Lady Saves the Duke

by Annabelle Anders

  Awakening in the morning with his new bride pressed against him, Alex now found himself quite prepared to consummate this marriage. He hoped she would not turn squeamish. Would she?

  Not moving his eyes away from hers, his hand drifted downward to her neck, her collar bone and onto her breast, which remained demurely covered by white cotton. Her own gaze fixed upon his, trusting him as he cupped the plump flesh gently. Ah, yes, perfect. Glorious. He stifled the urge to lift her gown then and there and press his mouth to such fullness.

  Opting instead for a tentative squeeze, he watched as her lips parted with a catch in her breath.

  He leaned forward and caught her lips with his own.

  Ah, even in the morning, she tasted sweet and clean. “Abigail,” he whispered. He kept his eyes opened. She had closed hers, but he wanted her to not be afraid. “Open your eyes.”

  After a moment, she obeyed and looked at him. He was pleased to see no fear, only that a sensual haze had come over her. Sweet God in heaven, she did something to him.

  “Tell me if you become afraid.” He wished to show her that sex was not violent. He wanted to show her that they could both find satisfaction with each other. He was going to have to take things slowly.

  And then he trailed his lips along her jaw, allowing them to follow the path his hand had taken just seconds before. He drew lazy circles with his tongue and was pleased when she reached up and clasped his head to her.

  Damn, but he was hard.

  With sure fingers, he gathered the material of her nightdress and pulled it upward. Together, they both yet lay beneath the large quilted counterpane. She could keep her modesty.

  For now.

  Pulling back, he interpreted her stillness for acquiescence and used both hands to pull the gown up and over her head. She lay close to him now, no barriers between them. The softness of her legs and the roundness of her curves touched and then pressed against him.

  Her eyes closed tightly, she’d pressed her lips into a thin taut line.

  “Breathe, Abigail,” he whispered and began trailing kisses around her face once again.

  She relaxed when his mouth returned to hers and his tongue explored the tender skin behind her lips. He nearly came undone when she joined him in the kiss, nipping and pulling at him. Whether she meant to or not, she arched her body into his.

  “Remember, Abigail, I am your husband now,” he reminded her, his lips trailing down her throat in search of heaven. “You have my protection. You are safe.”

  Both of her hands gripped his head, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

  “I know, Monfort, I know,” she answered.

  And then his mouth opened over her breast. His tongue circled her pert nipple and flicked it before he latched on greedily. Had he been waiting all summer for this moment? Had he wanted her since he’d first seen her looking so vulnerable in the boat that day?

  Or had the wanting come afterward? When she’d turned and faced him boldly? Or even later when she’d warned him to retract his proposal?

  He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but at last he could admit to himself that he wanted this woman in a most carnal way. His arousal, so acute that it was nearly painful. It was an exciting, promising sort of pain, though.

  He ran his hands down to grasp Abigail from behind. Ah, soft, and full of promise. Her sweet body so very full of promise.

  Touching her, kissing her, tasting her nearly brought him to completion prematurely.

  ****

  So many sensations rolled through Abigail, all of her restraint was required to keep from crying out. These were not bad sensations, though. They were good, though they were unfamiliar.

  And, oh, but exquisite.

  Monfort was tugging at her, molding her to his hands and mouth, making her his. His actions would have been terrifying if she were not also experiencing this hunger to bring him inside of herself. She’d had such yearnings before, when alone, but had not dared acknowledge them.

  But now Monfort was bringing them all to the surface. This was the Duke of Monfort touching her, her husband. He was the man she had married.

  When his hands clasped around the softness of her thighs, she gave in to the most natural urge to part her knees and allow him complete access.

  His hand found her first, and he slid it around those places she’d forbidden herself to ever linger. Then his finger slid inside of her, moving rhythmically, creating even more wanton sensations.

  How could this be? Such intimacies ought to be mortifying!

  And then he climbed atop her, and he replaced his hand with something harder, larger, altogether more demanding, pushing against her.

  Her eyes flew open wide.

  She remembered this from before. The pain. The intrusion. The humiliation. She raised her hands to his shoulders and pushed. “Monfort, stop! Wait! Please!”

  He stilled instantly. But he was breathing heavily and dipped his forehead so that it pressing heavily against hers. “Alex,” he said.

  He was Alex.

  He was not a dark, menacing, and laughing acquaintance. He was not drunk with spirits. She was not in a public place. She was a wife.

  He was Alex.

  She opened her legs wider and pushed upward toward him.

  He came into her large and hard, but as she took him inside of her body, she experienced a rightness she’d never known before. She let out a sigh of satisfaction and he pushed deeper, farther, to her innermost core. He must surely be touching her womb.

  “Alex,” she breathed.

  And then he was moving. Slow at first, but with a gradual increase in pace and intensity. Abigail held onto him as though her life depended upon it. She clasped her legs tightly around him, and her hands gripped his upper arms. She moved with him. She reached forward with her mouth and clasped it upon his shoulder, her neck straining.

  He consumed her as she consumed him. And she sensed even more coming. More sensation, more exhilaration. A sharp, infinite crash of…something…took hold of her body. Alex held himself above her as he thrust himself deep and hard into her one last time. He pushed higher though, and higher, and then a rush of warmth inside. An agonized look took hold of his face before he buried it in her neck. His breath, damp and hot. Both of them were perspiring and gasping.

  He was not a small man, and all of his weight rested upon her.

  But she welcomed it. When he went to roll away, she tightened her legs around him. “Not yet,” she whispered.

  He stilled and allowed his weight to press her into the mattress once again.

