What a Duke Dares

by Anna Campbell

  He untied the wide olive satin ribbon that cinched the gown so unnaturally high. “Absolutely.”

  She caught the gown as it sagged over her bosom. “We need to do something about my clothes.”

  Skillfully he unlaced the back. “I am doing something about your clothes.”

  She felt no desire to laugh. Her knees trembled as she stepped from the crumpled gown. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I do.” Deft fingers released her corset. “And, yes, I will. But not tonight.”

  Her stomach quaked as his hands brushed her bare shoulders. Then quaked again at the salute of his lips on one shoulder blade, then the other.

  “No, not tonight.” Her voice was thready. “Shall I… shall I take off my shift?”

  “Not yet.”

  She couldn’t help noticing how his voice deepened on “yet.”

  His fingers slowly sketched a cobweb of heat over her skin. She’d never counted her back or shoulders as erotic zones, but he set her tingling. Under her upswept hair, he massaged her nape. Warmth flooded her right to her toes. Goose bumps broke out and her nipples tightened into aching points.

  Surprise held her motionless under his touch. After last night, she’d thought arousal impossible.

  Tonight he treated her like the virgin she was no longer. As he stroked her body, pleasure flowed through her like warm honey. She knew this tremulous anticipation led to humiliation, but something stupid and stubborn inside her refused to believe that.

  At her sides, her hands closed and released. Her toes curled in his mother’s satin slippers. Her breasts swelled. She’d been jumpy when he’d followed her upstairs, but as he touched her softly and asked no more, she drifted into a glorious dream. On a sigh, she shut her eyes and leaned back against him.

  “Ouch!”

  Cam’s bite on her shoulder zapped through her like lightning across a summer sky. She stumbled upright.

  “Don’t go to sleep.” He nipped at her earlobe. This time when she swayed, he pressed against her back. She stiffened and a whimper escaped. His insistent weight reminded her where this delight headed.

  “Shh, Pen,” he whispered.

  He treated her like a restive horse. But rebellion sank under a wave of response as he caressed her breasts. His hands abraded her nipples through her shift until she squirmed.

  “I love your breasts,” he murmured, rolling the peaks between his fingers. “I love how your nipples harden with desire. I love their taste. I love how you shake when I touch them.”

  “Cam—” she choked, not sure whether it was a plea or a protest.

  A whisper of fabric as he slipped her shift off. His exhalation expressed delighted surprise. “You’re not wearing drawers.”

  Standing half-naked in a man’s arms and squeezing one’s buttocks against his rod should extinguish blushes, but still her face went bright red. “Your mother didn’t own any.”

  His laugh cracked, proof of burgeoning hunger. “I wish I’d known at dinner.”

  “I’m not trying to titillate you,” she choked out.

  “Nevertheless, I’m titillated.” His hips bumped her.

  She gasped. She should run shrieking, but pleasure had vanquished fear. His hands traced her sinfully bare stomach and thighs. Her fingers dug into his thighs, crushing his trousers. She thought she’d understood the imperatives of attraction. Tonight’s siege demonstrated that she was a mere novice.

  “I won’t stop you now,” she confessed huskily. She waited in suspense for him to push her down onto the bed and thrust inside her.

  “There’s no hurry.” He scraped his teeth across a nerve on her neck until she saw stars instead of the duchess’s old-fashioned apartments.

  “What do you want?” she asked, bewildered. Holding a conversation while he set fire to her senses tested her.

  “You have to desire me.”

  “I desire you.” After last night, she’d never thought she’d say that.

  “Not enough.”

  “Any more and I’ll explode.”

  “If you explode, I’ll put you together and begin again.”

  “You make me suffer.”

  “I’m not taking chances,” he said with a hint of grimness.

  With sudden ruthlessness, he cupped her mound. He made a deep sound of masculine gratification and lashed an arm across her middle, holding her hard. His fingers slid between her legs and he brushed a sensitive spot. She shuddered under a flood of reaction.

