What a Duke Dares

by Anna Campbell

  “Not far off.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered down. “The gossips were right about one thing. Conversations in Rome’s salons were more risqué than at Almack’s.”

  Still straddling him, she slid upward until her sex brushed his aching cock. He bit back an agonized groan. Heat seared every thought from his brain but one. He must have her. He must have her now.

  Through the ferment in his head, he heard her speak. He was in such a state, it took a few seconds to translate the sounds.

  “I thought you’d like it.”

  He dragged his mind back from his need to plunge inside her. “I did.” He paused in case she misunderstood. “I do.”

  “I’m working purely on hearsay.”

  She looked so serious that even half-demented with desire, Cam couldn’t contain a laugh. “My sweet wife, whatever you do will please me.”

  Triumph lit her face. “I’m glad to hear it, Your Grace.”

  Tonight sarcasm had edged her use of the formal address. Each time, the bite in her mellow contralto set his desire spiking.

  “I’m so mad for you, this house could burn down around my ears and I’d still choose to stay in this bed.”

  When she kissed him, she tasted of woman and desire and everything he wanted. He devoured her mouth, plunging his tongue deep. “Let me have you,” he whispered against her lips.

  “Not yet.”

  In an excess of frustration, he dug his hand into her mane of hair and held her still. “You really do want to kill me.”

  Her eyes glittered with excitement. “Perhaps.”

  With a blatant eroticism that set his heart galloping, she pressed down. She was so close. He tilted his hips, but before he could slide inside her, she retreated.

  “I should finish what I started.”

  He couldn’t trust himself not to spill into her mouth. “Have mercy. You test my control.”

  Her eyes flared with unholy interest. “I don’t mind.”

  Pen shifted to take him inside her luscious mouth. His vision dissolved into a long dark tunnel. Her name emerged as an incoherent protest.

  She licked the sensitive head and any impulse to stop her went south, along with every drop of blood in his body. Then—dear God—subtle suction.

  She increased the pressure, squeezing her fingers around the base. Despite her clumsiness, this level of pleasure ranged beyond his experience.

  The act blazed through him like fire through dry tinder. She moaned with enjoyment. Another jolt of excitement. Another thread ripped from his frayed control. He strained against losing himself.

  “Pen, stop.” His voice emerged as a raw husk. “Enough.”

  Tauntingly slowly, she rose, lingering at the tip. His neck muscles were so tight, he feared his head must break off. He closed his eyes. Speaking was painful. “Let me take over. You’ve made your point.”

  Whatever that point had been. He’d forgotten it the minute she’d used her mouth. Her hand still curled around him, warm and firm. She needed to let go or she’d get a nasty surprise.

  Warm silk tumbled over his belly and she took him again.

  Heat. Pressure. Pleasure.

  Demand. Resistance.

  The throbbing necessity of need.

  Release…

  Every cell in his body screamed for surrender. On a choked curse, he gave up the struggle, bowed toward the ceiling, and spurted his hot seed into her mouth.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Her actions the previous night still occupied Pen’s thoughts the next evening when she accompanied Cam to the Duchess of Matlock’s ball.

  Despite the power that had surged through her when Cam had lost control, her victory had been hollow. Yes, he’d acceded to her wishes. Yes, he’d relished what she’d done. But when he’d taken her afterward with unashamed command, she’d recognized her failure. Cam had surrendered physically, but behind his green eyes the barriers still rose. She’d conquered his body, not his soul.

  She had to be stalwart. One night, no matter how passionate, couldn’t shatter defenses laid in earliest childhood and shored up ever since. Cam wouldn’t yield without a fight.

  She sprang from a long line of warriors. Thornes never lacked for nerve, whatever other qualities were wanting. This quest to bind her husband to her would prove as hazardous as any of the battles littering her family history.

  Since they’d entered the ballroom, Pen had felt the reassuring warmth of Cam’s hand at her back. It reminded her that while she hadn’t won the war, Cam had been unusually affectionate today. He’d kissed her at breakfast and he’d spent the day showing her around London. Odd that she knew cities like Paris and Rome like a native, yet the capital of her own country was fresh territory.

