The Demon Duke

by Margaret Locke

  “Now that’s not fair. I’m completely naked and the only thing I’ve managed to wrest off of you is your cravat.” Her sauciness surprised her, but she gave a sultry laugh as his hands slid across her skin, once again clutching her derriere and pulling her flush against him.

  Her hands moved back up and she pushed against him. He released her, a puzzled look on his face until she pulled at his shirtfront. He worked on loosening his breeches as she pushed his shirt up, her fingers running over the smooth muscle and light sprinkling of hair on his chest.

  “Not so fast,” she practically purred. “I want to undress you myself.”

  Damon stilled as she caressed his shoulders, then stroked her hands along his back. “Who is this siren?” he said. “She has most definitely bewitched me. I am her slave.”

  Grace giggled. Her boldness caught her unaware, as well. She’d had a kiss or two before Damon, but that was all. Yet this felt so good, so right, that she felt no guilt, felt no shame. They were one, bound together for all time. She reached for his loosened breeches and pushed them down. Where they caught on his boots.

  “Bother!” she said. “I’m obviously a novice at this.”

  “Perhaps it is unfair to say, but I am happy to hear that.” He sat and pulled off the boots one by one before rising again. The breeches followed the boots, and he stood there, clad only in his smalls. Black smalls.

  Something about that made her smile. A wicked little smile, as her eyes ran up and down his muscular legs, so different from her own softer, fleshier ones.

  “You are like a Roman statue,” she proclaimed. There was no mistaking the solidness of his form. Her confidence faltered at the bulge in the front of his smalls.

  “And you my Venus.” His eyes raked over her. He did not touch her, though, merely waited. “If you wish to stop, Grace, so help me God, I will. I don’t want to. But I will.”

  “No,” she said. “I’m merely a bit nervous.” Her cheeks burned with the admission.

  “Truth be told, so am I.”

  At those honest words, she moved forward again, wrapping her arms around his waist, rubbing her naked breasts against his chest. What a strange sensation, warm skin on warm skin, his hard but yet soft with hair, hers delicately tender. His lips found hers and they lost themselves in a fervent kiss. Her hands snaked down and carefully pushed the smalls until they fell to the ground. Damon kicked them to the side. They stood, pressed full-length into each other.

  He danced her to the settee and lay her down. He parted her legs and settled himself between them, the firmness of his length against her most private spot causing her to writhe in pleasure. He smiled at that before moving to suckle her breasts again, first one, then the other. “Such perfect beauties,” he whispered.

  “They are not too small?” she asked, trepidation lacing her voice.

  “They are perfect.” He rose up over her, making room for his hand to slide down her soft belly into the curls below. He traced his finger along her cleft and she made mewling noises, reveling in his touch.

  “Here?” he asked as he found a most sensitive spot.

  “Yes,” she breathed. “Oh, yes.”

  He stroked her, his tongue and lips pressing caresses against her breast. A magnificent expectation built through her body, like waves lapping the shore, pulling back and surging forward again under the skillful ministrations of his fingers. Suddenly, she burst, her hips bucking under his hand as infinite tiny flames shot through her entire body.

  “Damon!” The sensation was beyond exquisite, and she clutched him to her as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her, wanting to share it with him.

  He said nothing, his eyes dark with need, but kissed her, thrusting his tongue between her lips as he moved between her legs. “I hope this doesn’t hurt,” he said.

  She didn’t have time to respond, because he was sliding into her, the huge length of him. It was the strangest sensation, but not entirely painful. He went slowly, pausing as he was able, his breath coming in harsh gasps.

  “Are you—?” he said, but she broke him off, pulling his lips to hers. As he kissed her, she reached down and pressed against his buttocks, burying him deeper, as deep as he could go, inside her. He groaned with pleasure and began to move, slowly at first, then building up to a steadier, faster speed.

  He was inside her. How could that be? It was peculiar. It was marvelous. She lost all thought, giving herself over to the experience. He pounded into her, his back slick with sweat, his neck taut with anticipation and need.

