Who Wants to Marry a Duke

by Sabrina Jeffries

  He heard her dismissing her maid for the night, and his blood roared through his veins. Clearly he wasn’t the only one who craved privacy.

  When she reentered the room, she met his heated gaze with a defensive one. “I don’t want her waiting up half the night for me. She’s done it enough as it is.”

  “I’m sure that’s true.”

  Now that they were alone, she wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I suppose you’re the one I must thank for this lovely suite.” She swept her hand to indicate the sitting room with its settee upholstered in emerald-green damask and its matching curtains.

  “Not me.” He stared her down, willing her to look at him. “I would have put you in the bedchamber adjoining mine downstairs.”

  That startled her. “Very amusing, but unlikely. Your sister would have protested, I would have protested, and even you know you can’t be that blatant.”

  “Can’t I?”

  Her cheeks pinkened. “Anyway, it’s a lovely suite. You may not realize this, but green is my favorite color.”

  He practically bit his tongue off to keep from saying that anyone with eyes would know that. “It should be. You look beautiful in it.”

  “I never . . . That’s not why.” She swallowed hard. “I . . . I just like the color.” She steadied her shoulders. “But we’re supposed to be talking about the murder of Grey’s father and how it means you aren’t ‘imagining things.’”

  Damn. She really had only dismissed her maid out of kindness for the servant and not out of any eagerness to let him bed her. Meanwhile, he was in a fever pitch of excitement at just the possibility of taking her to bed.

  “I’d rather talk about what happens next,” he said.

  “I took some hasty notes about my methods, so I’ll have to get those in order tomorrow. And we must write Grey to tell him the news.”

  “That’s not what I was referring to. I meant what happens next for us. You and me.”

  Her gaze shot to his. “I—I haven’t really thought about it.”

  “You should. Because this might very well be our last night together. You’ve done what Grey asked, and now there’s little left for you to do until the trial. And since I haven’t encountered you in all the years since that morning I proposed to you, it’s unlikely we’ll be seeing each other again. Is that what you want?”

  She tipped up her chin. “I think I should be asking that question of you.”

  “All I know is the thought of never seeing you again . . .” Drives a spike through my chest. No, that revealed far too much. “Doesn’t sit well with me.”

  “Nor me,” she said breathlessly.

  “Are you sure? When we first met, you didn’t seem to like me all that much.”

  “Because you were behaving like an arse.” She softened. “Although you showed yourself to be . . . more appealing once I got to know you.”

  “Nine years later.”

  “And even nine years ago.” She wandered to the window to look out over the lawn. “Our first kiss was . . . was . . .”

  “Special?”

  “My first kiss ever.”

  That surprised him. “Really? You took to it rather . . . well.”

  She shot him a sly look over her shoulder. “Men aren’t the only ones with desires, you know. For me, our kiss was magical.”

  He snorted. “Not magical enough to coax you into marrying me.” When she shook her head at him, he held up his hand. “I know, I know. My proposal left much to be desired. But you did say when we were at Grey’s that you probably wouldn’t have married me even if I’d proposed more . . . courteously.”

  “Nine years ago. But you and I have both changed since then. You’ve become more cynical, while I’ve learned there are certain advantages to . . . being around a man like you.”

  His blood roaring in his ears, he walked toward her. “Such as?”

  “Companionship, for one. I find it stimulating to talk to a fellow who appreciates my accomplishments in chemistry even if he doesn’t understand them.” She faced him fully as he approached her. “Who shares my interest in the theater, among other things.”

  “You find talking to a man about chemistry and the theater stimulating, eh?” He came near enough so he could smell her erotic scent, see her eyes darken with desire. “I find it stimulating to be this close to you.” He cupped her cheek in his hand. “To touch you.” He lowered his lips to within a half inch of hers. “To kiss you. You have a mouth made for kissing.”

  So he did precisely that.

