The Duke Is a Devil

by Karen Lingefelt

  “More,” she whispered again.

  He slid the finger back in, but this time he pressed his thumb against the hard little nub of flesh above her opening.

  This time Cecily moaned, and seemed to melt into a puddle in his lap. Not more than a second or two elapsed before he withdrew his fingers. She let go of his shoulders, and her legs gave way between his as she slid down to the floor between his knees.

  “Perhaps we should continue this elsewhere,” he suggested. “Someplace more private. Would you like that?”

  She finally opened her eyes, wide as ever. “Oh, yes,” she breathed. “In fact, maybe...” She shook her head and rested it on his knee.

  He stroked her hair. “Maybe what?”

  “In that book, Madfury carries Catriona up the staircase to his secret lair, and she writhes and thrashes in his arms all the way—but only because she feared he might drop her.”

  It took all of Dane’s strength to suppress a burst of laughter, for it might spoil the mood. She was aroused, she desired him, and she was clearly ready and willing to be possessed by none other than the devil she’d long believed him to be.

  Still, he felt quite safe in asking, “Wouldn’t he take her to a dungeon? Aren’t most secret lairs located in cellars? Or even caves?”

  “Cellars are dark, dank, and cold, as are caves, and while I’m sure there’s a cellar at Ashdown Park, I don’t know of any caves nearby. And if there are, who’s to say he hasn’t found shelter in one? Furthermore...” She lifted her head to gaze up at him, her expression quite earnest. “Don’t you find the idea of a secret lair in a cellar or cave to be—well, tediously predictable?”

  “I do, indeed, and not at all ideal for what I have in mind.” He pulled up her gown over her shoulders. “Shall I carry you upstairs? Or will that make you writhe and thrash in my arms out of fear I might drop you?”

  Her eyes glimmered in the faint candlelight. “You haven’t dropped me yet. How did I get upstairs last night?”

  “I carried you, but you were too foxed to know what was going on. You certainly didn’t thrash and writhe in my arms.”

  “Still, you didn’t drop me.”

  “I didn’t. I’m quite capable of carrying you up the stairs, down the stairs, or anywhere around the house you’d care to go. Does this mean you trust me, Cecily?”

  “With each passing day, I find I have less reason to not trust you. You have always been there for me. You wouldn’t leave me to languish in an abandoned treehouse. I know now that you didn’t want me to get in trouble for what happened with Lord Septimus. And I know you will be here for me now.”

  “And forever,” he added, as he slowly rose to her feet, pulling her up with him. He wrapped one arm around her back and bent down to slide the other beneath her knees, and picked her up easily as she twined her arms around his neck. He carried her as far as the sofa on the opposite side of the fireplace, with the candelabrum still glowing on the narrow table behind it, and he paused. “We can’t leave the candles burning. I can’t blow them out while holding you, for I’m likely to scorch your hair in the process.”

  “Then you shall have to put me down,” Cecily said.

  He put her down, and together they blew out the candles, leaving them in darkness.

  He felt around for her. “Where are you?”

  “Right here.” Hands slid up his chest and back to his shoulders, while he felt warm, soft skin, and he managed to pick her up again. Something nearby thumped; he must have bumped a piece of furniture. As long as he didn’t hear anything smash or shatter. With Cecily, anything was possible. He carried her toward the door, and only then did it occur to him as she asked, “You didn’t lock the door, did you?”

  “No. In fact, you had the key, didn’t you?”

  “I did. He tore it out of my hand and said something about locking it behind us once he shoved me in here. So it’s either still in the lock, if not this side, then the other, or...it’s somewhere on the floor.”

  Dane lowered Cecily to her feet again. “I’d wager every penny in the kingdom it’s somewhere on the floor.”

  Nonetheless, Cecily opened the door and felt the lock on either side. “No key.”