  “Oh God, Grace,” he cried, and she moved with him, her hips meeting his in an age-old dance.

  “Yes, Damon.” He was nearing the same precipice to which he had led her. “Yes.”

  At the sound of his name on her lips, he exploded, pumping into her a few more times until he collapsed on top of her, his head buried in the side of her neck.

  They lay there for a long while. She ran her fingers languidly over his back, savoring the intimacy of what had just transpired. He pressed light kisses against her neck.

  “I love you, Damon Blackbourne,” she whispered, a contented feeling like she’d never known settling over her body.

  His fingers intertwined with hers. “And I you, Grace Mattersley … Blackbourne.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Clarehaven, Hampshire, England – Mid-May, 1814

  He didn’t want to move, but they couldn’t stay there all night; not only was the settee becoming deucedly uncomfortable, but Damon didn’t want to risk being caught in such a compromising position, whether betrothed or not.

  Reluctantly, he stood, giving Grace’s naked body an appreciative glance before reaching for his smalls and breeches. Her skin flushed pink as she rose, searching for her nightgown.

  “Over there,” he said, pointing. “But it’s a shame you have to put it on. Such a dowdy thing for such a beautiful package underneath.”

  Grace grabbed the nightgown and whirled around to face him again, her cheeks nearly scarlet. She yanked the gown over her head, nimbly fastening the buttons up the front.

  “Are you embarrassed, my love?”

  Her fingers paused. “A little.”

  “Don’t be. I plan to look at you naked as often as I can in the future.” He gave her a wolfish grin, which widened even further when her cheeks reached a color he’d heretofore thought impossible for human skin.

  He stood, clad only in his unsecured breeches. “Do you find the sight of me distasteful?”

  His voice was teasing. She hadn’t stopped sneaking glances at him. His form was more muscled than what was currently fashionable among the dandies. Running and performing hard labor at the abbey had not only provided an outlet for his unwanted movements, but they’d honed his physique in innumerable ways. Never had he appreciated that so much as now, as Grace Mattersley shyly eyed his legs, her gaze moving up to his chest and then finally his face. He winked at her.

  “No. You are glorious.”

  At her softly spoken words, he strode to her, clasping her head between his hands as he kissed her, a soul-searching kiss into which he poured all of his emotions for this woman.

  Her arms wound around him, her fingers tracing the muscles in his back. One hand slid down, down, until it covered his backside. He jumped as she squeezed his buttock. She laughed against his lips.

  He gave her a peck on the nose before stepping back a few inches. “Saucy wench. I see you are full of surprises. I like that about you. But I’m afraid I must depart, lest I keep you here, loving every inch of your delectable body, until well past dawn.”

  Grace sighed. “You are right. Though I’d far prefer the latter.” She pulled the wrapper around her shoulders, then reached up with her right hand and smoothed his hair off of his forehead. “Thank you.”

  His forehead wrinkled. “For what?”

  “For loving me.”

  His heart threatened to burst. This woman, this glorious woman, was thanking him for loving her? Didn�
��t she know it was he who should be groveling at her feet?

  “Oh no,” he said. “Thank you. I never thought—” He broke off as his voice caught. “I never thought I would find someone who would love me for me. Exactly as I am.”

  She stood on her toes and gave him a quick peck. “You took the words right out of my mouth.” She giggled as he tried to capture her lips in another kiss.

  “No, no, no,” she teased, pushing against his chest. For a second her fingers lingered, running over the hard muscle, but then she stepped away. “I must return to my bedchamber, and you must get dressed.”

  She reached for the doorknob behind her and opened it, slipping out the door. Just before it closed he heard her whisper, “I’ll see you at breakfast. Husband.”

  He’d only had an hour or so of sleep, but his mood was high and his steps jaunty as he entered the breakfast room the next morning. He homed in immediately on Grace, who stood at the side table, nursing a cup of tea. She was garbed in a modest gown of yellow muslin.

  Sunshine. She is my sunshine.

  It took all of his willpower not to run to her and enfold her in his arms.

