill Bothwick.

  Yes, he’d call him out. But he couldn’t wait for Axbridge. He thought of Sutton and Dartford. They’d help, especially when they learned why he was doing it.

  Hell.

  He sank into a chair by the fireplace and stretched his legs out in front of him, his shoulders drooping. He couldn’t call Bothwick out. The reason would become public—or some twisted version of it—and he wouldn’t put Ivy through that.

  When he thought of the anguish in Ivy’s eyes, the way she’d broken down in his arms, he shuddered. He would go to any length to protect her, even if it meant not calling Bothwick out.

  Goddamn Bothwick to hell.

  Maybe West could just kill him outright. A duke could get away with murder, couldn’t he?

  He let out an ugly laugh that was completely devoid of humor.

  He stared at the carpet, a pattern with dark green and blues and browns. Everything blurred together as he thought of the last thing she’d told him, that she’d had a baby, and it had died. He recalled their conversation on Wendover Hill when she’d asked him about the children he’d sired. Her interest—and the edge of disappointment in her tone—now made sense. His heart ached for her.

  Children weren’t something he’d ever considered, and yet he suddenly wanted them. With her.

  He’d been horrified when he’d realized his error after not pulling out of her, but now he felt strangely at ease. If she was carrying, he’d marry her, of course.

  And if she wasn’t?

  He couldn’t go back to the way things were. He’d known that for weeks now.

  He wanted her. In his arms. In his bed. In his life. As his duchess.

  Did he love her? He thought he just might. She was unlike any woman he’d ever known. She provoked him to laughter, drove him to frustration, and made his heart soar.

  As happy as that realization made him, he was certain she didn’t feel the same. There was always a guarded look in her eye, a distrust. Given her past, he couldn’t blame her. It was a miracle she’d given him this much.

  Which meant she had to feel something for him. And he could work with that.

  He leapt up from the chair and went back upstairs where he rang for Seaver, whom he dispatched with a note for Lords Dartford and Sutton. After cleaning up and getting fully dressed again, he departed for the alehouse, hoping the others would be able to meet him there as he’d requested.

  West drank one ale and had started on the second when Dartford and Sutton arrived, sliding into the chairs at his table in the corner.

  “Your note sounded dire,” Sutton said, tipping up the brim of his hat.

  West’s missive had asked them to meet him at the alehouse to help him sort out a problem.

  “I don’t know if it’s dire, but I do require assistance so I don’t cock it up.”

  Dartford arched a brow at him. “You think we won’t?”

  “Perhaps,” West said. “Particularly when I tell you it involves a lady.”

  “Oh hell.” Dartford removed his hat and placed it on the table. “The probability of a cock-up is at least ninety percent.”

  West inclined his head with a smile. “Without your help, I estimate a solid hundred percent, so I’ll take whatever you can offer.”

  The barmaid brought ale for Dartford and Sutton.

  “Does this involve Miss Breckenridge?” Sutton asked. “If it doesn’t, I don’t know if I can help. Aquilla is confident there’s something brewing between the two of you, and I simply can’t disappoint her.”

  West leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Lady Sutton is correct. I want to propose marriage, but I don’t think Ivy will accept.” He shook his head. “No, I’m fairly certain she won’t.”

  Dartford snorted. “Bloody hell, why not? You seem a decent chap—your scandalous reputation notwithstanding.”

  “Reputations can be misleading,” Sutton said with more than a touch of irony. “Our wives called me the Duke of Deception. They were correct, but not for the reasons they thought.”

  West was aware that Sutton had been known for leading a lady to think marriage was forthcoming only to move on from her without seeking a formal courtship. Beyond that, West wasn’t entirely sure what Sutton meant, nor would he ask. If Sutton wanted to share more, he would. West knew firsthand how reputations could impact someone, for better or for worse. If Ivy’s past were ever to become known, it would be devastating to her. Not that he would care—he was going to marry her anyway.

  “So you need help persuading Miss Breckenridge?” Dartford asked. He picked up his mug and blew out a breath. “I don’t know that we’ll be much help there. Unless you want us to talk to our wives? Have them persuade her?”

  “No, nothing like that. If I can’t win her over myself, nothing else will.” Maybe he could convince her to accept him if there was a child, but he didn’t think that would make her very happy, and what kind of marriage would that be? Not the kind he wanted. He desired a marriage where both people entered into it willingly and with hope for the future. “I was thinking that I should ask her employer, Lady Dunn, for permission to court her.” Since Ivy’s parents were not in her life, it seemed the logical thing to do. Plus, Lady Dunn would likely support his courtship. Why would she discourage her companion from a duke?

  “That’s a clever approach,” Sutton said. “What do you need us to do exactly?”

  “I was hoping your wives could occupy Ivy—Miss Breckenridge—while I speak with Lady Dunn. Perhaps they could invite her to tea.”

  Dartford nodded slowly. “Certainly, but it will have to be the day after tomorrow. Lucy’s grandmother has something going on at the house tomorrow.”

  “And I’m afraid Aquilla and I are leaving in the morning.” Sutton’s gaze was apologetic. “We have to get back to Sutton Park.”

  Dartford looked at West. “Will that suit your needs?”

  “Yes, thank you.” West hated having to wait a day, but it was a small price to pay. He only hoped he’d be able to
convince Ivy to marry him in the end.

  Dartford lifted his mug. “To women.”

  “To our women,” Sutton said with a pointed look around the table. “Believe me when I say that finding the right one is difficult as hell.”

  “You would know,” Dartford said with a grin.

  Sutton rolled his eyes. “Yes, it took me quite some time, but when I met Aquilla, things were just…different.”

  West knew precisely what he meant. Ivy was different from all the other women he’d been with in every way. He just had to convince her of that.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ivy had never minded being on the periphery. In fact, she’d found it comforting and safe, a haven from the life she could’ve had if Lady Breckenridge hadn’t decided to help her. Tonight was no different. As she sat in the corner of the cardroom at the Assembly Rooms, she was grateful to be on the fringe. Particularly after everything that had happened yesterday.

  Perhaps tonight was a bit different. While she was content to keep to the shadows, she didn’t feel particularly comfortable, nor did she feel safe. She expected West or Peter to arrive at any moment and upset her tenuous equilibrium. Of course she didn’t know that they would come, but she was on her guard, nevertheless.

  She’d barely slept last night. Instead, she’d been consumed with thoughts of her afternoon with West and the potential consequences.

  She couldn’t be with child. Perhaps if she repeated that to herself enough, it would come true. It was all she had to cling to.

  As if conjured by her thoughts, West walked into the cardroom. His gaze swept the space, and Ivy sagged in the chair, as if she could somehow fade into the background and become invisible to him.

  But no. His eyes found hers, and he made his way immediately and directly to where she sat. So much for discretion. He seemed to have recently abandoned that objective.

  “Good evening,” he said, standing next to her chair. “I’m delighted to see you.”