  Chapter Twelve

  Olivia could hardly think when he was distracting her with his lips and tongue and teeth. Why must he kiss so divinely, with an angel’s sweet tenderness and a devil’s hot urgency? The combination turned her knees weak.

  She wanted more of everything . . . his mouth, his hands . . . his hard body hot against her. His loose banyan of cobalt-blue silk whispered over her arms, as if even the fabric wished to caress her, arouse her.

  He drew back to say hoarsely, “I’ve missed you.”

  “Me? Or this?”

  “Can’t I miss both?” Without warning, he hoisted her up to sit on the wide windowsill and tugged out her fichu so he could kiss and suck and tongue her bare skin, from her throat to the upper swells of her breasts. The mere rasp of his evening whiskers against her skin made her eager for more of him.

  She clutched his shoulders and let the pleasure of having him against her wash over her like a warm bath. “Thorn, what are we doing?”

  “I don’t know what you’re doing, but I’m taking advantage of you.” As if to emphasize the fact, he slid his fingers slowly through her hair, which was still in the chignon she always used for working, and let her hairpins fall where they may. “My God, but your hair is lovely. It shines like a sunny summer day . . . or a field of barley in autumn.”

  He was as poetic as Mr. Juncker. She wondered if he realized that.

  “Thorn, be serious.”

  His gaze burned into her. “I’m always serious about hair.”

  She shook her head, making her hair fall even further. “I mean, don’t you think perhaps this isn’t . . . very wise?”

  “Yet here I am doing it anyway.” As if in a trance, he spread her hair out over her shoulders. “That’s what we rakehells do, you know.” He nuzzled her breasts, making her yearn for more.

  She kissed his temple, then his hair, and made a last ditch protest. “My dear reckless rakehell, aren’t you worried someone will happen upon us?”

  “Not at this hour.”

  The reminder that everyone else was in bed, that they could behave with impunity, was enough to rouse her. And why shouldn’t she be with him? It wasn’t as if she needed to save her virtue. After this, she meant to be a chemist her whole life. To be alone.

  The thought depressed her, making her throw herself even more into their . . . activities.

  He untied her apron and tossed it over the settee, then dragged her skirts up above her stockings so he could move between her legs. The thickness of his arousal pushed at the part of her already eager for him, making her sigh and ache. The contrast of his heat there and the cold of the window against her back made her shiver.

  “Let’s move somewhere warmer, shall we?” Thorn said. “Put your legs around me.”

  When she did, just to see what he would do, he carried her away from the window and into her bedchamber through the door she hadn’t meant to leave open. Or had she?

  Just the movement of his body against her bare privates turned her molten. Was it wrong that she always felt wet down there when he did these things? Was that normal?

  She didn’t care. Dear Lord, but he was driving her dangerously, thoroughly mad.

  He set her down on the high mattress of her bed, then cupped her head in his hands and gazed down into her eyes. “I want you. And I believe you want me. Am I wrong about that?”

  “No.” She kicked off her shoes, already eager to begin. “But I don’t wish to simply be one of yo
ur many conquests.”

  “There’s nothing simple about this. Or about you. You couldn’t be a mere conquest of mine if you tried.”

  The words oddly reassured her. She knew she ought to beware them. Supposedly, a man like him would say anything to get a woman into bed. Yet this felt . . . different somehow.

  Or was she just being terribly naive?

  Either way, she knew in her heart she’d already made her choice. Him in her bed. Tonight. She might never get another chance to find out what being with a man was like. What being with him was like. In all this time she’d never met any other man who even remotely appealed to her. Thorn had spoiled her for the rest of them.

  He shrugged off his banyan, then bent on one knee in front of her to slide her skirts up again, so he could untie her garters and draw down her stockings. Slowly. Seductively. The very motion made her want to pull them back up just so he could slip them back down again.

  “So I assume this is a yes,” he choked out as he ran his fingers over the smoothness of her thighs. “That you mean to share a bed with me tonight.”

  “And here I thought you were merely playing lady’s maid,” she teased him.

