When a Duke Loves a Woman

by Lorraine Heath

  He had unbuttoned too many bodices to count, but never had his fingers threatened to tremble. He wanted tonight to be perfect for her, to leave her with no regrets. A thousand times he’d imagined her in his bed, in his arms. The material of her blouse parted to reveal cleavage. Tempting cleavage. Then white silk and a purple velvet ribbon, a tiny purple bow.

  He helped her get her arms out of the blouse, then tossed it aside. He went to work on the buttons and ribbons of her chemise until it was in a position to join the discarded blouse. Then he simply stared at those lovely, lovely breasts that once upon a time had made the arrival of death seem not quite so daunting.

  “Do you remember throwing the mermaid at me?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Coming to the bed all in a fret because you’d hurt me.”

  “And the blood. Trying to stop the blood so you weren’t in danger again of bleeding to death.”

  “Hovering over me.”

  “Yes,” she rasped. “I remember that very well.”

  “I desperately wanted to do this.” Lowering his head, he pressed a kiss to the underside of her breast.

  She remembered the feel of his warm breath fanning over her skin, but to have his mouth there . . .

  And then his hand supporting her breast while he peppered it with tiny, hot kisses and a lap of his tongue, velvety silk, awakening whatever remained of her dormant desires. His attentions were glorious and tender, yet she was also aware of how hard he fought to hold himself back, the tension in his neck and shoulders where she dug her fingers for purchase, to keep herself standing, so she didn’t melt into a puddle at his feet.

  His mouth journeyed up until it met hers, and the fire burst through her as he once again took possession of lips and tongue, as he claimed what she was so willingly giving. He stroked her bare back, up and down, up and down, before his hands went to work unfastening her skirt. It slid down to the floor, quickly followed by the silk undergarments.

  “Sit on the edge of the tub,” he ordered, and while her first instinct was to disobey simply because she didn’t like being ordered about, her second instinct was to allow him to have his way with her in any manner he so commanded. He was the connoisseur while she was the novice. She would learn all he had to teach and then she’d turn the tables on him.

  Hovering on the rim, she clutched the lip of the tub so she didn’t fall into it, watching as he swept her clothes aside and went to work removing her shoes, first one, then the other. When they were out of the way, he untied a stocking and slowly, ever so slowly, rolled it down. She didn’t know if she’d ever felt anything quite so sensuous. After tossing aside both stockings, his fingers fluttered up and down her calves.

  “So fetching,” he whispered, lowering his head and pressing a kiss to the side of one calf and then the other. “I look forward to having them wrapped around my waist.”

  She’d always considered her height an aberration, something that made her less than appealing to men, especially the ones she could literally look down on, but now she understood she would have an advantage with him. They would be locked together thigh to thigh, hip to hip, chest to chest, mouth to mouth. She would require of him no awkward bending or twisting. They were perfect for each other.

  Placing his hands on either side of her waist, he supported her, bringing her to her feet. “In you go.”

  Holding her hand, his fingers snug around hers, he helped her keep her balance as she stepped into the water and sank down within its warm depths. “You should remove your shirt so it doesn’t get wet.”

  “Splendid notion.” He freed two buttons and pulled it over his head. That magnificent chest of his beckoned to her fingers as he crouched before her. She couldn’t stop herself from touching him as she hadn’t dared when he was injured in her bed: skin to skin.

  “I wanted to do this when you were recovering, but it didn’t seem right to do so when you were unaware of your surroundings.” She loved the feel of his hair tickling her fingers.

  “How can a tavern owner be so mindful of propriety?”

  “One must limit one’s sins.” Touching him would have been a tiny sin. What they were doing now was a much larger one. She could only hope that, by avoiding the smaller ones, the larger one would be forgiven.

  “Not tonight, princess. Tonight you can sin all you want and I’ll hold it secret.”

  She smiled. “It doesn’t feel like a sin.” It felt marvelous and right. She who had never been entirely comfortable around men, who had hidden her feminine side from those who might take advantage, felt gloriously womanly.

  Taking the soap, he dipped it and his hands into the water, gave her a wink, and scuttled around behind her. Drawing up her legs, she wrapped her arms tightly around them and placed her cheek on her knees. She couldn’t stop the low moan from escaping as his large hands landed on her shoulders and slowly caressed. He had no calluses, no abrasions, and yet his palms weren’t completely smooth. There was a fine layer of roughness to them that caused luxuriating shivers to cascade through her.

  “Would you really have not taken advantage the night I was recovering if I’d given in to this?” she asked somewhat dreamily.

  “I’d have tried my damnedest to behave.”

  “I was fearful I wouldn’t have wanted you to. Now I know the truth of it. I’d have begged you to make a wanton of me.”

  He chuckled low. “I’d have been obligated to oblige, especially as your back is incredibly alluring.”

  Then why did he take his hands away? Why was he no longer stroking her from neck to lower back? Looking over her shoulder, she saw he was standing, unfastening his trousers. She whipped her head back around. She’d known eventually he would remove them, but didn’t want him to see how much she was anticipating it, licking her lips in eagerness.

