If I Only Had a Duke

by Lenora Bell

  She wound her hands around his neck and pressed her soft breasts into his chest. “I choose you, Dalton.”

  I choose you.

  The words took his breath away. Oh, how he wanted it to be that simple.

  “I may not be exactly the temptation you love the best.” Her lips curved. “I’m not at all statuesque. And my figure is less than ample.”

  He cupped her breasts with his palms, squeezing gently. “You’re perfect, Thea.”

  “I don’t have flashing emerald eyes. My eyes can’t decide if they want to be cloudy or blue.” She leaned forward and pressed her soft lips to his cheek. “But if I had you, Duke, you’d change your preferences.”

  He kissed her then with all the pent-up longing he’d been denying. He kissed her because he wanted to believe life could be simple. All this pain and strife, the games men played to keep death from knocking too loudly.

  Life could be the scent of roses when she drew near, and the lingering heat of her body on his palm.

  Take her into his arms.

  Build a bridge to another world.

  A bright window, instead of a dark alley.

  He could be a man. Not a force of vengeance.

  Just a man.

  A man who wanted to bed this woman. This complex, clever, beautiful woman.

  He gave up fighting. She knew his secret. He didn’t have to admit it aloud.

  And he wasn’t strong enough to push her away again.

  She moved above him, supple and yielding. He filled his hands with her rounded breasts, her small waist, her flaring hips.

  He kissed her.

  And he grabbed hold of the rope.

  Chapter 20

  Thea pressed down, seeking relief from the sweet ache between her thighs.

  When he moaned and settled her more firmly against him, guiding her hips with his large hands, a surge of triumph flooded her breast.

  Forced into a mold by her mother. By society. By every single one of the people who’d laughed at her and whispered about her and christened her Disastrous Dorothea.

  She brushed the tips of her breasts against his solid chest and the motion swayed down through her belly and to the hidden place she’d touched in the bath this morning.

  The rule follower, the perfect duchess candidate . . . she was long gone.

  Sloughed off like the skin of a molting snake.

  Here she was, naked and real.

  Simply here with him.

  One night of pleasure to change her forever.

  Propriety. Elegance. Refinement. Drown it all!

  “Are you sure you want this?” he asked, his voice low and suffused with tenderness and need.

  She arched her back and rubbed her thighs against him. “Yes,” she moaned.

  “God, Thea. You’re so goddamned lovely.”

  Her heart pounded and her skin was so sensitive to touch that when he skimmed the tip of his finger down her cheek she jumped and shivered.

  “Kiss me again,” she whispered.

  And he did. Firm, demanding lips claiming her, teasing her lips apart. His bold tongue filling her mouth.

  He flipped her over, settling on top of her, pressing her into the featherbed.

  Their bodies meshed, arms around waists, fingers in hair, thigh to thigh.

  The hard length of him jutted into Thea’s belly and she knew that soon he would be inside her and she would welcome him there, would wantonly spread her legs.

  Lost at sea. Racing toward something new.

  She wanted him. All of him. The rake and the rogue.

  Man and myth.

  Maybe she could make him believe that with her body, if not her words.

  She’d do her best.

  Her body knew what it wanted. It instructed her to rip his clothes off because her skin needed to be touching his skin.

  She reached for the buttons on his shirt.

  Too many buttons. Too difficult, her fingers too fumbling. She took his shirt in both her hands and tore the buttons off.

  Well, only one button came off but it hit the floor with an impressive popping sound.

  He lifted his shirt the rest of the way off his head.

  That’s what she wanted. All that smooth, scarred, bruised flesh above her.

  He lifted her leg and unlaced one boot, then the other, sliding them off and placing them by the bed.

  He tugged his boots off next.

  He made short work of her gown and undergarments and, finally, her shift.

  Suddenly shy, she crossed her arms over her chest, but he grasped them and brought them to her sides.

  “Let me look at you.” He made a noise low in his throat, a feral growl. “This is for me? All this beauty? These delicate, enticing curves . . .”

  He ran his hands from her shoulders down the edges of her breasts, over her waist and hips.

  Her entire body hummed with the awareness of what was to come. She held out her arms. “Kiss me more.”

  “Greedy,” he chided. But he gathered her into his strong arms and kissed her until she couldn’t breathe.

  When he lifted over her, the fossil on the leather cord around his neck swung near and she caught it in her hand, the small jagged edges pressing into her palm.

  A memento of his brother’s death.

  She could comfort him.

  The only barrier between them now was his breeches.

  Through a round window set high in the wall Thea could see the cold, gray ocean.

  She threw her head back, moaning with pleasure as he covered her breasts in his hands and toyed with her nipples, teasing them to yearning points.

  When his wet tongue flicked across her nipple she lifted her body into his mouth, shamelessly signaling her approval.

  He spent a long time on her nipples, licking and sucking each one, and she felt the motion between her thighs, as if he were licking her there again. It was all connected somehow, a triangle of pleasure that stretched taut between her nipples and down between her thighs.

  If her nipples were so very sensitive, were his? She lifted her head and swirled her tongue over one of his small, flat nipples.

