Pride & Passion

by Charlotte Featherstone

  “Kiss me,” he commanded, his tongue finding its way into her mouth. He gripped her tighter as one hand left her bottom to cup her chin, holding and positioning her the way he wanted. It was as if he had known what drove her to mewl and moan against him, what made her restless in his arms.

  “Put your hands on me.” Taking her fingers in his, he slid them up his chest. “Let me feel them.” He was breathing hard, and Lucy opened her eyes, seeing how his eyes were pressed shut, feeling his fingers, which curled around her waist, tremble. “Awaken my body, Lucy,” he said, his gaze narrowing on her.

  Her fingers swept over a muscled chest until they reached the starched cravat and folded collar that shielded his throat. A rivulet of perspiration trickled down his neck, and she followed its path with her fingertip until it disappeared beneath his collar.

  His breathing was harsh. She could hear it in the quiet, could hear his beating heart over the hum of the theater and the debauchery in the adjoining room. She could smell the maleness of him despite the earthy, humid air in the chamber.

  Lucy couldn’t suppress the shiver that snaked along her skin as he twirled his fingers along her curls. He brought her closer to him and she felt his lips nuzzling her hair.

  “Such beautiful skin. I want to touch every inch of you. I have to touch you.” The tip of his finger trailed down her throat, slowly, inexorably, to rest at the junction of her breasts. His lips met her skin, gently brushing the swells of her breasts.

  He grasped her waist and brought her tightly up against him. “I want to look at you. I want to touch you and kiss you and feel your body beneath mine—to make you open for me like an exotic, heady hothouse flower.”

  “Sussex—”

  He groaned. “You want it, too. That kiss was everything I said it would be. Everything I told you you would experience, you are feeling now. Aren’t you?”

  His cravat came undone in her hand, and she pulled it from his neck, exposing a small patch of his throat that was notched, and hollowed—a perfect place for her to fit her tongue. Before she could, his palms cupped her breasts, and lifting them, he traced the small swell as they pressed against her bodice. “Little cherry nipples,” he murmured. “I thought of them all day, how I want to stare at them, all red and glistening from my mouth, and then I want to play with them, savoring them as if I were savoring the most decadent dessert in the world.

  “You tremble?” His smile was pure male wickedness and satisfaction. When he pressed into her, found her ear and whispered, “Are you wet for me? Your body is aching for what I can give it. When you fill the ache, it feels so damn good—so good.”

  His hand reached for her skirts and she felt him slide his fingers up along her stocking-clad thigh. “Let me fill it, Lucy. Tonight, let me part these sweet thighs, plunge deeply inside, making that ache burn and grow, and then you can shatter like you did last night, but with me inside, and I can feel every tremble and shake.”

  “Your grace,” she said, fisting her hands and forcing them against his shoulders. “We shouldn’t. We might be discovered. We can never go back once this happens.”

  He became more eager, unable to be thwarted. He seemed to sense her pulling away, her reluctance that was steadily building. She was not ready for this. Not when she had just realized the extent of the desire they had both shielded from the other.

  “You should have never accused me of being passionless.” He swooped down, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss that robbed her breath. His tongue touched her, his pace frantic—carnal. His fingers tightened around her thigh, squeezing as he rocked against her.

  Her desire might have temporarily waned when she thought of getting caught, but if anything the duke was more aroused, she could feel his erection pressed unrelenting into her.

  “No, by God, you’ve accused me of coldness, but how can you, when you can feel how hot my body is against yours? You’ve said I have none of the red-blooded passion of my sex, but you don’t know. You,” he gasped, pressing against her with a hard thrust of his hips, “you will know it—the depth of my passion. But you will.” He whispered hard as he moved his hand between them and unfastened his trousers. “Tonight I will show you, so that you will never, ever again accuse me of being less than a man. To hell if we are found, it will only expedite the inevitable.”

  There was a shocked silence, and Lucy’s gaze widened with the dawn of understanding. A shield fell over his eyes, but he would not release her, and the heat of sexual frenzy still encompassed them.

  “You are shameless,” she spat, struggling in his arms. But he wouldn’t let go. “You are no gentleman, sir.”

  “You don’t want a gentleman,” he replied but his voice had lost its fevered edge, and was once again the sound of control, and carefulness. “Admit it, you wanted this. You were writhing and moaning in my arms.”

  “This was all to prove a point, wasn’t it?”

  It was his turn to show horror. “Lucy, no! Good God, no.”

  “I taunted you, and you thought to get me back, is that it? Or did you hope someone might wander in and recognize us in such a scandalous position?”

  “No,” he snapped. “That isn’t it at all. If you only knew how many times I have gone to bed in this condition—” he motioned to his trousers “—then you would know that this…” He paused, ran a wildly shaking hand through his hair. “This isn’t what you think. This isn’t why I came to you—”

  The sound of a door slamming cut him off and, horrified, Lucy looked up to see her father barreling into the room, his face a mutinous shade of crimson.

  When he saw her, the way she was being held in Sussex’s arms—because he would not let go—he stopped in his tracks and shook a finger at her.

