Early evening shadows covered a quarter of the Black Swan Inn’s courtyard. Tristan inspected the new team of horses. Satisfied, he assisted Tessa up into their carriage. The rattle of passing carriages and jangling harnesses frayed his overwrought nerves. For eight long hours he’d wrestled with temptation. He took a deep breath and climbed into the carriage, telling himself he could resist her for a little longer. This time, he sat across from Tessa, hoping distance would cool his unruly desire.
She removed her bonnet. “How much longer until we arrive at your home?”
“We will be there before nightfall.” He set his hat on the seat beside him.
The horses started and the carriage rocked into motion. Soon the clattering of hooves on the cobblestones changed to pounding thuds as the carriage turned onto the road.
Tessa attempted to smooth out the wrinkles of her diaphanous white skirt. As she pressed her hands over the fabric, he could discern the dimensions of her shapely thighs. Heat spread through his veins. He turned his attention to the window and lifted the shade, pretending interest in the passing scenery.
A few minutes later, they hit a bump. He turned to her. “Rough start,” he said, pulling the shade down.
The carriage started rattling and swaying. Her tense expression worried him. “The road will smooth out soon.”
She clutched the edge of the seat. “Is it safe?”
The reason for her fear dawned on him. Her parents had perished in a carriage accident. Grabbing the strap for balance, he stood, bending his head. The carriage swayed again.
“No, you must sit. It’s dangerous.” She sounded terrified.
In one long stride, he made it over to her seat and put his arm round her shoulders. “I will keep you safe.”
The minute he uttered the words, the carriage jolted. She gasped. He could feel her trembling, so he clasped her hand. “Just a bit longer. I promise.”
She gripped his hand hard during the bumpy ride. A half hour later, the sickening swaying eased. She released his hand and sighed. “Thank goodness.” Then she removed her cape. “Oh, that is much better.” She glanced at him. “May I help you with your coat?”
“God, yes.” He turned his back. As she assisted him, her fingers brushed the silk fabric of his waistcoat, making him long for her to touch his skin. She folded the coat lengthwise and set it aside, a domestic gesture that for some odd reason tugged at him.
He settled back, putting distance between their bodies. “My mother cornered me at the inn. She insisted I speak to you about marriage again.”
Tessa made an exasperated sound. “Did you tell her it was hopeless?”
“She is threatening to find you a husband if I fail.”
“Heaven forbid.” She straightened the neckline of her gown. “We must think of some way to divert her.”
“My mother is a formidable woman and will not forget the matter easily. She is convinced you need a husband.”
Tessa’s eyes glinted with mischief. “I have it. As soon as we arrive at your home, I will pen a description of my ideal husband. The requirements will be impossible. You will honestly be able to tell her there is not a man alive who will please me.”
“It won’t work. My mother thinks you are more than eligible and could have your choice of suitors.”
She found the rug and shook it out over her lap. “Tell your mother to stop meddling in my affairs.”
“Tess, she is right, you know.”
“I have no desire to marry, and you are not to broach the subject again.”
“You are all alone in the world. I worry about you.”
She regarded him with a defiant expression. “I am no fool, Your Grace. I can spot a fortune hunter at fifty paces.”
Tessa had referred to him by his formal address, a sure sign she found his questions unsettling. “Is it fortune hunters you fear?”
“I fear nothing.”
“Except marriage,” he said.
She kicked off her slippers with more than a little force. “Oh, you are ridiculous. I already told you I prefer my independence and my career.”
“You believe in happily ever after for everyone but yourself,” he said.
Anger flashed in her eyes. “The women I make matches for have no choice. Their livelihoods depend on marriage. I do my best to ensure they find loving husbands.” Her bosom rose and fell. “Even you do not have my freedom. You must marry to secure an heir, but I am not duty-bound. My uncle’s title is dead. I am free to will my fortune to whomever I please.”
“Is that what your uncle would wish for you?” he murmured.