  Dane crouched down to feel the floor all around the area of the door, but to no avail. “He may have taken it with him. There’s bound to be another key. I’m sure things will be fine till morning. Let’s go upstairs already.” He closed the door behind him, scooped her into his arms again, took two steps and then stepped on something that almost made him slip. Cecily yelped, but he managed to keep a firm grip on her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “I think I just stepped on that key.”

  She squirmed and wriggled her way out of his arms and back on her feet. “Then we should be able to find it now. It should be around here so—oh!” Something skittered and skated across the marble floor, far away from wherever they now stood.

  “There it goes,” Dane said. “It could be anywhere in this hall now, but I’m sure it will show up come daylight. Where were we?”

  “On our way upstairs,” she said, her voice drifting away from him toward the staircase. “Never mind about carrying me up these things now. Let’s just go. I can’t wait another moment.”

  Neither could Dane.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cecily paused upon reaching the top of the staircase, wondering which way to go. His bedchamber, or hers?

  She didn’t know which way to his. And besides, she already spent last night in his because he carried her there. Not to mention—

  He came up behind her, almost nudging her forward. It was utterly dark up here, save for a wall sconce far down the hallway.

  His hot breath drifted into her ear as he whispered, “Let us go to my bedchamber. It’s more secluded than yours, and has a bigger bed.”

  She took a deep breath, inhaling his scent, a thoroughly masculine blend of woods and spices. He gently cupped his hands over her bare shoulders—her unfastened gown was falling down—and he pressed his rough cheek to her own smooth one.

  “Lead the way,” she whispered back.

  “Do you still not wish for me to carry you? It’s still my lair for this night.”

  She tilted her head back as he moved his lips to her jaw line. “Carry me away, Your Grace.”

  “And that will be the last time you ever call me that.”

  She felt herself flying back and upwards as he scooped her into his powerful embrace. Again she grasped his shoulders. He carried her all the way down the shadowy hallway until he reached the door at the very end. He must have left it ajar upon leaving it earlier, for he had only to nudge it open with his foot.

  A glass lamp glowed on a small round table in the middle of the room. A fire blazed in the grate. Clearly a servant had been in here very recently. The enormous bed—as big as the one Cecily had slept in last night—was already turned down, and piled with pillows.

  But for the first time since leaving the library, Cecily had enough light by which to see. And once she noticed these things, she gazed up into his face. He gazed back down at her, his expression solemn yet strangely tender. His turquoise eyes gleamed in the faint light, and his lips parted ever so slightly, as if he were about to say something, or even kiss her again.

  He did the former. “Let go of my shoulders. Trust me, Cecily. I have you. Let go of them.”

  She let go. He lifted her a bit higher, while lowering his head. But instead of kissing her, he used his teeth to pull down the top edge of her bodice, baring her breasts again.

  And then he flicked a tongue around one of the pink tips. Cecily closed her eyes and tilted her head back, savoring the waves of desire that surged through her as he stood in the middle of the bedchamber and suckled her until she moaned.

  Only then did he stop and set her on her feet. Cecily felt dizzy and giddy, as if she’d consumed more brandy this evening. But all she’d imbibed this evening was a glass of ratafia.

  “Look at me, Cecily,�
�� he murmured. “Look into my eyes. Keep your hands at your sides. Don’t touch me. Just stand and look at me as I undress you.”

  She looked into his eyes, entranced by the reflection of firelight that made them look as if he burned with just as much desire for her as she did for him. With the slightest of tugs, he let her gown drop into a violet pool on the floor. He expertly removed her stays and tossed them aside, and then did the same with her shift.

  “Keep looking into my eyes, Cecily. Let me see you, all of you. Don’t be afraid.”

  “I’m not.” No, she wasn’t, yet she had many of the same symptoms of fear. She quivered and shivered all over, her heart racing so fast she could not even distinguish the beats. She knew it was because this was all new to her, an experience she’d never had before, one she’d wondered about for years, one she’d hoped would happen to her one day—but only with the right man.

  And Dane Armstrong, the Duke of Bradbury and erstwhile devil, was that man.