  He eyed her askance. “I fear I’m not the right sex for that.”

  “Let me just make sure.” She unbuttoned his waistcoat and pushed it off, then undid the three buttons of his shirt so she could pull it off over his head to bare his chest.

  “My, my,” she said. “Definitely not a lady’s maid.” How magnificent his chest was! A few years ago, she’d seen a line drawing of Michelangelo’s David, and ever since, she’d imagined Thorn as that sculpture, but in full living color. Still, she hadn’t thought to add, in her imagination, sprinklings of dusky hair across his upper half and a narrowing line of hair leading down to his navel.

  She ran her hands over his muscles, which were every bit as sculpted as the statue’s. Except that Thorn’s flesh was warm and responsive, the muscles flexing beneath her touch in a most gratifying way.

  A guttural groan sounded low in his throat when she thumbed his nipples, then pressed a kiss against the hairy flesh between them. He smelled so good she wanted to rub herself all over him. What an odd notion!

  But when she slid her hands down to the buttons of his trousers, he growled, “My turn.” Then he pushed her skirts up to her waist and bent his head a little to bury his mouth between her thighs.

  She couldn’t believe it! Was he actually licking her there?

  He soon had her in a frenzy of excitement, then pulled back to fix her with a hungry look. “You taste like heaven, sweeting. Shall I do more?”

  “Yes, oh, yes.” She caught his head and urged him back, and with a chuckle he complied.

  Then he put his tongue inside her the way he’d put his finger a few days ago. Oh, dear Lord, how marvelous! How intoxicating. This was a drug she could easily come to crave.

  He started flicking his tongue over a spot that felt tender and needy with each lash of his tongue. She found herself making strange mewling noises and undulating against him until suddenly he drew back.

  “Not yet, my dear. I want you fully naked first.” Using his handkerchief to wipe his mouth, he stared down at her mons. “Lovely as this is, I want to see the rest of you—every inch laid bare for me.”

  Even the words made her frantic for more of whatever he’d just been doing to her.

  As if he knew he’d made her legs too wobbly for her to stand, he got up off the floor so he could sit beside her. Then he turned her so he could undo her gown where she sat.

  Between the two of them they got it and her corset off. Then it only took mere seconds for him to have her shift off, too, leaving her with nothing but her hair to hide her from his gaze.

  He ran a hand down her back to her bottom. “You’re a goddess, sweeting.” He brought his hands around her from behind to cup both her breasts, fondling them shamelessly. “From these lovely ladies”—he skimmed one hand down her belly to cup her privates below—“to this pouting beauty. Look in the mirror. I want you to see what I see.”

  The mirror? She glanced around and realized that the two of them were perfectly captured in the looking glass opposite her bed. Part of her wondered if that was his purpose, if he’d brought other women here for this.

  Part of her just reveled in his expression of pure, savage need as he rubbed the nipple of one breast while using the fingers on his other hand to arouse her below. Merely seeing him caressing her made her slick and wet.

  “When do I get my turn?” she asked. “I want to see you naked, too.” She was curious about the thickening bulge in his trousers that she’d only had a few minutes to fondle the last time they were this intimate.

  “Oh, God, yes,” he rasped.

  He kicked off his slippers, then stood to unbutton his trousers and drawers before shoving them off along with his stockings.

  “There,” he said as he stood before her with his hands resting impudently on his hips. “Look your fill. But don’t take too long, or I’ll embarrass myself.”

  She didn’t know how he could possibly do that, given that he was already standing naked before her, but it was most enlightening to see him in his full glory. The line drawing of David had a much smaller, much tamer bundle of a man’s privates.

  Thorn’s thick rod of flesh thrusting boldly toward her from a nest of dark hair, with large ballocks hanging down, was another thing entirely. He was no statue for certain.

  She swallowed hard. That thing of his was supposed to go inside her, the way his finger and his tongue had?

  Dear Lord.