  The Matlock ball was a highlight of the social calendar, making it the sort of crush that counted as a success. Guests included the Marquess of Leath and his newly returned sister, Lady Sophie Fairbrother.

  Pen was surprised at her first sight of James Fairbrother, the man Harry painted as such a villain. Leath was handsome in the saturnine style. He was more heavily muscled than her husband, a prizefighter rather than a swordsman. She didn’t miss how Leath’s eyes narrowed on Harry, who ostentatiously kept his distance. Nor how he watched the golden-haired girl who was in such demand as a dance partner.

  Pen hadn’t been sure what to expect of Sophie either. The girl was lovely and clearly the toast of the ball. She paid no regard to Harry. Had she decided that a penniless younger son, however devoted, was beneath her touch? Or was she playing it safe in public?

  According to Harry, Leath wanted Sophie to marry Lord Desborough. Pen knew hardly anyone in this glittering world. Several older men danced with Sophie. Perhaps one was Desborough.

  Pen couldn’t help feeling that tying such vibrant youth to a man approaching middle age verged on cruelty. Which didn’t mean she disapproved of Leath’s plans for a good match for his sister. Apart from his loyal and loving heart, Harry wasn’t a good match.

  But his loyal and loving heart should count. If Sophie loved him, Pen decided, she’d do her utmost to help. Cam had told her not to interfere, but how could she abandon Harry and Sophie if they were genuinely in love?

  In this sea of unfamiliar faces, it was almost a relief to see Lord Hillbrook and his wife approaching through the crowd. Neither Jonas nor Sidonie Merrick had been particularly welcoming last night, but they were unfailingly loyal to Cam. And at least they weren’t complete strangers.

  “My lord. My lady.” She forced a smile to her face.

  “Good evening, Sidonie, Jonas.” Cam sounded pleased. “I thought we might miss you in this brouhaha.”

  “Richard and Genevieve are here too. We met them as we arrived, but haven’t seen hide nor hair since.” Lady Hillbrook lazily waved her fan before her face. She turned to Pen. “The Matlock ball is always nearer a riot than a party.”

  “You’re probably used to wilder evenings than we are in staid old London,” Jonas said. “I remember public balls in Venice where they brought the army in to restore calm.”

  Pen wasn’t sure if this was a dig at her itinerant past, but as Cam’s friend, she gave him the benefit of the doubt. “I attended a masquerade during last year’s Carnevale where I was lucky to escape with my life.”

  “I like your dress.” Tonight Lady Hillbrook’s reserve was less overt.

  “Thank you.” After Cam’s unflattering description of her clothing, Pen wore her favorite gown from her new wardrobe. Cam’s eyes had lit with approval when she’d come downstairs before the ball. The Nile-green silk was demure in style, but the color suited her and it complimented the Rothermere emeralds.

  Cam extended his hand. “Sidonie, may I have this dance?”

  Pen stifled an instinctive protest at remaining behind with the terrifying Lord Hillbrook. She desperately tried to catch the eye of Harry or Elias. But Elias danced with, of all people, Lady Marianne Seaton, and Harry was nowhere to be seen. He was probably on the t
errace, sulking because his sweetheart was dancing with another man.

  None of which helped Pen. This was her second society event. At the musicale, new acquaintances had clamored for an introduction. Tonight her novelty value had faded. Or perhaps Jonas Merrick’s presence at her side discouraged interruptions.

  “Perhaps you’d do me a similar honor, Your Grace,” Lord Hillbrook said with a sardonic smile, as if he guessed Pen’s apprehension.

  “Please, call me Penelope.” It seemed ridiculous to stand on ceremony with Cam’s long-standing connections.

  “With pleasure. I hope you’ll call me Jonas.”

  He led her onto the floor where a quadrille started. At least it wasn’t a waltz. Apart from the fact that her foolish heart wanted to share the waltzes with Cam, she flinched from an intimate tête-à-tête with the formidable viscount.

