The Truth About Love and Dukes

by Laura Lee Guhrke

  By the end of the day, she had moved back into the house in Belford Row, after assuring Clara that of course she must go to Hampshire on Friday with the duke’s family, and happily refusing all the entreaties from her sister to journey down with them to Ravenwood.

  She also ignored her father’s disappointment and disapproval at her decision to return home. Papa, as fond as she was of him, had long ago ceased to be someone whose approval she required. In the past, that fact had always made her feel both sad and a bit guilty, but now, in light of the course she was about to embark upon, she was glad of the emotional distance that had long existed between them, for it made what she intended to do infinitely easier.

  The wait was the hardest part. All day Sunday, she could think of nothing but Henry and what it would be like to have his hands on her. Even during church services, God help her, she had thought only of him.

  On Monday, she received a letter from him with instructions, and that evening, she packed a small valise and informed her father that she missed Clara so much she was going back to spend the remaining nights before the other girl’s departure at Upper Brook Street. She then slipped a long, dark cloak over her clothes, donned what Henry had called her “god-awful hat” with its concealing veil, and took a taxi to a small hotel in an obscure street of St. John’s Wood. There, she presented herself at the front desk as Mrs. Jones. Mr. Jones, the expressionless concierge informed her, had already arrived and was in his own rooms—rooms that adjoined her own. He hoped Mrs. Jones found that an acceptable arrangement?

  “Of course,” she said, trying to sound wholly natural when she felt as if hundreds of butterflies were fluttering around in her stomach.

  Her case was taken by the bellman, who led her up to the second floor, and down a short, dimly lit corridor to a pair of doors at the end. He unlocked the door to the right, opened it, and stepped aside for her to enter. When she did, he followed her, setting her suitcase beside a closed door that she could only conclude led to the room next door.

  “Shall you be needing a maid, madam? If so, I can have one sent up.”

  She tore her gaze from the closed door. “No, I shan’t require a maid, thank you,” she said, looking around as he began to draw the curtains closed. It wasn’t a large room, but it was unexpectedly pretty, with walls of robin’s egg blue and darker blue draperies. There were gilded wall sconces, walnut furnishings, and a sizable brass bed.

  Irene’s heart thumped hard in her chest.

  Behind her, the bellman gave a delicate cough. “Will there be anything else, madam?”

  She turned, realizing he had moved toward the door and was waiting, his white-gloved hand poised by his side in a discreet fashion. At once, she opened her handbag. “No, thank you,” she answered, pulling a shilling from her coin purse and placing it in his palm. “You may go.”

  “Very good, madam. If you require anything, the bell pull is beside the bed.”

  He departed, closing the door behind him. Irene removed her cloak and hat, but she’d barely tossed them onto a chair before a knock sounded from the adjoining room. She crossed over to the door, and with a deep, steadying breath, she opened it to find Henry on the other side, and the sight of him in his shirtsleeves gave her a jolt of such surprise, she laughed.

  His mouth curved up a bit. “Nervous?”

  “Terribly, but—” She paused, studying him for a moment. “I just realized,” she said, still smiling a little, “that this is the first time I’ve ever seen you without a jacket.”

  That particular fact seemed to underscore the intimacy of their situation and reminded her of the ramifications of what they were about to do. But he spoke again, giving Irene no time to think about how nervous she was. “I hope the bathtub meets with your approval?”

  “The what?” She watched him nod to something behind her, and she turned to find that her room possessed an adjoining bath. Through its open doorway, she could see copper pipes and a white, enameled tub. “Heavens, when I came in, I didn’t even notice it.”

  “You wound me, Irene. It took me all afternoon to find an appropriately discreet hotel that possessed a private bath.”

  Laughing, she turned and looked at him again. “Thank you. That was a very chivalrous thing to do.”

  He didn’t laugh with her. “Not so chivalrous,” he said, looking into her eyes, and her laughter faded at the intensity she saw in his. “I’m hoping you’ll share it.”