  He didn’t push her away. She took that as a good sign. She kissed the other nipple and sucked, scraping her teeth just a little. He moaned and raised up on his arms, giving her more access.

  That was an even better sign.

  She kissed his chest and the hollow of his neck, the hillocks of his large, muscular shoulders.

  His hands roamed down her sides and slid under her backside, he kneaded her bum cheeks, pressing her against his hardness.

  The rough buckskin of his breeches rubbed her sensitive flesh, and she felt herself getting wet. He rubbed his thumb between her legs, sliding over her slippery flesh, setting her body trembling.

  He pressed his fingers inside her. She rose to meet him, and when he pushed all the way, until he could go no further, his fingers rocked back and forth in slow, gentle motions.

  He rocked harder, the heel of his palm rubbing her sensitive flesh while his fingers beckoned her toward pleasure.

  Something in her belly unwound. She clenched around his fingers, and then the pleasure broke, so instant and acute that she cried out. A high sound like a distant seagull wheeling over the ocean. Flying in the wide, limitless sky.

  Already this release with his fingers. What would it be like with the hard, straining organ she’d clasped last night?

  He fumbled with his breeches’ buttons and his shaft burst free, looking extremely pleased to see her.

  As he slid his breeches and smallclothes down and off, she did a little exploring of her own, sliding her fingers around his shaft in greeting.

  He groaned. “Thea, I promised I wouldn’t ruin you.”

  “Stop. Don’t speak. Look at me, Dalton. I’m here. I don’t want anything from you except this moment.”

  He pressed between her thighs, asking for entrance, and she opened wider. A stretching feeling, larger than his fingers. />
  Much larger.

  With his weight supported by his solid, muscled arms on either side of her body, he dipped his head to suckle her breasts while the hard weight of him nudged her thighs further apart.

  The next motion of his hips had her gasping as he entered more, stretching her around his girth, shaping her body in a new way.

  “You’re so wet, Thea. I need to be inside you now.”

  Instinct told her that the only answer she needed to give was to lift her legs and wrap them around his back, holding him in place.

  “God,” he breathed and then he reared back and entered her with a slow, implacable thrust.

  He stopped moving, breathing heavily, staring down into her eyes.

  “I’ll wait for you. Until it feels good,” he said, his voice rough and strained.

  That might be a while.

  The intrusion had her stretched to the limit and it was more than uncomfortable. She bit her lip. “Will it feel good?”

  “I promise it will. Breathe with me. Match my breathing.” He took a deep breath above her and she sucked in a deep breath as well.

  The gentle rocking of the ship lulled her mind. He wasn’t moving, just staying there, inside her, giving her the time and space she needed to accommodate the newness of it.

  Then he began to move, only slightly, matching the motion of the waves cradling the ship. While he moved he smoothed the hair off her brow with tender fingers.

  He suckled her nipples, sliding a thumb between their bodies and rubbing the swollen flesh there, the sensitive place that craved his touch.

  Suddenly it began to feel more than good. “Oh,” she moaned. “I like that.”

  “I thought you might.” He smiled, the wavering light from the oil lamp mounted on the wall casting blue shadows across the sharply angled planes of his face.

  Probably she should be feeling self-conscious about the fact that her legs were spread wide and that he was halfway inside her, gently rocking and sliding in more.

  How much more of him was there?

  She could see the hair around his shaft pressed against her curls. He was almost all the way inside now. She pressed with her heels against the dense muscles of his backside, drawing him closer.

  He groaned and sank the last inch until their bodies pressed together with not even space for his thumb anymore. She moved tentatively. What would it feel like if she pressed her body up against his and found something to rub against?

  Like she’d just discovered a doorway into heaven.

  The pain receded swiftly as she experimented. Her heels on his backside helped her press up with just the right pressure.

  “Yes,” he said. “Find your rhythm. Listen to your breathing.”

  There it was.

  Like the ocean waves, the perfect slow tempo. She rubbed against him and then he filled her. Back and forth they slid. Waltzing with the waves.

  Now the tremors started again, deep inside, squeezing her inner muscles around him. “That’s right,” he urged.

  He kissed her long and deep as he thrust into her body, finding the same delicious place his fingers had found. The place that had her clenching around him and poised on the brink of more pleasure.

  It was so sweet she felt like crying.

  He rode faster, shifting the angle so he could go even deeper. She loved the way he grimaced in the wavering light.

  The way his eyes were so dark and blue, like the bottom of the ocean. He needed her in this moment. They needed each other to find satisfaction.

  Harder and faster, rocking the bed, riding with the ship.

  Pleasure calling. Just over that horizon. Flying faster as the wind picked up and the sails of her pleasure filled and stretched taut.

  “You feel so good. It’s so damn good.” He framed her face with hands. “Oh, God.” His whole body tensed and quivered.

  “Now, Thea,” he moaned. “I won’t spend inside you. But you must come for me now.”

  She sped into the wind, letting the pleasure take her.

  Body singing.

  Singing a Bach chorale in four-part harmony in an echoing cathedral.