  He was so focused on her he failed to see the other people in the room.

  “Good morning, Damon!” cried a familiar voice. His sister Cassie was seated at the table next to Lady Emmeline.

  “Cassie? What? When?”

  “We arrived last night, later than we had wished since the carriage became bogged down in mud about half an hour out.”

  “But…”

  “Yes, I’m happy to see you, too. And thrilled Lady Grace is back, safe and sound.”

  He looked to Grace, who peeked at him over the rim of her teacup, her eyes apologetic. So much for having each other to themselves this morning.

  Emmeline piped up. “Indeed, we were so delighted to hear the news of her return, we simply had to see for ourselves that she was all right.” She flashed a grin at her sister, who flushed a most becoming rose.

  What was Grace thinking? The same as he, of their time in the library? Or of future private moments to come?

  Sephe, who sat to the other side of Emmeline, muttered, “I’m sure they would have returned to London shortly. Did we really have to miss the Findlay ball?”

  Damon chuckled at his sister’s whining. “Two months in and still not exhausted by the Season? You were born to be a debutante.”

  “Yes, and now I’m missing my moment to shine. And a certain Lord M—.”

  “Oh, pshaw,” interjected Cassie. “We only need stay a few days. Emmeline felt it best to leave for a bit, and we wished to show our support for dearest Grace.”

  Her hesitation on the word leave indicated there was more to the story than the women were letting on, especially given the pinking of Emmeline’s cheeks.

  “Has there been talk?” Grace’s voice was sharp.

  “There is always talk,” Rebecca said.

  “But some time away gives London time to find a newer object of interest,” Emmeline insisted.

  “Yes, and us a break from questions and looks!” Rebecca’s mouth pinched.

  Grace cast her eyes to the floor. “I am sorry.”

  Damon wanted nothing more than to wring his uncle’s neck for the hurt the man had caused his future wife.

  “But the shame is on Fillmore, not Grace,” cried Cassie, mirroring Damon’s thoughts. “And fear not. Lady Gilmore has run off with a certain Mr. Logan. A man of no standing. That shall have tongues wagging for some time.”

  It wasn’t likely to stem all gossip and speculation, though, much to Damon’s frustration. Still, they would rise above it. Together.

  The door opened and Deveric entered, followed by Eliza, holding baby Isabelle.

  “Good morning.” Deveric nodded in greeting to Damon and then to the women at the table.

  “Morning,” Damon answered.

  Would the whole neighborhood soon appear? How he longed to be alone with his love, to pepper her face with a thousand kisses, to fall at her feet and give thanks to God for bringing her into his life.

  “How are you doing?” Eliza asked Grace.

  Grace’s cheeks pinked, much to his delight, her gaze darting to him and away again. Eliza’s face took on a knowing expression at the exchange, but she said nothing. She did, however, wink at him.

  He started in surprise. Had anyone else noticed? It seemed not, as they all busied themselves with their breakfasts.

  “How is Mother? Did she accompany you?” Damon asked his sisters, trying to focus his attention on something, anything other than his adorable soon-to-be wife.

  “No,” Cassie said. “She did not wish to travel. She has never cared for long carriage rides. No offense to you, Lady Grace, or you, Your Grace.” She nodded to Claremont.

  “None taken,” Grace said. “You needn’t have come; I am truly fine.”

  “And we are happy to see that,” Cassie responded. “Thank you, Your Grace, and you, brother, for rescuing Lady Grace.”

  “Actually, Grace rather rescued herself; she hit our uncle over the head with a fireplace poker.”

  “Truly?” Sephe’s face lit up with glee. “Did you kill him?”

  “Tsk tsk,” Damon chided. “Bloodlust does not become you, dearest sister.”

  Sephe gave a most unladylike snort.

  “I did not kill him,” Grace said, her tone earnest. “Though I rather fancied doing so at the time.”

  “My goodness,” Deveric said. “Let me be sure never to get on the wrong side of any of you women.”

  Damon walked over to Grace on the pretense of fetching a biscuit off of the side table. He stopped within a respectable distance, though he longed to move closer. “Morning, wife,” he said in a voice too low for the others to hear.