  “By God, girl, this is the last straw. Your rebellion, your hellion ways…I’ve had it to the back teeth. You will marry Sussex, and I won’t hear anything from you about it.”

  “Papa!”

  Her father raised his hand, but the duke stepped in front of her. His shirt was untucked, his neck was bare and his hair was a mess from her fingers. “I would contain yourself if I were you. Lay a hand on her, and you’ll answer to me.”

  “What in God’s name is the meaning of this? Half the ton is outside this room. What if you had been seen? Christ, Sussex, when you assured me you would find a way to make her agree to this marriage, I never assumed a man of your stature would lower himself to a tumble in a public domain. The floor of my library would have been sufficient!”

  “Oh!” Lucy cried, tears stinging her eyes. It was then that she saw Isabella and Black standing beside her father. Black was studying his boots, and Isabella’s delicate gloved hand was covering her mouth.

  “And to ensure the deed would come to fruition, you brought witnesses to my humiliation!” She whirled around and slapped away the duke’s hand.

  “There is nothing else to be done. Who knows how many have seen you enter this room? By even entering such a place, you’ve put your reputation in danger—but to be found here, in this room…well…” her father grumbled. “There is nothing to stop it but a wedding. Sussex, I entrust you have the necessary documents for an event such as this?”

  His gaze never left hers. “It was not my intent for it to happen this way.”

  “What? By entrapment? Betrayal?” Her voice caught and she fisted her hands, determined not to cry. “Of course you did, because you knew it was the only way.”

  “I never wanted this—”

  “Oh, do not lie now, your grace. This is exactly what you wanted.”

  “Not like this.” His voice had grown so soft, so pained, that she could have almost believed in his sincerity—almost.

  “I may have to marry you, your grace. I may have to become the Duchess of Sussex, but there is one thing I will never be, and that is your wife!”

  She had her answer now. The man who owned the gray eyes would not be her lover, but the one to betray her.

  HE WATCHED THROUGH shadows, the murky
play being acted out before him. Yes, his plan was unfolding—spectacularly well.

  “You lied to me!” His minion was angry, his voice rising. “When I agreed to your madness,” he hissed, “it was because I wanted her—she was useful to me, for making my way in the world. You promised me if I delivered her to you and the others followed, she would be mine.”

  “There’s been a change of plans, I’m afraid.”

  “You lying bastard! I killed for you!”

  “And so you did. But things have a way of changing, Thomas. It’s a pity, I’m afraid, but my course never wavered. Now, I need for Sussex to take her out of the city. My goal has been accomplished. My other assistant has been so good about getting the letters out, so that everyone would arrive here, ensuring that the right thing be done. Sussex will marry Lucy as he desires. They will leave the city quietly to decrease the rumors, which is what I desire. You see, we’re all happy.

  “It doesn’t really matter, does it, because what you desire is no longer a concern of mine. You see, your part in my plot is over now.”

  He heard the hitching of breath, and he smiled, right before he pulled the knife from his vest and thrust it into Thomas’s chest.

  “I never did give a damn about what you wanted. The girl was always meant to be a decoy for something I wanted more.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “THE DUKE OF SUSSEX, milord.”

  Lord Stonebrook glanced up as Adrian entered the room and shut the door. He shook his head when the marquis motioned to the decanter of brandy.

  “Tea then?”

  “Just answers,” he said, his voice cold and hard as he stared at Stonebrook, so confident, so smug in his world. The old anger swelled up, and he glanced away, not wanting to see the man who reminded him so much of his father.

  Stonebrook looked up sharply then sat back in his chair. “Answers to what questions?”

  Sussex took a chair and crossed his legs. “To some questions that have plagued me for some time.”

  “And do my answers hinge on you marrying my daughter?”

  “No, in fact, I came to make certain that tomorrow is still certain for our wedding.”

  “It is.”

  He was in a devil of a mood this morning, not quite in control of himself, which must have been the reason he asked, “Are you quite certain you wish her to have me as a husband?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because I ravished her in a public place. It wasn’t well done of me, and says nothing of being a gentleman.”

  “Bah, you’re a duke, for God’s sake.”

  “Does that mean my actions are acceptable to you because of my title?”

  “Of course.” Stonebrook agreed. “You’re a man of honor and you upheld your oath to protect my daughter’s reputation. That is all a father may hope for in situations such as this.”

  His gaze narrowed, and a violent rush of anger swept through him. “What if I were not a duke, or even a mere sir. What then?”

  It was Stonebrook’s turn to glare. “Why then, I would have beaten you to a bloody pulp for having such designs on my daughter, and the tenacity to think you might obtain her through such scandalous means.”

  His lips curled. “It is fortunate that I am a duke then, and quite outrank you, isn’t it?”

  “You’re in a strange mood today, your grace. What is it?”

  He waved his hand. “Questions, I’m afraid. I’ve been plagued with them. Wondering why a father would allow his only child to be tied for life to a man who might have made her a public spectacle.”