  For what felt like hours, arousal had tangled inside her. Now her response focused. Moaning, she quivered, wanting more delicious pressure.

  To her frustration, he withdrew. Behind her, his chest heaved.

  “Cam!” she protested. She was slick and ready.

  For a breathless moment, he pressed her to him. His breath gusted harsh against her ear.

  Then roughly he whirled her around and slammed his mouth into hers.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  As Pen’s mouth opened beneath Cam’s, he tasted blind hunger. She was like living flame, clinging so close it was as though she tried to join her body to his where they stood. Her generous response made his heart leap. A powerful wave of thankfulness swept him.

  He nudged her until she toppled onto the mattress. He longed to feast his senses, etch her into his memory. But instinct insisted that if he hesitated, she might recall the last time they’d shared this bed.

  Pen stared at him, eyes languorous. Her full lips parted, awaiting more kisses. Her arms spread across the sheets. Her shining hair fanned around her.

  Whatever the risks, Cam paused to capture this moment for when he was old. She was beautiful. More beautiful, even, than he’d thought. Perhaps the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  “Move over, Pen,” he said softly, lifting one foot to tug off his shoe. She obeyed instantly, with a wriggle of long, elegant legs and pale skin.

  He removed his second shoe and kicked it away. His hands hovered over the buttons fastening his trousers before he decided that for now, he was better keeping them on. Reining himself in nearly killed him. Lying beside her naked would push him over the edge.

  He slid onto the bed. When he’d kissed her, his blood had thundered with urgency. Somewhere since, he found that, however he burned, he wanted to cherish her. Sweetness flooded him as he lay on his side, head supported on one bent arm. He stroked tendrils of hair back from her brow.

  Avidly she examined his features. He didn’t know what she sought. He hoped whatever it was, she found it. Standing by the bed, he’d read her desire. Now only inches away, he read vulnerability. His kiss conveyed admiration and gratitude and a silent promise to make her happy. “Pen—”

  “Don’t talk.”

  Once before he’d ignored that command and he’d paid for it ever since.

  She took her time exploring his mouth. And he, transfixed, let her. He collapsed onto the pillows and she rolled over him, kissing him with leisurely enjoyment. He buried his hand in the tumble of black hair. Without breaking the kiss, he turned to lean above her. She gasped as he voluptuously rubbed his hips across hers.

  Fear or pleasure?

  Last night he’d mistaken enthusiasm for readiness. He’d rather smash onto Goodwin Sands again than repeat that mistake.

  Carefully he parted her thighs and stroked her. Dear Lord, she was wet. When he found the center of her pleasure, she jerked against his hand.

  Again he touched her and her eyes opened wide with surprise. “That’s… wicked.”

  He smiled, deepening the pressure until she squirmed. “It is indeed.”

  Gently, fighting his blood’s pounding command to take her, take her, take her, he slid his middle finger inside her. As carefully as a jeweler setting a diamond, he inched forward. He studied her face, alert for discomfort.

  She looked strained and intense. When she tightened against his incursion, he struggled to contain the urge to push her further, faster. He curled his finger, rubbing the sleek pas
sage with his knuckle. On a choked sound, she lifted her hips. When he kissed her, her ardent response demanded more.

  With a slow, suggestive slide, he withdrew. This time, he tested her with two fingers, subtly stretching her. She bit her lip, eyes flaring at his intimate caresses. The craving to taste her sex made his mouth water, but he restrained himself. He bore down with the heel of his hand, making her buck against the mattress. She grabbed his arms with frantic hands. When he pulled free, she released a disappointed whimper.

  Her hands fluttered across his chest, setting off blasts of heat wherever they landed. He kissed her again, plunging his tongue into her mouth. As she yielded, the seemingly random brush of her hands became more purposeful. When she flattened her palms against his nipples, he started.

  “Do you like that?” She trailed her lips up his cheekbone.

  “Yes,” he said, not sure if he did. Her slightest caress threatened incineration.