“I am one of the richest women in England. Do you have any idea how rare that sort of independence is?”
He smiled. “I do, but you have not answered my question.”
“My answer is that I do not have the usual inducements to wed.”
He caressed her cheek. “There are other advantages to marriage.”
“Oh, yes, I could wed, and then my husband would have complete control of my fortune. What a happy prospect.”
“You could put it in trust before you wed, and then you would have complete control of it.”
She huffed. “No man would accept a wife without a penny.”
Her cynicism stunned him. Until now, she had given every impression of being an incurable romantic. “You believe in love for everyone but yourself. Why is that, Tessa?”
A mirthless huff escaped her. “I am hardly an eligible young miss, despite what your mother thinks. Everyone else has labeled me a spinster.”
For years, she had sacrificed her own needs for others. Now she was caught up in a vicious cycle. She didn’t believe any man would see past her spinster status unless he was bent upon possessing her fortune. And the damnable truth was she would never allow anyone to get close enough to see the woman beneath the labels of spinster and heiress. But he knew she was much more.
He thought about the way she thumbed her nose at society’s rules. Maybe it wasn’t heedlessness, but rather defensiveness. “Tess, you give so much to others, to your own detriment.”
“I deny myself nothing. I have wealth beyond my means to spend.”
Her angry retort made him smile. “I am not speaking of material possessions.”
She rolled her eyes.
“You deny yourself family and companionship.”
“I have friends.”
“I know,” he said. “But you are forgetting one benefit to marriage.”
“You are trying to divert me from your courtship,” she said. “We do need to discuss it. I am concerned about your doubts.”
“We already discussed the matter. I’ll not let you change the subject,” he said. “Think of what you are missing.”
She averted her gaze. “I am a matchmaker and am fully aware of the benefits of marriage, but they do not apply to me.”
He cupped her cheek and turned her to face him. “You think not?”
“I—I know so.”
“You do not sound certain,” he murmured, caressing her silky skin.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
He winked at her. “I am trying to convince you of what you are missing.”
A ragged breath escaped her.
He lowered his head and breathed near her ear, telling himself he only meant to prove his point. “Would you miss naughty whispers?”
“You are unseemly.”
“Not convinced, I see.” He turned his head until her breath whispered over his lips. “Would you miss tender kisses?”
“You are wicked.”
He could almost taste her. “Want more?”
“You are indecent t-to ask.”
“But I will.” He reached round her, supporting her back as he leaned forward. The rug slipped. She drew back and gasped. He glanced down at the rounded tops of her ivory breasts. Then he lowered his head and blew between the shadowy cleavage. She whimpered.
Heat flooded his groin. The game had gone too far. When he lifted h
is head, her eyes fluttered open. “Now do you have an inkling of what you are missing?” he said.
She pushed his chest. “You are a tease.”
He let her go. “I proved my point.”
She sat up and lifted her chin. “You proved nothing.”
He tickled her waist.
She cried out and wiggled away. He chuckled and tickled her again. The rug fell to the floor as she leaped to her feet, swaying with the carriage. Tristan grabbed her arm to keep her from falling. She tried to wrench out of his grasp. He tugged her toward him, trapping her between his legs. When the carriage rocked, she lost her balance and grasped his shoulders. Grinning, he jiggled her with his thighs. A sweet laugh escaped her.
Their eyes met. He looked longingly at her mouth. She wet her lips.
Then he did a reckless thing. He leaned forward and captured her lips. Tell me no. Stop me. Tell me I am all but promised to another.
She returned his kiss, and all rational thought fled.
He hauled her up onto his lap. She reached up, tunneling her fingers through his hair. He molded her lips to his, but it wasn’t enough. He plucked at her mouth and licked her lips. When she gasped, he thrust his tongue inside. The instinct to devour her pounded in his blood, but he checked his rough urges. He savored her, slowing the rhythm to intensify her pleasure. She tasted sweet and tart, like sugar and lemon.