  At those words, Irene’s heart slammed hard against her ribs, and the butterflies in her stomach transformed into a flock of panicked birds. He seemed to sense it, for he reached through the doorway and cupped her face, his palm warm against her cheek. “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, confirming it to herself as well as to him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything in my life, Henry. So . . .” She paused a moment. “What happens now?”

  “There are several ways we can proceed. If you’re hungry, I can order dinner, and we can dine first.” His hand slid to her neck, his fingertips lightly caressing her nape. “Or you can put that tub to good use, have a bathe, and then change into more comfortable attire. I’d suggest a loose-fitting gown that doesn’t require a corset. Or . . .” He paused, and his fingers stilled. The intensity of his gaze deepened, darkening his eyes to smoke. “Or you can allow me to undress you.”

  Irene didn’t need any time to decide which course she preferred, and as his hand slid away, she caught it in both of hers, then lifted it to the top button of her walking suit. “I think,” she said, “I prefer the third option—”

  His mouth was on hers before she could even finish, his hand pulling out of her grip, his hands caressing her face as he kissed her. The kiss was both tender and hot, and her lips parted at once, opening to him and to whatever experience he was giving her tonight.

  Henry tasted her mouth in soft, lush kisses as he began maneuvering her backward into her room, and he tried not to think about the fact that he was pushing her across the Rubicon. Once they were both inside her room, he kicked her door shut behind them, and deepened the kiss even more, inflaming his own lust to blot out his conscience, his past, and any inconvenient contemplations of right and wrong.

  But this strategy for dealing with his conscience had its own drawbacks, for within seconds, he was fully aroused, and if he kept up this pace, tonight would not be the extraordinary experience he wanted for her. He had to slow down.

  He broke the kiss, working to balance between the two opposing forces within him as he began to unbutton her jacket. It was slow going, for his hands were shaking with the effort to contain his moves. Of course, she noticed.

  “You’re not nervous, too, are you?” she whispered, sounding surprised.

  “Are you joking? Of course I am,” he muttered, sliding her jacket down her shoulders and tossing it aside. Then he looked at her again, raking his hands through his hair and drawing a profound, shaky breath. “I’m nervous as hell.”

  For some reason, that made her laugh.

  “Go on, then,” he said as he started on the buttons of her shirtwaist. “Laugh at my expense. You do seem to enjoy that particular sport.”

  “Well, yes,” she admitted. “I am fond of teasing you, it’s true. But I do like that you’re nervous.”

  “Why, in heaven’s name?”

  “Because it proves you’re not always as in control as you pretend.”

  He suspected she wouldn’t say that if he lost his control as completely as he wanted to and let what was raging in him have free rein, and he was glad she’d chosen to let him undress her. Had she slipped into a loose-fitting garment with nothing underneath, he feared it would have been his undoing, and her deflowering a short, very unromantic experience. As it was, the act of unfastening buttons and untying ribbons enabled him to curb, bit by bit, his own urges, and by the time she was down to chemise and drawers, he was prepared to concentrate fully on what was most important: arousing and pleasu
ring her.

  For the first time since he began to undress her, he looked into her face. She was flushed, her breathing quick—a good sign she was already partway there, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. He cupped her chin, and kissed her, then drew back again. “It’s all right if you tease me and laugh,” he told her as he reached behind her head and began pulling the pins out of her hair. “For before the night is out, Irene, I will have my revenge.”

  “Heavens,” she murmured, her lashes lowering. “It seems I shall need that sol volatile after all.”

  Despite her light words, he felt the tremors running through her, though whether it was due to apprehension or anticipation, he couldn’t be sure. Probably both.

  He turned to toss the pins onto the dressing table beside him as his other hand raked through her hair, bringing it tumbling down around her shoulders, just as it had been that night in the library, just as it had been in all his dreams of her since then.