  Grace choked on her tea.

  “Perhaps we should tell them?”

  “Now? Here?” Her voice was the lowest of whispers.

  “Why not? Unless you have changed your mind?”

  She gave him a dazzling smile. “Never, my love.”

  “Well, then.” He set the biscuit down on the table and pulled her to him, kissing her as tea sloshed out of her cup and down the front of his waistcoat. He didn’t care.

  There came a collective intake of breath, then the sound of clapping. He broke off from Grace and turned to a sea of curious faces.

  Eliza handed Isabelle to Deveric before hopping up and down in excitement. “Hooray!”

  Deveric raised his eyebrows, but said nothing, waiting for them to speak.

  Damon settled his arm around Grace’s waist, pulling her in close. “I am proud to say that Lady Grace Mattersley has done me the utmost honor in consenting to be my wife.”

  The table erupted in cheers.

  “When is the wedding?” Emmeline burst out.

  “As soon as possible,” Grace said, her eyes reflecting her happiness.

  Deveric cleared his throat. “Do you think that wise,” he said at length, “given recent events?”

  Damon frowned. “How do you mean?”

  “A hasty wedding may raise eyebrows, in that people may wonder if a worse ill befell Grace.”

  “You mean we should wait to prove to the world that I am not with Lord Fillmore’s child?” Grace said.

  The room fell uncomfortably silent.

  “I do not care what the world thinks,” she added, her voice strong. “I only care what Damon and my family think. But you know I was not harmed at Fillmore’s hands. Right, brother?”

  “I do, yes, but the rest of the ton—”

  “—Does not matter to me,” she interrupted.

  Damon laced his fingers through hers, incredibly moved at her defense of him and her bravery. It was possible that after their night together she could be with child. His child. The idea both thrilled and terrified him.

  “Very well.” Deveric nodded his approval.

  “You know, dear brother,” Cassie said. “Mother will be devastated if you do not announce your b
etrothal in London. She will want to hold an engagement ball.”

  Damon’s face paled. “But surely not while still in mourning?”

  “I think all will understand if mourning is set aside for this. It’s not often a duke marries, after all. And she—we all—want to show our staunch support of this union. Of Lady Grace.”

  Grace rubbed her fingers over his at her waist. “I think it is a fine idea. We must face everyone sooner or later. Better in triumph and celebration than otherwise, is it not?”

  Cassie smiled in thanks for Grace’s support, as everyone else dipped their heads in agreement.

  “Though perhaps my family should host,” Deveric said. “To show our full support of my sister and to remove attention from you and your mother, Damon. She will no doubt be struggling with the news of these latest happenings.”

  Damon doubted anything would distract the ton from recent events, but he nodded in acquiescence.

  “And if we should happen to disappear to the library for a period of time,” Grace whispered in Damon’s ear, “surely no one can begrudge two book fiends that?”

  Her other hand slid behind him and lightly pinched his backside. It took all he had not to burst out laughing at her cheekiness. He liked this side of Grace. Yes, indeed.

  Deveric nodded. “Then it is settled. I’m sure between Emmeline and your sisters, they will plan the grandest ball the ton has ever seen.”

  Damon swallowed. What was he getting into? It’s for the family. Then he and Grace could escape to Thorne Hill or Blackwood Abbey. He squeezed her close, and she gave him the most beautiful smile. Yes, he could do this. They could do this.

  It’s for Grace. It’s all for Grace.

  The baby began to fuss. “Belle is tired. I think we shall return to the nursery,” Eliza said as she took her daughter from Deveric. Moving toward the door, she paused near Damon’s sisters. “I have planned a visit to Chawton today, to pay a long-overdue call on my friend, Miss Jane Austen. It has been ages since we’ve seen each other. Would you like to join me?”

  Cassie and Sephe glanced at each other. “If it’s all right with you, Your Grace, I believe we’d rather discuss dresses and such for the ball. And we shouldn’t want to distract you from your friend.”