He surfaced for air, swearing to stop, but she placed her palm over his heart. “I want to feel your heart beating for me,” she whispered.
“Kiss me,” he said.
She touched her lips to his. He opened for her, an invitation. She tasted him uncertainly, as if he were some new delicacy. The truth dawned on him that this was new to her, only her second kiss. And only with him, he was sure of it. He let her explore, and as she grew bolder, the delicious ache in his groin heated to rock-hard arousal. Unable to hold back, he drew her tongue into his mouth and sucked. A soft, feminine moan escaped her. So he did it again and again. Then she reciprocated, and he groaned.
When he lifted his lips, she planted butterfly kisses on his cheeks and his jaw. Unable to help himself, he suckled her slender neck. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders as if she were afraid of falling.
One more kiss. Just once more. Then he would stop.
When their lips met again, her mouth opened to welcome his tongue. His need for her grew to a fever pitch. Somehow his hands were fumbling with the small hooks on the back of her gown. When he freed the last one, he pushed her sleeves and her bodice down and freed her arms. She reached for his shoulders, and he caressed the tops of her breasts displayed above her stays. Then his fingers traveled over the hard boning of her busk. He kissed her again. Then he removed the busk and tossed it aside on the seat.
She gasped. He pulled down the top of her soft stays, revealing her powdery white breasts. “You are beautiful,” he whispered, cupping her.
Her eyes drifted closed. He teased her nipples with his thumbs. Then he gently squeezed the distended buds. “Oh,” she whispered.
He lowered his mouth and touched the tip of his tongue to one pert nipple. She arched up to him, so he did it again and again, teasing her until she clutched his head.
“Please,” she begged.
Yes. He took her fully in his mouth and suckled hard. Her ardent, feminine moans and restless movements emboldened him. He lifted her skirts, sliding his hand over her velvety soft thighs. She opened for him with only the slightest coaxing. When he found the springy curls, he cupped her with his hand. Her slick, hot folds drove him mad with desire. He almost dipped his finger inside, but feared taking her virginity. He caressed her, explored, and found the sweet spot. She made a mewing sound in the back of her throat. He rubbed her rhythmically. “Like this?”
She arched up to him in answer.
His cock throbbed, grew harder, made him think dangerous thoughts. He wanted to straddle her over his lap and thrust inside her. But he could not, would not, must not, take her virginity.
She arched her hips and she was no longer damp, but wet, soaking wet. Her whimpers were the most erotic sounds he’d ever heard.
“Come for me, darling Tessa.” He lowered his head and suckled her other nipple.
Her back bowed as she cried out. Then she collapsed.
He kissed her cheek. “Sweet, sweet Tess.”
“I am floating,” she mumbled.
His cock throbbed, almost painfully. Without thinking, he arched against her, but her soft bottom made the ache worse. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
Her eyes flew open. She sat up, wriggling on his lap.
He groaned.
“Oh, no. Did I hurt you?”
“Don’t move.” He panted. “No, you had better move. To the seat.”
She slid off his lap. He leaned his head back against the seat, gritting his teeth.
“Tristan?”
He peered at her, a mistake. Her kiss-swollen lips made the beast inside him want to howl.
She placed her palm on his chest. He inhaled. Her fingers skimmed over his waistcoat. Shock cascaded over him as he realized she was unbuttoning it.
“Tess,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“Shhhh.” Then she tugged his voluminous shirt out of his trousers.
He made a halfhearted attempt to stop her, but when her hands slid underneath his shirt, skimming up his belly to his chest, he lost the will to resist.
“Your skin is so hot,” she whispered.
He would stop her soon. He would. He must. But oh, Lord, her touch burned him. Made him want, want, want.
As her hands trailed downward, he clenched his teeth. His cock strained against the confines of his trousers. He fought against the overwhelming urge to free himself.
Then her fingers trailed to one of the buttons on his falls. Alarmed, he grabbed her hand. “No.”
“You don’t want me to touch you?”
The throaty sound of her voice nearly undid him. “You cannot.”
