A deep rumbling laugh escaped him as he completely rolled off, giving her room to breathe again. He rose, looming like one of the obscure surrounding hedges. Two shadowy hands came closer. “Give me your hand.”
She gulped in another breath and took his hands with hers. Two large palms pressed against hers, and she was whisked effortlessly onto her feet.
They momentarily stood in silence and though there was no further need for him to be holding her hands, he lingered, transferring the heat of his gloved palms into hers. Maybelle lifted her chin to get a better look at him, but was only able to make out that he was taller than her. Much taller. And broad shouldered.
He released her hands, stepped away, and cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I didn’t realize anyone was on this path.”
Which meant they were alone. Completely and utterly alone. At long last. This was her opportunity to not only stamp freedom upon herself, but to do it in an untraditional manner with a man who could actually make it memorable. After all, did one truly need a bed?
The question was, however, how was she to do this? Grab him, do what she will, then run? No. She should be polite.
Knowing now was not the time to falter, Maybelle stepped forward and closed the distance between them. “Actually, Your Grace, I was on this path searching specifically for you. I was hoping for a moment of your time.”
He paused, his large shadowy frame shifting toward her. “Time for what exactly?” he drawled in a tone that clearly indicated he knew what it was she was referring to but wasn’t quite certain as to whether he should be intrigued or not.
Oh for heaven’s sake. Any other man would have grabbed her by now. “I find you rather attractive.”
The duke was quiet. It didn’t even sound like he was breathing.
Maybelle inwardly cringed, knowing she was probably going about this all wrong. Perhaps she should have enlisted the help of her grandmother after all.
The man cleared his throat. Then stepped back. “Amusing. Really. Who put you up to this? Wharton? I should bloody hang the bastard by his trousers.” His clothing rustled, as if he were dusting himself off. “So who are you? And what the devil did you spit at my forehead? I believe it left a mark.”
Maybelle could have glowed in the darkness from the heat her cheeks produced. It wasn’t as if the situation could get any more embarrassing. Perhaps she needed to show him she was quite serious. At the very worst, he would disregard her advances and that would be that.
Stepping toward him, Maybelle grabbed for his muscled arms and pulled herself close to the heat of his body. The muscles beneath his clothing tensed, even though he did nothing to fight her.
Taking in a shaky breath, Maybelle raised herself on her slippered toes, leaned forward, and pressed her mouth against the fuzzy outline of his lips. His lips proved to be much softer and warmer than she had anticipated. Certainly nothing like the last fribble who had tried to kiss her.
Maybelle gently parted the duke’s lips and slipped her tongue into his wet mouth. The unexpected taste of brandy flavored her lips as his hot tongue slowly submitted and began circling hers. His hands drifted toward her waist and the pressure of his fingertips dug savagely into her corset. As if he was trying to find all the skin hidden beneath and bury himself in it.
Overwhelmed by his unexpected intensity, and that he was willingly returning her kiss, the garden spun. His tongue traced the inside of her mouth, pushing against her own tongue. Her pulse thundered as she tried to meet his demand.
What now? Though she knew everything there was to know about kissing, sex, and arousal from a hypothetical level, her true inexperience could very well bring an end to all this.
Maybelle pulled her wet mouth away from his and clung to his muscled arms, trying to calm her heavy breathing. Although she wanted to ask him to altogether take over this matter, she couldn’t find the strength to force the words out of her mouth.
“Not as bold anymore?” he whispered huskily down at her.
She swallowed and forced her words out between breaths. “I was hoping you could demonstrate how bold you can be.”
A low growl escaped him. He reached around her, grabbed her bum tightly with both hands, and forced the front of her body against the length of his muscled frame.
She gasped, feeling his rigid cock pushing against her belly. He slowly found her mouth in the darkness. His hot, brandy-flavored tongue pushed open her lips and traced the inside of her mouth again.
Ooooh. This is what she’d been denying herself? She could actually feel herself growing wet. From a kiss!
The duke suddenly tore his mouth away from hers. “This is madness.” His breath escaped in heavy takes. “I don’t even know who you are or what you look like. I can barely make out the whiteness of your gown.”
His husky voice washed over her entire body and tingled her ears. “My name is Maybelle,” she whispered back up at him, wishing she could see more of his shadowed face. “And as for my appearance…”
She slipped her hands beneath the warmth of his jacket and slid her hands toward his muscled back, hidden beneath his vest and shirt, savoring the hardness of his body. “Perhaps it is best you allow your hands to be your guide.”
He sucked in a breath, grabbed at her gloved hands, and spun her around. Completely. Yanking her against his hard body, he held her backside tightly against him, causing every part of her, including her exposed neck and shoulders to explode with heat.
He bent his head toward her ear, his warm breath teasing her senses, and demanded, “What sort of game is this? Do I know you?”