  No one, certainly no man, had ever seen her bare breasts before. Not even Harry, though not for lack of trying. She’d had to surrender a story of hers to prevent that. His Grace—Dane—cupped them in his hands, still gazing intently into her eyes as he flicked his thumbs around the rosy tips.

  And then he kissed her, his tongue sliding languidly past her trembling lips as his hands glided down the sides of her body to the tapes holding her drawers in place. They dropped to the floor on top of her gown. He reached down to untie her garters as his tongue delved deeper, playing with her own. Cecily tasted the familiar brandy from last night and didn’t think she needed to drink any more, for what lingered on his tongue was enough to wipe away her inhibitions and intoxicate her with longing for him.

  She was barely aware of her stockings sliding down her legs of their own accord. Dane broke the kiss and stood back from her, his heated gaze sweeping her from head to toe.

  Then, to her dismay, he frowned and shook his head.

  Her racing heart finally stumbled, almost to a cold halt in her chest. “What’s wrong?”

  His mouth kicked up in the hint of a playful smile. “Oh, nothing is at all wrong. It’s just that your hair is still up. You wouldn’t mind taking it down, would you?”

  “At some point this evening, it would have come down.”

  “You would not have slept in it like this?”

  “No, it would be most uncomfortable. I would have taken it down, put it in a plait, and then donned a nightcap.” She almost couldn’t believe she was saying this while standing before him stark naked, while he stood only a few feet away, still fully dressed. She found the very sensation wonderfully wicked and wickedly wonderful.

  He sat down in an armchair near the fireplace, crossing one booted leg over the other. “Then will you take it down now? No plait, no nightcap, just let it flow long and loose. And let me drink in the beautiful sight of you.”

  No one had ever called her beautiful before.

  Nude, Cecily stood before Dane in a pool of her discarded clothing and raised her arms over her head. Keeping her gaze fixed on his, she plucked out the pins holding her hair in place, letting them rain to the floor as her long brown hair tumbled down her shoulders. She combed her fingers through her tresses, offering him a splendid view of all she had to offer him.

  She thought she could never have done this when she first approached him about her book. How badly do you want my ducal intervention in this matter? How desperate are you? How far would you go?

  Had he not asked that, she might well have stood up and starting disrobing right there at his luncheon table. Or maybe not, since his servants had been hovering nearby.

  But what would he have done next? Continue to sit in his chair, fully clothed, as he did now? His eyes were opened wide and seemed to glow in the firelight, his lips parted, his entire countenance one of awe, as if he’d never seen a naked woman before.

  At that thought, she couldn’t help smiling and asked, “Have you never seen a woman unclothed before?”

  “Of course I have,” he said.

  She turned to one side, smoothing her hands over her hips. “You look as if maybe you haven’t.”

  “I have, but none like you.”

  “Ah, but what is the difference between me and the others?”

  “The difference is that I love you.”

  Her heart, which at some point had resumed its rapid hammering, seemed to freeze in her chest for just a second as she stared at him in disbelief. “What did you just say?”

  He stood up and tore off his coat. “I love you, Cecily. I’m in love with you. That is the difference. I never loved any of the others.”

  She still couldn’t bring herself to believe it. Stunned, she stepped back out of her pile of clothing and realized she still wore her stockings—now bunched around her ankles—as well as her slippers.

  He untangled his neckcloth and chucked that to one side. “Sit on the edge of the bed, and I will remove those for you.”

  Cecily sat on the edge of the bed as he cast aside his waistcoat. A thrill rushed through her as he removed his shirt and flung it over his shoulder, revealing a heavily muscled chest with a light sprinkling of tawny hair. His breeches bulged as he started to unbutton them, and then he paused, looking very much as if something was amiss.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked in an anxious whisper.