  “Look, Sussex, I’ve wanted you to have her for years. You were fifteen when the idea caught my fancy. Nothing would make me happier than to call you my son-in-law. You’re the man I’ve always wanted for her.”

  “Is that so?” he asked darkly. “Well, then, here I am, prepared to face my bride.”

  Stonebrook assessed him, and Adrian knew his mood was perplexing to the old marquis. He didn’t understand the recklessness that seemed to seethe beneath his skin.

  “I am pleased to see you here this morning. Although that daughter of mine will not make it pleasant on you. Sulking about, she is…it’s most vexing.”

  “No doubt. Having you find us in such a way was not a stroke of luck for either of us.”

  “Bah, the girl is a dreamer. She wants a cottage in a sleepy little English village where she can play house like she did when she was five. Nonsense.”

  Adrian contemplated the marquis. He didn’t understand his daughter, that much was certain.

  “Now then, questions you had. I suppose you want to know about the marriage settlements, and what my daughter is to receive from me—and your son, too, since he will bear my title when I’m gone.”

  “No, that’s not it,” he said impatiently. “What I want to know is what is it you do, my lord, when you are away so long from home? You are never here in the evenings.”

  Stonebrook was taken aback by the question. “All you have to do, Sussex, is send around a missive. I would ensure I was home to entertain you.”

  “But what of Lucy? Who should entertain her?”

  “Why, you will, I suppose. You’re marrying her.”

  “The night Wendell Knighton was killed you were at the lodge. This morning you received a missive instructing you to come to my home, but it did not find you here, did it? How then did the messenger find you when you were not where you should have been?”

  “My valet, if you must know. He’s very discreet.”

  “Why does he need to be?”

  “Why are you prying?”

  “Because I am under the distinct impression that something is afoot. I’m marrying into this family, and I have the right to know before we go ahead with any of this.”

  With a groan, Stonebrook reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a stack of letters, which landed in front of Sussex. “Read them if you want, if it will appease your infernal curiosity.”

  Adrian thumbed through the letters. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  The marquis lunged upward, tipping his chair. “If you must know, I’m carrying on with a young woman, the housekeeper at the lodge. She’s less than half my age, and I don’t want my daughter to discover it. I was there that night…with her. Last night, too. We meet at the lodge because I cannot afford to be seen with her.”

  Whatever Adrian had thought the old man was up to, that was not it.

  “A housekeeper from the lodge? She’s obviously not of your class—makes her home in another part of the city, I’d wager.”

  Stonebrook flushed. “I have a penchant for doxies then, is that what you wish to hear?”

  No, it wasn’t. But it was so typical of men like Stonebrook and his father, to use those less fortunate to exploit their own desires and pleasures.

  “There is no harm in it. Besides, she gets much more from me than she would any customer she might service in an East End alley.”

  “Is that so?” Adrian could hardly stomach the notion of the young girl who was being subjected to Stonebrook’s lust and his proclivities for playing out Master and Servant.

  He had always disliked Stonebrook. There was something there that always ate at him. But he had tolerated him—only for the reason that he had wanted Lucy. Today, though, he found he could barely stand to stay in the room with the man, let alone talk to him.

  “Do have the decency to keep this from Lucy, will you? She thinks her mother and I were in love, and it would destroy her.”

  “I don’t think you’ll shatter any illusions.”

  “Well, I don’t want to hear that I am a hypocrite. Years ago—” he sighed “—I put an end to a friendship that had blossomed between my daughter and a filthy street urchin that came ’round with the butcher on deliveries. Lucy has such a kind heart, a soft heart—it was damn frightening knowing she could be taken advantage of because of it. So, I put an end to it, and told her it was because a lady of her station didn’t associate with the lower
orders. She never forgave me, and she has never let a moment pass by to allow me to forget.”

  “So she would not take kindly to the fact that you are enjoying the charms of your lesser.”

  He had the decency to flush, whereas Adrian’s father never had. His thinking had been much like Stonebrook’s and Adrian had despised his father for it.

  “Fair enough, I’ll keep your secret. But you must let me see Lucy.”

  “Good heavens, why? She’d as soon scratch your eyes out than see you. No, wait till the morrow when I’ll drag her down the stairs. See her then, in front of the vicar.”

  “We need to resolve matters before tomorrow.”

  “All right, third door down on the first level. She’s in her curiosities room.”

  Rising, Adrian bowed. “Till tomorrow, my lord.”

  THE DOOR TO LUCY’S private chamber creaked open, and she glanced up from the copper-colored satin only to see Sussex appear around the door, his expression grim.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  “Indeed you are.” She indicated the disarray in the room, the heaps of clothes, the dollhouses one of the footmen was busy carefully dismantling and packing safely away. Sybilla was wrapping her porcelain dolls up in linen cloths, filling trunks upon trunks with them. Lucy was busily putting the finishing touches on the gown that was to be her wedding dress.

  “My apologies, then.” Clearing his throat with a little cough, he glanced awkwardly between Sybilla and the footman. “I have your father’s permission to speak to you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Might I?”

  “I suppose. James, Sybilla, will you give us a few minutes, please?”