Her pulse thundered in her ears. “No. Of course not. Tonight is the first I’ve ever seen of you.”
“And based upon what you saw, you flippantly decided to sacrifice both your reputation and all common sense.” He tightened his hold on her waist, digging the tips of his fingers into her corset. “I am not a fool, Madam. What is it that you really want of me?”
Maybelle swallowed. Hard. It was as if he was staring straight into her soul, demanding that she contemplate not only her intentions but her state of mind. The trouble was, at that moment, she realized that she actually wanted this. Wanted him. And it went beyond any vow she’d ever made to herself to render herself useless to men.
“If it isn’t obvious by now what I want, Your Grace,” she murmured up over her shoulder, “then I am at a complete loss of words and utterly disappointed by your inaction. Sadly, I expected more from a man surrounded by so much gossip.”
The duke’s lips continued to hover beside her ear and his breathing grew heavier with each passing moment. He eventually whispered, “I’ve never been much of a gentleman and clearly, you are not looking for one.” He slowly crossed his arms around her front side and held up both hands before her. “So. Do you want my gloves on or off?”
She bit her lip, her heart pounding. “Off.”
“Off it is.” He bent his head forward, the side of his face and chin brushing against her hair, then used his teeth to pry off each glove. She froze as his muscled arms flexed with each smooth movement.
He tossed the first glove and then the second into the fuzzy darkness, making them disappear somewhere at their feet. “Now.” He lowered his bare hands and encircled her waist. He gripped her hard. “Hold out your hands.”
Maybelle held them out, not daring to question his intentions. Only wanting them. Anticipating them.
Knowing full well she couldn’t bend at the waist, he slowly guided her face down toward the grass just off the path and set her gently on her hands and knees.
She swallowed as he slowly dragged up her skirts and pushed away the folds from the lower half of her body, exposing her entire backside to him. Half of her dreaded what was about to happen, the other half wanted it knowing it was him.
He leaned over her, his heat and erection pressing against her and although she expected him to enter her there and now, instead, his large hand reached
around her and brushed the side of her face.
Gently. Tenderly.
Her cheek tingled against the feathery feel of his warm touch. She pressed it against his hand, wanting to melt into his palm completely.
“You feel beautiful,” he murmured from behind.
She closed her eyes and inwardly shivered. He certainly made her feel beautiful.
His hand trailed down from her face down to her neck. His fingers drifted lower. To her breasts. Breasts she didn’t know were worth having until now.
Oh, one could learn to love being ruined.
The duke yanked at the front of her gown and nudged her breasts up and out of her corset, freeing them completely. He flicked his thumb across one of her nipples, hardening them against the cool air.
She closed her eyes and gave in to the endless sensations.
His large hand cupped her breast hard for a moment, as if he were savoring each touch as much as she was, before finally releasing it. He then slid his hand all the way up her bare throat to her chin until he forced his finger into her mouth.
She willingly sucked the salty taste of his finger, pulling it deep into her mouth. Wanting to savor the very flavor and warmth of his skin.
“Wet it more,” he hoarsely said from behind. “Then push it out.” He rubbed against her backside with his erection, forcing its heat to come through the smooth fabric of his trousers.
Maybelle pushed back against him as she slathered his finger with saliva. Slowly, she pushed it out with her tongue.
He brought his hand away and moved back, leaving her to only feel the cool night air caressing her naked thighs. His wet finger suddenly slid from the top ridge of her backside down to the already wet folds between her thighs. She sucked in a harsh breath at the unexpected coolness as he paused on her nub and rubbed that spot in small even circles.
More. She wanted so much more. Which is why she found herself pushing against his finger. Yet it wasn’t enough. She wanted to know what all of him would feel like. With him inside of her. She tried to look back at him, seeing only that his shadowed frame knelt behind her. “Please. Now.”
“Shhh.” He continued to rub her with his finger faster and faster. As if he wanted her to lose control there and then.
She bit back a scream as her gloved fingertips gripped the grass, tearing straight into the earth. She felt as if something within her was about to explode. She gasped for air against the tightness of her corset, but felt too lightheaded to properly breathe.
“Hold back,” he whispered, his finger never once stopping. “Hold back.”
“I…cannot,” she panted. “I cannot.”
“Yes, you can.” He stopped and the rustling of his trousers made her realize he was springing himself free. Grabbing hold of her waist with one hand, he brought her back toward him. In that same moment, she felt the warm rounded tip of his shaft slowly work its way through her wet folds.
But instead of entering, he simply rubbed it up and down, up and down against her nub. Teasing her.
She gasped as more wondrous sensations gripped her entire body. She pushed back against him more forcefully, wishing he would simply enter. “Please.”
“Is this what you want?” he hoarsely asked from behind her.