  Cam and Lady Hillbrook joined another square. There was an ease between them that spoke of old affection. Pen couldn’t summon a shred of jealousy. It was clear that Sidonie Merrick was profoundly in love with her intimidating husband. Which meant either the beautiful brunette was recklessly daring or Lord Hillbrook—Jonas—wasn’t quite the beast he appeared.

  “You’ve known Cam all your life, I believe,” Jonas said as they waited for the lead couple to perform their pattern.

  Pen hadn’t been mistaken. He meant to quiz her. She answered as harmlessly as she could. “Our mothers were friends.”

  “But you’ve been away from England for many years.”

  Pen cast him a wary look. Even in Europe, she’d heard about Jonas Merrick. She’d wager he already knew all about her. Had he discovered that the Continental marriage was a complete fantasy? Still, she kept her voice neutral. “I traveled with an aunt.”

  “Lady Bradford,” he said, proving that he’d checked her background. “I met her in Greece twelve years ago. A redoubtable lady.”

  “I miss her,” Pen said with perfect sincerity, relieved for a reprieve as she and Jonas took their part in the dance.

  “I was sorry to hear she’d passed away,” he said when they returned to their place. “I assume you stayed in contact with Cam.”

  “I kept up a large correspondence,” she responded coolly.

  This inquisition wasn’t as off-putting as she’d feared. Continental courts were hotbeds of intrigue. Agents both for and against the authorities had sounded her out. Jonas Merrick was without doubt cleverer than those petty informers, but the pattern was familiar enough for Pen to cope.

  “You’ll pardon me asking. I claim the privilege of old friendship. While we’re obviously delighted with Cam’s choice, everything happened very suddenly. He disappeared for a couple of months, then returned with a bride. Via a shipwreck. It’s the story of the year.”

  “My brother Peter brought us together,” she said with complete honesty before the dance claimed them again.

  When they reunited, Pen slightly breathless after keeping up with a young man who mistook the quadrille for a race, Jonas continued as if there had been no interruption. “I hope you and Sidonie will become close.”

  “So do I.” Pen meant it. “I’ll welcome a friendly face. London differs from free and easy Continental circles.”

  To her surprise, humor warmed his craggy features to attractiveness. “Sidonie wasn’t used to society when we married either, as I’m sure she’ll tell you. And you have the unutterable advantage of being a duchess.”

  “And Camden Rothermere’s wife,” Pen said with a touch of pride. Even after two outings, she’d realized that the ton held Cam in high regard, despite his scandalous parentage and the irregular circumstances behind his marriage.

  “Yes, being Cam’s choice will smooth most paths.”

  The square broke into movement and she and Jonas didn’t meet until the end of the dance. “You can count on our support.”

  Although it sounded like an endorsement, Pen wasn’t silly enough to take his words at face value. What she heard was “You can count on our support—as long as you do nothing to shame or discomfit our dear friend.”

  She could have told him that hurting Cam was the last thing she wanted. In fact, if she felt confiding, which she didn’t, she could have told Jonas that marrying Cam was the worst injury she could do him.

  Except she had an unwelcome perception that during the short conversation, the viscount had winkled out secrets she’d kept for a lifetime. Including the biggest secret of all: that she’d lay down her life for her husband.

  Chapter Thirty

  In the Duke of Matlock’s luxurious library, the ball’s music and chatter formed a distant buzz. At a mahogany sideboard, Jonas poured brandies for Richard and Cam, as well as himself. Cam leaned his elbow on the alabaster mantel. Richard lounged with his usual louche grace upon a leather sofa.

  There was no trace of the acrimony that had marked his interactions with Jonas and Richard before Christmas. Cam had been so busy since, he’d had little chance to lament the break. Now that they were reunited, he realized how much he’d missed his friends.

  He’d only reluctantly abandoned Pen in the ballroom. In fact, they nearly hadn’t made tonight’s party. Seeing her in that devilish becoming dress, he’d wanted to drag her upstairs, rip away the green silk and pound into her until she screamed his name.

  But he was Camden Rothermere, Duke of Sedgemoor, model of behavior, arbiter of manners, and his recent actions had prompted enough talk. The last thing he wanted was the world saying that he was so besotted with his bride that he couldn’t last five minutes at a public event before rushing her home.