  He grasped a handful of gold silk in his fist and pulled her head back. He kissed her, his free hand undoing the buttons at the neck of her chemise. He wanted to touch her breasts, cup and suckle them, but the modest neckline of her garment prevented it. He trailed kisses along her throat and over her collarbone as he moved both hands to her waist. He grasped the hem of her chemise, then moved to draw it upward, but suddenly, she grasped his wrists to stop him. He tilted his head, pressing a kiss to her ear. “It’s all right. Don’t be afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid. It’s just that . . .” She paused, then gave a little laugh. “We both know I’m not experienced in these matters, but surely I’m not the only one whose clothes come off?”

  “No. But it’s probably best if I stay dressed as long as possible.”

  Being Irene, she couldn’t just accept this explanation. “I don’t think that very fair.”

  It wasn’t fair, no, but it was far easier for him to hang onto restraint if he kept his clothes on. He wanted all of this, every second of it, to be something she would treasure, without regret, and putting her hands on his body, he supposed, was part of that for her. He’d have to bear the tension. “Very well,” he said and spread his arms. “If you wish to undress me, I won’t object.”

  She lifted her hands to the top button of his waistcoat. “I don’t know anything about men’s clothes,” she said. “I fear I shall prove much less skilled at this than your valet.”

  “You’ll do fine. Our clothes are like everything else about us.” He smiled at her questioning look. “Straightforward. Uncomplicated.”

  She made a skeptical sound as she slid his waistcoat off, but she didn’t stop to debate the point.

  He had already removed his necktie, collar, and studs, so she only had to remove his cuff links, slip down his braces, and undo the buttons of his shirt. She did not, however, notice the front tab button that hooked his shirt to his drawers, and he couldn’t help laughing at her consternation when his shirttails failed to come out of his waistband.

  “Let me do it,” he said and finished for her, doffing both his shirt and undershirt in the space of a few seconds. He tossed both aside, but when he looked at her again, her face made him go utterly still.

  Her lips were parted, her gaze unwavering as she studied his naked chest, seeming fascinated. She flattened her palms against his pectorals and ran her hands over his shoulders, and down his arms. The slow, warm caress felt so good that Henry groaned, tilting his head back, letting her explore him and satisfy her curiosity even as he struggled to keep his arousal in check. She ran her hands over the muscles of his chest, shoulders, arms, and abdomen. But when she reached the waistband of his trousers, he knew that was as much as he could bear.

  “That’s far enough,” he said, and ignoring her protest, he grasped her wrists and pushed her exploring hands firmly away. “You’ll be able to have more explorations later. It’s my turn.”

  He glanced down, noting the full shape of her breasts and the jutting outline of her nipples beneath the thin lawn of her chemise, a sight that deepened his arousal, and he knew he could not wait any longer to see what until now he’d only been able to imagine.

  “Raise your arms,” he told her as he grasped handfuls of delicate lawn fabric in his fists, and when she complied, he pulled the garment over her head and tossed it onto the growing pile of garments near their feet.

  But when he looked at her again, the sight of her was so lovely, so breathtakingly lovely, that haste went out the window, and he had to stop and just look at her. Her skin was pale as cream, with a delicate flush of pink. Her breasts were full and round, the nipples hard and aroused, with velvety pink areoles.

  His throat went dry.

  He sank to his knees in front of her and cupped her breasts in his hands. She inhaled sharply, tilting her head back, arching into his touch. Her skin was like warm silk, and he toyed with her, brushing his thumbs back and forth across her nipples, rolling them between his fingers. She began to moan, soft and low, cradling his head, her fingers working in his hair, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted her so hot, so aroused, that when the moment came to take her fully, she would be as ready for it as he was.

  He leaned closer, shaping one breast in his palm as he opened his mouth over the other. She cried out, her body jerking in response. He suckled her, gently, then not so gently, scoring her nipple with his teeth.

  “Henry,” she cried softly, stirring, agitated. “Oh, God, Henry.”