“Yes,” she choked out.
“Then it is what I want.” He continued to rub against her with his cock more feverishly, making her core tighten with each stroke, then rammed the solid head inside of her, shocking her. His entire length slipped in deep. Much deeper than she’d expected. A sharp pain from within made her stiffen and cry out in surprised agony.
The duke froze. As if something was wrong. “Have you ever done this before?” he demanded, his voice rough, almost ragged.
Relieved that the pain had subsided and that it now felt rather perfect, she whispered, “No. Not really.”
“Bloody hell.” He quickly pulled out, slid her satin skirts back into place, and fell back and away.
It was suddenly quiet. Except for their heavy breaths, which filled the air.
Lovely. Deflowered and yet…not.
As the feeling of climax ebbed and completely dissipated, Maybelle bit back her frustration and shifted into a different position. “I should have probably told you.”
He rose, still breathing heavily, but remained silent.
Maybelle momentarily closed her eyes, trying to push away the reality of what she had done. An imbecile is what she was. A complete imbecile.
Of course, she had accomplished what it is she had wanted. And that was all that mattered. She had officially been rendered useless to men.
She opened her eyes. It was time to go. Scrambling to her feet, she arranged her skirts into place and then pushed her breasts back where they belonged. Obviously, the man had nothing more to say. Which suited her. For there was nothing left to discuss.
Drawing in a calm breath that was anything but calming, she abruptly turned and hurried away. It was best she return to her grandmother and finally admit to the woman that she not only needed a few classes on the art of seduction but also quite a few more on men.
“Maybelle,” the duke called after her, “wait.”
Although she was quite surprised that he even remembered her name, she ignored him and hurried toward the dim lights of the festivities. Whatever had passed between them was best left in the garden. Forever.
When she reached the lightest part of the garden, she quickly slowed her steps, to appear casual to those on the balcony. There was a skidding of feet behind her, and to her surprise, someone caught and hooked her elbow, forcing her to turn.
Thick, broad shoulders clad in a formal jacket blocked her view, forcing her to peer up into fathomless, black eyes. She stiffened as the heat of his intent stare brought fire climbing up her stockinged legs. Her palms perspired beneath her gloves.
The duke, damn him, was even more astounding up close and in the light. His lean smooth-shaven face and full lips complemented his sharp features. The small cool breeze that floated around them lifted his black hair and scattered a few silken strands across his forehead. In the most perfect way.
Maybelle slipped away from his tight grip and stepped back, trying to set a safe distance between them. As she continued to wordlessly return his stare, her cheeks grew unbearably hot wondering what it was he was thinking.
His dark eyes urgently searched her face. “Why? Why did you want me to do it?”
As if he would ever understand the complications of being caught between two worlds. Maybelle lowered her eyes and noted that his white cravat had tumbled out from beneath his dark embroidered waistcoat. Her eyes widened. All the buttons on his waistcoat were missing, exposing the delicate folds of his white shirt beneath. Even his evening jacket couldn’t hide the mess.
She stuck out a hand, apologetically touching the mangled fabric. “I certainly didn’t mean to—”
The duke stepped back and away from her touch as if it had burned him. “I wouldn’t worry all that much about my appearance. We should, however, tend to yours, Madam. Immediately.”
Maybelle swiped at the front of her skirts, glancing down in the process. “Oh, surely it cannot be all that—” She froze, her gloved hands stilling against the cream satin of her gown. Dirt marks and grass stains spattered the entire front of her bosom as well as the length of her knees. She groaned aloud. She might as well have published the details of her debauchery in the London Gazette.
“Chère?” a familiar voice asked from behind them.
Maybelle cringed, realizing it was her grandmother. She turned and met the woman’s gaze.
Her grandmother smiled warmly and assuredly as she held out a gloved hand. “It is best we leave. People are beginning to gather.”
Maybelle eyed the lighted balcony, noticing people were gathering. At least a dozen people had wandered out from the ballroom onto the balcony just to look at them. Yes. This could very well make the papers.
> The duke stepped toward them from behind. He lowered his voice. “I am to blame for this. Entirely. Allow me to settle this matter in private.”
Maybelle turned to him, startled that the man felt in any way responsible. After all, she was the one to initiate all this.
“No need, Your Grace. Bonne nuit.” Her grandmother took her arm, slowly turned her away from the duke, and led them back toward the stairs leading to the balcony.
Toward all the people.
“There is no other way to depart except through the ballroom,” her grandmother whispered into her ear. “Walk slowly, with dignity, and pretend all is well.”
Pretend all is well? After an encounter like that? Impossible! Her heart still pounded and her flesh still tingled long after it had ended. She finally understood why sex was so forbidden. It drove one to lose all sensibility.
Mistress of Pleasure Page 3