  He gritted his teeth as she circled her palms. Those fiendish hands drifted lower. One curved over his right buttock. The other covered his cock. He groaned with a painful mix of elation and frustration.

  Her fingers tightened until he saw stars. “Take off your trousers.”

  He reared up on one arm. “You need to be ready.”

  To his surprise, she laughed. “Any more ready and I’ll be flying.”

  When she pressed the underside, white heat blinded him. “Pen—”

  “Do you need help undressing?”

  Before Cam could respond to her impudence, she tugged at his trousers. In her haste and inexperience, she was breathtakingly clumsy. Finally his throbbing cock bobbed free.

  “Good heavens…” Pen breathed, looking down.

  “You saw me last night.”

  “You look bigger.” She licked her lips, ratcheting up his arousal. “I think I’m nervous.”

  He wrenched her up and kissed her, holding her with one arm while his other hand shucked his trousers. Her mouth was hot and wet and desperate. As he followed her down onto the bed, he slid between her legs and nudged her humid heat. She sighed against his lips and shifted on him. A tilt of his hips and he edged inside.

  She caught her breath and stiffened.

  In an agony of need, he stopped. He couldn’t bear to hurt her again.

  She lay unmoving beneath him.

  No, he wouldn’t accept this. Penelope was created for pleasure. And he intended her to achieve it. Or die trying.

  With a shaking hand, he touched her sex. Every nerve close to snapping, he caressed her into trembling urgency. She arched and drew him into her. The sudden acceptance had him thrusting before he recalled the devastating price of impatience.

  On a sigh like the sweetest music, she twined her arms around him. Her body flowered into glorious welcome.

  Pen braced for pain, but between last night and now, her body had adjusted to Cam. This sensation was closer to completion than invasion. After all her running and dodging, she was in Cam’s arms and she’d stay here.

  His head dropped to the curve of her shoulder. His soft hair tickled her cheek. His skin was damp and hot.

  The long muscles in his back tautened and released under her hands as he moved. To her surprise, the glide of his body set off a faint quake. A quake that intensified when he kissed her neck.

  She inhaled sharply as he withdrew to plunge again. Immediately that sweet fullness returned. His spicy scent was the air that she breathed.

  Another glorious stasis before he moved once more. This time, he changed the angle. A spiral of tension stirred inside her. Half pleasure, half torment.

  He established a powerful rhythm. She clung as the spiral twisted tighter. Instinct made Pen raise her hips. This time, impossibly, he went so deep, he must touch her heart. He groaned encouragement into her shoulder.

  Roughly, he raised her knees, changing the angle again. She was shaking and sweating and clawing at him. The tension in her belly coiled and uncoiled. She reached for something she’d never experienced before, some relief from this agonized striving.

  Moving faster, Cam’s thrusts became choppy, urgent. His body hardened. She tilted her hips, begging with incoherent sighs for him to fill her.

  She was so close. So close.

  He bit down hard on her shoulder and flung her over the shining horizon into the melting heat of the sun. Crying out, she shuddered under the onslaught of astonishing, overwhelming, inescapable pleasure.

  Brilliant light blinded her and she closed her eyes to retain the rocketing colors. Fire ricocheted through her, searing every corner, making her anew. Through the wild clamor, she felt Cam jerk against her. His groan filled her ears.

  She opened hazy eyes to see him rise on his arms. As he spent himself inside her, the strain leached from his face and his eyelids drooped with sensual satisfaction.

  Briefly he looked happy, younger, less burdened. As if Camden Rothermere during these seconds became just a man, not the embodiment of centuries of duty and tradition.

  Sensual reaction still pounded through Pen. If he’d done this to her on the yacht, she’d have drowned for sure. Right now she didn’t have strength to roll over, let alone swim for her life.

  I love you, Cam. I’ve always loved you.

  The words welled up. She knew he didn’t love her, but after the shattering honesty of what they’d just shared, she couldn’t keep such a vital secret.

  Cam’s kiss was tender. She tasted satiation.