  “Don’t be bashful, Gillie. I’m rather certain you’ve seen me before, since I was naked in your bed.”

  She nodded. “You’re quite the impressive specimen, although I can only compare you to drunkards who forget to properly put themselves away after relieving themselves.”

  “You have not seen the best of men. I should apologize for every one of them who was ever born.”

  “You show me the best.”

  “I certainly intend to try, sweetheart. Move up a bit.”

  Loving the endearments with which he showered her, she slid forward, heard the water splash slightly, felt it rise, saw his hands gripping the lip, and was keenly aware of him lowering himself until she was cradled between his thighs, her backside nestled against his groin, where the hard length of him nudged against her. The heat that erupted through her was both pleasant and terrifying.

  He was stroking her back again, his mouth landing in the curve where shoulder met neck. “You always smell of vanilla, yet you told me you don’t cook.”

  “I like the fragrance so I dab a bit behind my ears each morning.”

  “Mmm.” He nuzzled just below her ear. “Makes you smell good enough to eat.”

  Laughing, she twisted around and caught sight of his shoulder. The wound was healing, a raw and angry red scar evidence of what he’d endured. Splashing water around them with her movements, she faced him squarely and touched trembling fingers to it. “Oh, Thorne.”

  “It hardly hurts any longer.”

  “It shouldn’t hurt at all, it shouldn’t have happened at all.” Leaning in, she pressed a kiss to the puckered flesh.

  “Then I’d have not met you.” His hand came up, his palm cradling her chin, her jaw while his fingers threaded up into her hair. “And my life would be that much poorer for having not known you.”

  He brought her mouth down to his. As she adjusted her position to better accommodate him, water sloshed around them. There was barely any room to move, but it didn’t seem to matter as they slid along the slick length of each other, passion igniting, desire building. She wanted to run her hands over every inch of him, kiss every scar. Before the night of the attack
, he hadn’t a single one. She wished she’d seen him unmarred, and yet the scars he’d obtained didn’t detract in the least from his magnificence.

  And he was magnificent, not only in his looks, but in his actions, running the soap over her body even as he kept his mouth latched to hers, his tongue working its magic to heat her throughout. Even if the water grew chilly, she wouldn’t notice, not when she was pressed up against a warm male.

  Eventually he had to break off the kiss in order to reach all of her. “It would be an easier chore if I were small.”

  “I’m glad you’re not. I like your height.”

  “Some of the lads who knew I was a girl—and some of the men now I suspect—would call me Longshanks.”

  “I can think of nothing finer than being named after a king.”

  She furrowed her brow. “He was a king?”

  “Edward the First. He was known for his height.”

  “I don’t think they meant it as a compliment.”

  “Still you should take it as one.” He held out his hand, the ball of soap resting in his palm. “Your turn.”

  She took her time, washing him, torturing him with little touches, deliberately skimming her breasts over soapy skin, relishing the sight of him closing his eyes as though in rapture, and hearing his groans. After a while nothing was left to clean and the water had grown too cold for their bodies to keep each other warm. They helped each other clamber out of the tub, and using towels he’d set before the fire, they dried each other off. It was such a natural intimate exchange that she could see herself doing it every night for the remainder of her life.

  But it wouldn’t be every night. It was merely tonight. Perhaps one or two more, only until he took a wife. It would be devastating to give him over to another, but she had her tavern—which she had neglected rather badly of late—and her family and the people who frequented her establishment. They’d always been enough. They would be again. Simply not tonight.

  Tonight her world had narrowed down to Thorne and only Thorne. Based on the way his gaze slowly perused her, now that all the water droplets were gone and the towel had been tossed aside, she couldn’t help but believe his world had narrowed down to her, to only her.

  “You are beautiful beyond compare,” he said quietly. “And you’ve done such a splendid job of secreting it all away that I suspect I’m the only chap fortunate enough to have an inkling regarding the treasures you keep hidden.”

  “I’m beginning to think you spend a great deal of your time with your nose buried in books of poetry.”

  “You bring out the poet in me.” He lifted her into his arms.

  “Your injuries,” she exclaimed.

  “Are almost healed.”

  She pressed her mouth against the crook of his neck as he carried her toward the bed. “Have I mentioned that you’re gorgeous?”

  “Scars and all?”

  “They give you character.”

  “They show me to be a fool.”

  “They show you to be a man determined to survive.”

  “I hadn’t thought I would,” he confessed. “Until you came along, and for some ungodly reason, from the start, I didn’t want to disappoint you. I desperately wish to not disappoint you tonight.”

  “I couldn’t be disappointed when you’re with me.” She released a very unladylike snort and buried her face against his neck. “Now I’m the one spouting ridiculous flattery. We’ll both be casting up our accounts if we continue along this vein.”

  He laid her out on the bed as though she were a gift to be unwrapped, although she was already unwrapped, so perhaps a gift to be admired. “Spout all you want, princess, and I shall do the same. Neither of us will cast up anything because what we say is for our ears and our ears alone.”

  Standing there, he trailed one finger—only one when she craved them all—along her shoulder, down her arm, over her hip, along her leg, across her feet, and all the way up the other side until he pressed the tip of that finger against her lip. “You’re gorgeous, every graceful lithe lengthy inch of you.”