  She reached out to touch it, and it twitched as if it had a mind of its own. Thorn caught her hand. “Not now, sweeting, or I won’t be able to do this right, I swear.”

  “There’s a right way and a wrong way?”

  “Yes. Sort of.” He moved closer. “Lie down, Olivia, and I’ll show you the right way.” He added, under his breath, “Assuming I can survive that long.”

  So she did as he bade, and the next thing she knew he was kneeling between her legs and looming over her.

  “You’re sure that you want this?” he asked.

  “How can I be sure if I’ve never done it?”

  He groaned. “I can stop now before anything happens, if that’s what you want.”

  Too much had already happened. She refused to go back. “Don’t stop,” she whispered.

  “Thank God,” he said hoarsely, then pressed the tip of his . . . his member inside her and began to inch his way farther in.

  At first it was maddening. It didn’t seem to fit at all.

  He must have thought the same thing. “You’re so tight, sweeting. So warm and wet and tight.”

  “Are you certain this is the right way?”

  “Oh, yes, trust me,” he choked out. “It’s as right as it can be . . . for me. But I don’t imagine the first time . . . feels wonderful to a virgin. I’ll try to make . . . it better for you.”

  Grabbing a pillow, he then lifted her hips enough to get it under her. She wasn’t sure why, but the change in position did improve matters.

  “Better?” he growled.

  She nodded. She couldn’t speak, consumed by the sensation of having him so intimately joined to her. He seemed to grow bigger inside her the farther he went. But then he reached down to rub the hard knot that seemed to hold all her enjoyable sensations, and like a dam bursting, pleasure flooded her.

  With a gasp, she arched against his finger, while he began to pull out, then thrust in, over and over in an exquisite, unfamiliar rhythm. This was out of her realm of experience, and all she could do was clasp the well-wrought arms that held him above her and pray he took her with him to wherever he was going.

  Because he was definitely going somewhere, what with his muscles straining and his face flushing. Now she began to feel as if she too was going somewhere. His quickening strokes drubbed that knot of pleasure even more, and his eyes burned into hers with such intensity that she w
as soon gasping and sighing and arching up to meet his thrusts, eager for every delicious feeling searing its way through her.

  “Ah, my . . . lovely dear. You’re killing me. You feel . . . so damned good.”

  “So do you,” she answered, and realized it wasn’t a lie. “This is . . . amazing.”

  It was. Shocks of heat radiated through her, growing bigger, stronger, hotter until suddenly they arced inside her, making her cry out from the intensity of her ecstasy.

  As if that set off his own release, he drove into her with a hoarse cry of his own, then spilled himself inside her. As he lay atop her, his body still joined to hers and his head cradled in the bend of her neck, a contentment stole over her that was beyond anything she’d ever felt. She belonged here, with him. He might not realize it yet, but she did.

  That was enough. For now.

  * * *

  Thorn lay beside her, his heart no longer thundering and his body replete with satisfaction. Yet he wanted her again. And again and again and again.

  It made no sense. Nine years ago, he would have been panicked, knowing that a marriage was now in his future. Hell, he’d been panicked back then after they’d been caught kissing. Instead, he felt nothing but contentment. And a faint echo of his earlier desire.

  If he made love to her again, he could do it with less urgency and more care. But that was a mad train of thought. It implied that he . . . needed her. And he didn’t need anyone.

  He looked down to where her naked body was curled against him, and his blood roused at just the sight. God, he was in trouble now. He reached over to grab the other side of the coverlet and, for the sake of his sanity, pulled it over the parts of her he found tempting. Although honestly, if he followed that logic, he’d be covering her from head to toe.

  Her response was to lay her head on his bare shoulder. “That was not what I expected.”

  He didn’t even have to ask what “that” referred to. “Worse? Or better?”

  “Oh, better, most definitely.”

  She toyed with the hair on his chest, and he felt a stirring in his cock. He willed it to go away, even though that had never worked before, especially around her. But he had to try.