  “Thank you,” he said softly. “Thank you for trusting me.”

  She stroked the side of his face. “Of course I trusted you, Cam.”

  Tears loomed close, making her voice sound rusty. But she didn’t feel like crying. She felt like wrapping this precious, magnificent man in her arms and holding him safe.

  He shook his head to deny what she said and she watched his joy retreat. So quickly the familiar self-possession returned. Although physically they were as close as two people could be, she sensed that somewhere in his mind, he established a distance.

  That breathtaking consummation had convinced her that they were bonded forever. For him, it threatened defenses that he’d spent a lifetime building.

  Her impulsive declaration of love died unspoken and her happiness seeped away even as she still quivered with reaction.

  Cam had sealed eternal dominion over her soul. In return, she’d fed his physical hunger.

  Dear God, she needed to keep her wits about her. All her life, she’d known that confessing her love would at best create restraint, at worst send Cam fleeing what he viewed as impossible demands.

  To be fair, he wouldn’t want to hurt her. Although the sad truth was that because he didn’t love her, he hurt her again and again.

  The true hell of her marriage struck like a blow. Disgrace and scandal could never match the damage that awaited now that she’d irrevocably tied her life to Cam’s.

  She was a damned fool.

  And the largest part of her damned foolishness was that despite all she knew, all she’d seen, in some corner of her mind she’d hoped that over time, he might find it in himself to love her.

  She stared into his eyes and recognized that the barriers against her, against anyone threatening his self-containment, would always be there. Although she felt like crying, she summoned a smile. “Cam, I promise to be the wife you want. You’ll never regret marrying me.”

  He grimaced as if her words held a sting. “I don’t deserve you.”

  Even harder than that smile was dredging up the kind of remark he’d expect of sharp-tongued, independent Penelope Thorne. She’d enlisted for a lifetime of lying when she married Camden Rothermere. She refused to stumble at the first fence. “I intend to be the world’s greatest duchess.”

  He regarded her searchingly. She saw the moment he decided to accept her humor at face value. “High hopes indeed.”

  “Why aim for the ordinary?”

  His soft laugh vibrated through her. Despairingly she wondered how he c
ould lie inside her, yet feel a million miles away.

  “My dear Penelope, you couldn’t be ordinary if you tried.”

  The passion in his kiss made her blood pump. The world’s greatest duchess would never deny the duke his pleasure, even if her heart cracked into a thousand pieces.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  When Cam passed the blue salon on his way inside from checking his new colt, he heard gusts of feminine laughter. Since his sister’s marriage two years ago, Fentonwyck had been a bachelor establishment, so the sound struck him as unexpected. Pen, to his bitter regret, hadn’t laughed much lately.

  Curiosity made him pause. Curiosity and a determination to rescue his wife. If county society descended, having decided that a week was sufficient privacy for the newlyweds, this would be Pen’s first solo encounter with the English upper classes since her return. His wife would be a lamb in a den of wolves.

  Cam had spent a lifetime countering spite, starting with savage bullying at Eton over his mother’s adultery. He’d learned the hard way how to handle trouble. His gut knotting with worry, he stepped into the room’s azure and gold splendor. And stopped dead.

  The neighbors ranged around the tea table. The Countess of Marley. Lady Greene and her two daughters. The three Misses Moulton-Brent. Lady Gregory Fulham and her spinster sister. All cats to their last breath. All hanging entranced on whatever Pen described in an uncharacteristically quiet voice.

  She’d been uncharacteristically quiet all week. He almost wondered if he’d married two completely separate women. One by day was prudent and obliging and almost demure—a word he’d never thought to associate with Penelope Thorne. By night, the other Pen was endlessly responsive. It was like living with the perfect wife and the perfect mistress, all wrapped up in one spectacular package. Every man’s dream.

  And Cam could hardly endure it.

  This new version of his wife confused him, sparked his impatience, obsessed him—which bolstered his impatience. Both with Pen and himself.