  He toyed with her a moment longer, then he eased back, but he had no intention of relenting, for he wanted her even hotter. He reached for the button that held up her drawers and freed it, then he jerked the garment down her legs. Wrapping his arm tight around her hips, his forearm beneath her bum, he began pressing kisses to the bare, silken skin of her stomach. She stirred, agitated, but he held her fast, knowing it would fan the flames within her to tormenting heights if she could not move. He kissed her stomach and tongued her navel and slid his hand between her thighs.

  He pressed his thumb up into the crease of her sex, and she moaned, her knees caving, but he held her upright, his arms a tight band around her hips, and moved his thumb along the crease of her sex.

  Her hands raked through his hair. Her hips jerked against his imprisoning arm as she instinctively strove for climax, but he kept firm hold of her, preventing her from gaining her peak. She moaned in protest, the agitation in her growing stronger as he caressed her with his thumb.

  He lifted his head to look at her. He couldn’t see her face, for her head was flung back, but that was all right with him, because what he could see—her flushed skin, her long, slender throat, her full, jutting breasts—was splendid enough.

  She was slick, and hot, and he pushed his thumb into her just a little, then out again, spreading her moisture to enhance her pleasure. She moaned again, her body shuddering. “Henry,” she wailed. “Oh, God. Oh, God.”

  “Now who’s being teased, hmm?” He kissed her stomach as he caressed her clitoris. “I warned you,” he went on.

  She was panting, desperate. “Please,” she moaned. “Oh, please.”

  “Please, what?” He circled her clitoris with the pad of his thumb. “Do you want me to stop?”

  She shook her head violently. “No, no, don’t stop. Oh, God, please don’t stop. I just want . . . want”—her hips writhed helplessly—“more. Please, Henry.”

  “Not yet. Wait.” He kissed her stomach and stroked the crease of her sex without letting her move, fanning the flames of her desire, and his own, as her sweet, sweet pleas for more drove him to the brink. Only when he knew she was on the verge of being unable to bear it, did he relent, easing his hold. At once, her hips rocked hard against him, her thighs squeezed tight around his hand, and with a low keening wail and a shuddering gasp, she came in a rush, her knees collapsing beneath her.

  He rose, pulling his hand from between her legs and catching her in his arms. He kissed her, then lifting her in his arms, he laid her on the bed.

  Irene co
uld only stare at him, dazed and wordless as he moved to lie beside her. After what she’d just experienced, she couldn’t imagine what strange and beautiful sensations could possibly come next.

  She’d known her knowledge of physical relations between men and women was incomplete, gleaned as it was from one painfully embarrassing conversation with her mother when she was fifteen, a few whispered consultations over the years with some of the married ladies at suffragist meetings, and snatched peeks at forbidden books when she could lay hands on them. But combined with the wild, wonderful carriage ride with Henry the other night, she’d come here tonight thinking she had a pretty good idea of what to expect. But now, shamelessly nude before him, all her senses in a dazed, euphoric tumult, she appreciated that she knew nothing about this at all.

  But there was more to come, she knew that, for Henry was watching her, his glittering gray eyes pinning her to the mattress as he began to unbutton his trousers, and when he pulled them down, Irene could only stare at his groin, stupefied as, at last, she began to see what all the whispered, embarrassed conversations had really been meant to explain. For the first time, she felt a hint of panic. Her gaze flew back up to his face. “Henry?”

  He shoved his trousers and linen all the way down to his ankles, then stepped out of them, and when he straightened, she saw that in his hand was a small, red envelope. She swallowed hard, trying to shove down this sudden bout of panic.

  He must have seen what she felt in her face, for he leaned down and kissed her mouth. “It’ll be all right,” he said.

  He stretched out beside her on the bed, slipping the red envelope beneath his pillow, and when he turned toward her, she felt the hard erect part of his body pushing against her thigh. “Henry?” she said again, feeling a sudden frantic need for reassurance.