  He left her speechless, but she expected to look down and see herself glowing as though she’d swallowed moonbeams. He made her feel like the princess she’d once imagined herself to be.

  The bed dipped with his weight as he stretched out beside her, cupped her cheek, and blanketed her mouth with his own. He no longer had to urge her to part her lips; they did so on their own accord, welcoming his deepening of the kiss. She rolled up slightly so more of her skin was touching his, skimmed her foot up his calf, then over his knee until her knee was fairly resting on the other side of his hip, her feminine haven cradling his groin, the hard length of his cock growing even longer and harder, granite covered in velvet, pressing into her belly. He growled low and predatorily, and while she hadn’t thought it possible, he took the kiss even deeper, with an urgency that caused stars to erupt behind her closed eyelids.

  Little wonder this was considered a sin because if people weren’t discouraged from engaging in such behavior they would be doing it all the time. As frequently as possible. How was it that married folk, who were allowed, ever got anything else accomplished?

  Everywhere their bodies touched created tiny sparks of pleasure that spiraled out to create even larger sparks. She became lost in the sensation of him, the wonder of him, the eagerness with which they touched each other.

  Tearing his mouth from hers, he shoved himself down a few inches, plumped up her breast with one hand and offered it to his questing mouth as though it were the finest morsel ever served. As his lips came securely around the turgid nipple, he suckled, and she very nearly came off the bed as pain and pleasure warred for dominance, and pleasure won, sending armies of sensation throughout her. She pressed her honeyed canal against him, tilting up her hips, bowing her back in a way that allowed her to rub her intimate core along the length of his hard shaft.

  If the way he jerked was any indication, now he was the one close to coming off the bed.

  “You witch,” he growled, and she laughed, wondering if such was allowed, but how could it not be when there was so much joy taking place in her bed?

  She loved everything he was doing to her, all that she was doing to him. The touching, the caressing, the kissing, the suckling. Here within the shadows with doors locked and windows shuttered, everything felt acceptable. No, it was more than that. Everything felt ordained.

  They had created their own little world where sins and regrets didn’t exist. Where delicious secrets could be harbored in safety. Where bodies rejoiced with the freedom to explore and be explored.

  Bracketing her sides with his large hands, he nibbled at her ribs, leaving little love bites on each one as he journeyed farther down, rolling her onto her back as he reached her stomach and nestled between her legs. His tongue circled her navel, lapped at her skin as he slipped his arms beneath her thighs, his hands coming around to open her wider.

  Lifting her back off the bed, curling forward, she reached down and cradled his face between her hands. “Thorne.”

  He raised his gaze to hers. The desire and yearning she saw mirrored in his dark Guinness-shaded eyes caused liquid fire to pour through her veins and tremors to roll through her. Within the brown depths she saw more than a promise, she saw a vow: he would possess, he would pleasure, he would make her forget her name.

  Using his thumbs, he spread the folds as though he were the sun causing petals to unfurl until the small bud hidden away could receive its warmth. Lowering his head, he closed his mouth around her most intimate core and suckled as though she were made of toffee to be slowly savored. Releasing her hold on him, she rested back on her elbows, her spine arched, her eyes closing, her head dropping back, her breaths coming in short shallow gasps. His tongue swirled and taunted. His hands came up to knead her breasts, his thumb and forefinger gently rolling her nipples. Everything was tautening as though he had laced a thousand bits of string through her, threaded them through her nubbin so every time he
sucked, they pulled every part of her toward him. Suck and soothe, suck and soothe.

  Tremors began undulating through her. Cries escaped through her parted lips. The pleasure was unbearable—

  Then it ripped through her, in a maelstrom of glorious colors and magnificent sensations. “Oh my God, Thorne, oh my God.”

  She heard his dark satisfied chuckle, and it somehow managed to make the sensations even more intense. She felt as though she were falling from the heavens, unafraid because he would catch her.

  The bed rocked as he moved up and dropped down beside her. Turning her head to the side, she placed her palm against his cheek. “That was marvelous. But there’s more.”

  Nodding, he skimmed his knuckles along her chin. “But I’m not as recovered as I thought.”

  She sat up abruptly. “You’ve hurt yourself.”

  “No, but I don’t think I can support myself as much as I should to ensure you again see stars. And you being beneath me probably wouldn’t be good for your healing head either.” He patted his stomach. “Straddle me, princess.”

  “Not until I’ve tormented you for a bit.”

  Chapter 20

  Torment had never felt so spectacularly wonderful. She was a novice, but also an incredibly sharp woman, which meant she had no trouble at all discerning exactly what to do, although he suspected his moans and groans and occasional “Devil take you” led her in the right direction.

  When he went to caress her, she moved his hands over his head and ordered, “No touching.”

  Torment. Pure torment not to be able to comb his fingers through her short silken strands or graze them along her satiny skin.

  She nibbled on his earlobe, swept her tongue over his ear, which had always been incredibly sensitive. She whispered something provocative and naughty.

  He furrowed his brow. “Where did you learn that?”