  Oh, God, hear my song.

  He groaned and slid free of her body, sliding his hardness against her belly, and she felt his seed spilling against her skin, warm and thick and vital.

  He collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily, his head cushioned by her breasts.

  She stroked his damp hair and sweat-slick shoulders.

  “The best, Thea.” He kissed the tip of her breast and pleasure billowed again. “I knew you would be the best.”

  She basked in the sweetness of those words. “Do you say that to all your lovers?” she asked, keeping her voice light.

  “Never. I’ve never said that before.”

  “Surely that can’t be true.” She ruffled his hair. “When you’ve had so many lovely women.”

  He lifted his head. “Sometimes it’s not about experience.” He traced a lazy circle around the outer edge of her nipple with his tongue. The teasing motion made the wanting return.

  “We happen to be made for each other,” he whispered, blowing on the tip of her nipple until she begged for his mouth to take her.

  Did he know what those words did to her heart?

  In this unguarded moment with his seed still pooled in the valley of her belly, she was vulnerable.

  And she wanted to believe that when he said they were made for each other, it meant more than just their bodies fitting together.

  For now, she’d take his firm lips closing over her mouth, the roughness of his cheek against her sensitive flesh.

  The pledge of more pleasure to come.

  Sated. Thoroughly pleasured. Shoulder pain forgotten in a sea of euphoria.

  Selfish to hold her in the darkness, take the comfort she gave with her sweet kisses and her perfect body, knowing he had so little to give in return.

  Quiet on the boat now. Only the creaking of ropes. Gentle splashing of waves against wood.

  They’d fallen asleep intertwined.

  She had this effect on him. The reveling in warm, soft arms around him, forget-all-his-troubles effect.

  So seductive, the woman curled in his arms.

  Contentment. That’s probably what it was called, this feeling.

  But of course it was only a brief forestalling of the inevitable. Back to the darkness, back to the hunt.

  What could he give her? What promises could he make?

  He was uncertain what awaited him in Ireland. A formidable foe or yet another chimera; an answer, an end to his mother’s suffering, or only more questions.

  What he wanted to give her was safety, security, and belief in the power and strength he saw in her.

  She snuggled into his chest and that was good and right in an elemental way.

  Like taking that first gulp of night air after being inside a gambling hell for hours, inhaling cigar smoke and desperation.

  Dalton had laughed at his friend James for falling blindly in love with his wife, Thea’s half sister, with a heated intensity that Dalton had been sure would fade with time. Now, with his arms wrapped around Thea, he wasn’t so sure.

  The woman sleeping against his chest, inside the knot of his arms, knew his deepest secrets and it hadn’t made her run away.

  He could be himself with her. He didn’t have to play a role.

  “Are you awake, Thea?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, not lifting her head. She spread her fingers over his chest. “I’m here.”

  She was still and quiet in his arms. He hugged her closer.

  Did he dare?

  He breathed slowly, deeply, and took the plunge. “The first time I tied a kerchief around my mouth and slipped into the night searching for vengeance I was twenty years old.”

  He paused. If she said the wrong words he could stop. He wouldn’t have to tell her.

  She said nothing. But her hand remained spread across his chest, pressing down slightly, a
s if anchoring him to the story.

  “My brother, Alec, didn’t drown accidentally,” he continued. “He was murdered. I seek revenge on the man who stole his life. I’ve been searching for ten years now.”

  A slight rustling movement was the only betrayal of surprise.

  “The murderer left behind a note. ‘You stole what was mine, so I stole something of yours.’ And my father had stolen so many things he had no idea where to begin searching. His list of enemies was too long.”

  The words welled up in his throat like some biblical flood waiting to be unleashed.

  “I didn’t know any of this until I turned eighteen. I thought . . . I thought it had been my fault. Alec was five years younger than me. He followed me everywhere. Followed me onto the cliffs that day. He reached for my hand and I drew away. Told him to go back to the house. And when I came back . . . he had drowned.”

  Still she remained silent. Didn’t tell him it wasn’t his fault. That he’d only been a young boy of ten and couldn’t be held responsible.

  She listened with a quiet intensity that acted as a balm, numbing the edge of his anger and allowing him to speak of things he never spoke of, not to anyone, not even Con.

  “When I turned eighteen my father told me the truth. Alec was murdered in retribution for my father’s sins. That’s why my mother hated him. And then I hated him. At first I went out to the hells and lost his money, to spite him. Then I began searching for the murderer in my own way.”

  He wanted her to know why he couldn’t love her. Why he had no heart to give.

  “I didn’t set out to become some mythical avenger. I only wanted to find my brother’s killer. And then it became something more.”

  A finger tracing the scar along his jaw. Comforting silence.

  He inhaled the sweet scent of her warm skin. If he held her tightly enough, maybe he’d never have to leave.

  “My mother went mad with grief. My father wanted more children but she refused. She said her son had died for his sins and she wouldn’t bear another martyr.”

  Dalton had felt her pain more keenly than his own. His own pain was buried too far below the surface.