  “My boots.” He grumbled under his breath as he returned to the chair near the fireplace. “This might be a lot easier without my boots.” He grunted as he started tugging on one. “And it might be even easier with my valet to assist, but ringing for him now is quite out of the question. Do you not agree?” He shot her a playful smile, and Cecily smiled back. With another grunt he removed the boot, then went to work on the other. At length he rose again and stood before her, unbuttoning his breeches as if he couldn’t wait to get out of them.

  Cecily couldn’t wait, either.

  The falls opened, the breeches dropped. Her eyes nearly popped at the sight of his arousal.

  “That’s one of the things I love about you,” he said. “Your eyes.”

  Cecily gulped. “You’re standing before me like this and you talk about how much you like it—”

  “Love it,” he corrected her.

  “Love it when my eyes look ready to pop out of my head?”

  “They’re so blue when they do that,” he said, as he leisurely stretched his arms over his head, as if he had his own coiffure to unpin and take down. But he didn’t. He was all hard, corded muscle and powerful masculinity, and Cecily gulped again because if she didn’t, she thought she might drool all over herself.

  He knelt before her and removed her stockings and slippers. “Your poor feet,” he murmured. “They’ve suffered a great deal on my account, have they not?”

  “They’re not plaguing me too much now.”

  He smiled up at her as he cupped his large hands over her knees and gently parted her thighs. “Lie back, my darling Cecily,” he whispered. “Lie back, close your eyes if you like, and just enjoy what I do.”

  She did as he bade, lying flat on her back with her legs hanging over the edge of the mattress as he knelt between them. He pulled over a pillow. “For your head, perhaps?”

  Cecily lifted her head as he slid the pillow beneath it. He knelt between her open thighs as she secretly yearned for him to do what he did downstairs in the library.

  She yearned for him to touch her there again. The fleeting sensations had set her aflame with a blaze she knew could never be quenched unless she let him touch her again and again until—well, until the blaze was quenched.

  As if he could read her thoughts—it seemed he always could, didn’t it?—he said, “There it is.” And he brushed his fingertip across that throbbing little knot. Cecily sighed and involuntarily arched her hips.

  “You want more,” he murmured. “You don’t even have to tell me if you don’t want to, Cecily. I know you want more.”

  “Yes,” she affirmed, the
word barely more than a sibilant breath.

  “You’re always accusing me of reading your mind...” He feathered the not-so-little-now knot again, and again she arched her hips, but this time she gasped.

  “I’m not accusing you now,” she whispered.

  “No, now you like that I know what you’re thinking. What you want. What you desire. And what you want is for me to caress you right here, at this hard little rosebud until it bursts into bloom.” So saying, he continued caressing her there, as Cecily panted and gasped for breath, tensing all over as if that would bring release more quickly.

  “You want me to go faster,” he murmured. “Harder.”

  Oh yes, she did, but by now she couldn’t say so, not that she needed to. He knew. And the caresses came harder and faster, till she finally felt an incredible burst of utter ecstasy flooding from there to every part of her body. Cecily couldn’t help crying out as all that built-up tension dissipated and left her feeling limp and panting for breath, as if she’d just run all the way from his house back to hers, only without falling into the ha-ha.

  “Ah, you feel satiated,” he said. “Yet at the same time, you can’t help feeling that it isn’t enough, Cecily. That there must be more. Much more. Am I right?”

  “Yes,” was all she could manage to say. A good thing he could read her mind. Oh yes, she was quite satiated now, but she knew there was more. There had to be more.

  “There is more,” he assured her. “And you want it. You want all of it, don’t you, Cecily?”

  “Yes.”

  “All of it. Everything.”

  “All that your ducal powers allow,” she said, and he chuckled.

  “Then aren’t you glad I have them? Now you’ll find out just what a devil the duke really is.” And then, to her astonishment but secret, wicked delight, he kissed her there. Repeatedly, almost suckling, his tongue seemingly everywhere, its wet roughness stroking her anew as she thrust her fingers into his thick golden hair and pressed down on his scalp as if to keep his head in place. It seemed only a matter of seconds before she exploded again.