  Even if it was perilously close to the truth.

  After a nervous beginning tonight, she seemed more at ease. Perhaps because Jonas and Sidonie had smoothed her way. Cam appreciated their efforts. Jonas could be a managing bugger, but once he’d pledged loyalty, he didn’t waver.

  Cam had restricted himself to one waltz with his wife and the promise of the supper dance. He’d even maintained an expression of polite interest while a line of scoundrels claimed her as a dance partner.

  Eventually, because they were overdue for a conversation he didn’t want overheard, he and his closest friends had retreated to this quiet room. Pen was safe with Genevieve and Sidonie and her brothers.

  “I vow these melees get worse,” Richard drawled. “I don’t know why we came. Genevieve took one look at the crowd and nearly turned tail.”

  “It takes a lot for your wife to show scared,” Jonas said with a wry twist of his lips. He passed the glasses across. A fire and a couple of lamps illuminated the elegant room. The flickering light softened his scars. These days, Cam hardly noticed them.

  “Speaking of wives,” Richard said, “Cam, we must raise a glass and wish you happy.”

  “You did that last night,” he said.

  Richard shrugged with characteristic nonchalance, although since his marriage, there was a substance to his presence that was new. He no longer tried to conceal his sharp brain, or the kind heart beneath his superlative tailoring. “When he forsakes bachelorhood, a man can’t have too many good wishes.”

  Cam mustn’t have hidden his wince fast enough, because Jonas sent him a sharp look. “All not bliss in Eden, my friend?”

  “Jonas, leave the poor devil alone,” Richard said. “A man’s comrades shouldn’t poke their noses in.”

  “They should if they can help,” Jonas responded softly, watching Cam like a cat watched a mouse hole.

  Cam shrugged and lied. Although after last night, it wasn’t quite as much a lie as it had been. “Everything is fine.”

  “Didn’t look fine yesterday.” Jonas ignored Richard’s glare. “The duchess was afraid to say a word and you acted like you’d made an appointment with the hangman.”

  “He’s exaggerating,” Richard said. “Don’t listen to the officious blockhead.”

  “Officious?” Jonas raised his glass in Richard’s direction. “Convey my compliments to Genevieve. She’s doing wonders for y
our vocabulary.”

  Richard didn’t smile. “If only Sidonie did wonders for your manners.”

  Cam sighed. “Pen doesn’t deserve your criticism.”

  Jonas’s gaze was unimpressed. “I’m sure she doesn’t.”

  “You think I do,” Cam said grimly, wondering why the devil he’d missed his friends. Although he gave Richard credit for trying to divert Jonas’s awkward questions.

  “You’re the only other candidate.” Jonas stood at the mantel’s opposite end.

  Cam frowned. “I’m not here for an inquisition.”

  “Yes, you are,” Jonas said shortly.

  “To be fair, Cam, given you flounced off in a huff because we weren’t keen on Lady Marianne, then the next time we see you, it’s with a different bride in tow, you must expect a few questions.” Richard sipped his drink.

  “Whose side are you on?” Cam snapped.

  Richard took his time swallowing his brandy, then smiled. “Yours, although you probably don’t believe me.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Do you want some advice from an old married man?”

  “No.”

  “All right.” Richard drank some more brandy. “Damn fine drop, this. Must find out where Matlock buys it.”

  A prickly silence extended, until Cam could bear it no longer. Jonas had the patience of Job, but Richard’s forbearance surprised and annoyed him.

  Cam sighed and spoke less belligerently. “What’s your advice?”

  “I’m rather astonished to be counseling the font of all wisdom.” Richard’s mouth stretched in a reminiscent smile. “I remember Pen as a girl. She was plucky and impulsive and full of life.”

  “Yes, she was.” Cam too found himself smiling.

  Richard’s smile faded. “That wasn’t the woman I met last night.”

  “You knew her many years ago.”

  “You need to convince her that you won’t come down in a hail of reproach if she steps out of line. She’s clever; she’ll soon work out what she can and can’t do without upsetting the old biddies.”