“Why?”
A huff escaped him. She didn’t understand. “Because it is like shaking up a bottle of champagne and popping the cork.”
“Oh.” She looked disappointed.
He wanted her to protest. He wanted her to touch him. He wanted too much. And he had no right.
She kissed his lips. “Don’t move.”
Then she grasped his coat, rummaged inside, and dangled his handkerchief before his eyes.
When he realized her intention, it took all of his self-control to refuse. “No, I cannot let you.”
She closed his fingers over the scrap of fabric and waved his hand. “This is a white flag. Say you surrender.”
“Oh, God.”
“Close enough.” She gave him a siren’s smile, and with agonizing slowness, she released the buttons on his falls and untied his drawers. When his engorged cock sprang out, her eyes widened. She started to touch him, and then hesitated. When she looked up into his eyes, he lost the battle. “Yes.”
She swirled her finger round the drop of moisture. Then she clasped him. “Impressive,” she whispered.
He surged in her hand. She smiled, bent down, and kissed him quickly. He must have died and gone to heaven.
She glanced up at him through her long lashes. “Did I hurt you?”
“Quite the opposite,” he muttered. Then he wrapped his hand round her own and showed her how to pleasure him. Bless her, she caught on quickly.
He watched her the whole time. The pressure built and built, until the erotic spasms started and a hoarse sound erupted from his throat. She caught his cry with her mouth and covered him with the handkerchief. He shuddered as the throbbing ecstasy overcame him. Then his head fell back against the seat.
Disoriented, he awoke to the tickle of something soft beneath his nose. The scent of roses and woman permeated the fog in his brain. Hair, soft hair. Tessa’s hair.
Awareness crept into his deadened brain in stupid spurts. Her cheek on his shoulder. His hand on her naked breast.
Good Lord, what had he done?
He realized his trousers were unbuttoned. The devil! He ought to be horsewhipped for what he’d done and what he’d allowed her to do.
A feminine sigh drew his attention to her face. Her eyes opened, and then she smiled, a sultry, well-pleasured smile.
She kissed his cheek. He turned to her, meaning to speak, to apologize, to do the devil only knew what. But somehow he found himself kissing her again, and whatever noble intentions he had crumbled. As soon as he tasted her, he sprang to attention.
He cupped her breasts, filling his hands to overflowing. At her quick intake of breath, he gazed down as he circled her distended nipples with his thumbs. Her head fell back as he pressed her breasts together and lowered his head to flick his tongue rapidly back and forth between her nipples. His cock grew rock-hard.
Her throaty moans emboldened him. He raised her up and pressed her thighs apart until she straddled him. Then he pushed her skirts out of the way, pulling her closer, until they were skin to skin, as close as they could be without joining. The sensation made him wild, insane with lust. He needed her, craved her, wanted to make her his in every way. The urge to penetrate almost, almost overcame him. And then he looked into her eyes and saw fear. “I swear I won’t go too far.”
She closed her hands round his erection. They rocked together, the ecstasy taking him to a mindless place where there was only her and him and this moment. Then he took her nipple in his mouth, sucking hard. She cried out. He wasn’t far behind. A hoarse sound erupted from his throat as the sweet rapture overtook him, the waves beating in time with his heart. Quickly, she pulled the hem of her petticoat forward, wrapping it round his throbbing sex as his seed spilled over.
He enfolded her in his arms, and she buried her face on his shoulder. Then she mumbled something he did not understand. His heart galloped as rapidly as the thudding hooves of the horses. He gulped in air, unable to focus. When his breathing started to slow, a drunken, satiated stupor claimed him. His brain shut down. He closed his eyes and gave in to the little death.
Chapter Sixteen
A clattering sound awoke him. His muddled brain refused to work at first. Then he became aware of the vehicle slowing. Curving in a wide turn. Shouts outside. The carriage lurched to a halt. He nudged the shade aside. Bloody hell!
How to Marry a Duke Page 22