  And then, before she could utter another word, he’d rolled her over so that she was atop him.

  They both slept.

  Chapter 18

  Abigail woke with her cheek pressed against her husband’s chest and the unexpected sensations of intimacy nearly engulfed her. It startled her that not only was she so close physically to a man, but that that man was the Duke of Monfort.

  Alex.

  At some time while they’d slept, their conjoined bodies had separated, but the way she lay atop him, she absorbed his every breath. The rhythmic beating beneath her ear terrified her in that it was the sound of this man’s heart. That fluttering was all that kept him alive. Just a tiny little sound—his life, so vulnerable. If it were to stop, he would cease to live.

  She pushed the thought away. He was very much alive—very naked—and very much trapped beneath her.

  How on earth had he managed to sleep?

  She tilted her chin upward and studied the beard appearing darkly upon his jaw and chin. Even shadowed, the strong lines of his face were apparent. Her eyes drifted upward to the angular lines of his nose and cheeks.

  In sleep, his lips relaxed. And long black lashes fanned out upon the skin beneath his eyes. They even stood out against the dark bruises which had developed quite magnificently over the past twenty-four hours.

  His hair was ruffled and springing out in several different directions. She had to
still her hand to keep from reaching up to touch it.

  But should she? He was her husband, after all. Would he awaken cold and distant?

  As she argued with herself about what would and would not be acceptable the morning after—well, when one awakened after…two hands reached around and clutched at her bottom.

  “You are thinking very loudly, Abigail,” Monfort murmured. Ah, so he was not sleeping after all. Abigail tensed at the sensations his hands created.

  She was further distracted by the feel of him between her legs. That particular part of him had grown and hardened in a matter of seconds. Abigail herself experienced a heat rising inside, a sensation surely considered inappropriate for a lady. And her a duchess no less! She certainly didn’t feel like a duchess. She’d known she was a scandal, but was she wanton as well? She buried her face against his chest.

  Monfort’s hands continued to caress her bare skin. “Will you sit up?” he asked. “I want to look at you.”

  What? Oh, good Lord no! Although the sun was not shining outside, daylight lit the room nonetheless. Why would he wish to look at her? It would be too humiliating. But he was pushing at her shoulders, and she found her body obeying his hands. “Please? Abigail?”

  Abigail opened her eyes and watched his face as she allowed him to maneuver her upward. His eyes were slightly hooded, and his lips parted as he inhaled deeply. His gaze move from her face to her breasts and abdomen. Self-consciously, she wrapped an arm around her stomach. It was soft and had silvery little lines near her navel. This had never bothered her before, but with his intense gaze, she ducked her face in shame.

  Alex gently pushed her hand away and replaced it with his own. His fingers traced one of the silvery lines and his thumb reached downward, touching and rubbing her intimately. He then adjusted himself at her opening and pushed up and into her warmth. Obliging his knowing hands, Abigail could not move her gaze from his face as she watched the desire on his.

  His thumb made little swirling motions, intensifying her own want. She no longer experienced any embarrassment; only intent upon him.

  His hard length prodded exquisitely inside of her. On pure instinct, Abigail reached behind herself and grasped onto his solid, hair-roughened thighs. As she did so, she arched her back and rubbed herself against her husband. Monfort grasped her hips, and they began moving together once again.

  Alex thought that perhaps he’d died and gone to heaven. For his little spinster of a wife was, rather, something of a sexual goddess.

  And not only because of her lush, warm, welcoming body. No, it was the way she responded to his touch. Her head was thrown back, and her bosoms heaved as he pushed himself deeper and deeper into her wet hot warmth. She moved against him eagerly, creating a friction that was nearly his undoing. Her eyes were closed, and she was breathing heavily—as was he.

  He’d admitted to himself that he’d desired her body, but he’d never expected…this.

  This was, indeed, a pleasant means of entertainment for a rainy day.

  And then she gasped and moaned softly. Alex slowed his own movement and watched as satisfaction washed over her. Just as he thought to begin moving again, Abigail slumped, bent her head forward, and mumbled. “I am so sorry. Please forgive me. I don’t know why…” Was she crying?

  Ignoring his own need, he pushed her hair out of her face and looked on in astonishment when he noticed that tears were indeed present.

  “But whatever for?” he asked softly. Had he scared her? He traced his thumb up the side of her face and smoothed the moisture away. She was perhaps more complicated than he’d imagined. He could not help himself. He moved his thumb to trace the line of her ripe, soft bottom lip. Abigail opened her eyes and looked at him mournfully.

  “This is not seemly of me at all! I am not supposed to be…this way!” And then she closed her eyes and dropped her face again.

  Alex nearly chuckled but realized this was clearly a serious matter to her. She would have no idea that the last thing he’d wanted from his wife in bed was decorum. He’d already had that, and it did not make for a pleasant marriage. With Abigail, he’d hoped for a bit of mutual enjoyment at best. He was beginning to realize even greater possibilities—for a while, anyhow.

  “But I am pleased that you are…this way,” his voice rasped. Emotion caught in his throat. Abigail stared back up at him skeptically, and so he added, “It is what I would have in a wife.”

  “It was not like this before…that other time. This is different.”

  Alex nodded. “I am glad.”

  “You do not find it…distasteful?” She required further reassurance.

  Alex flexed his muscles and pushed himself up into her more deeply. “Does it feel as though I find it distasteful?” And then he watched as a delightful blush crept up her breasts, her neck, and into her face. She was sitting astride him, gloriously naked, and she was blushing! Grasping her behind the neck, Alex pulled her face forward and placed his lips on hers. “Sweet is what you are,” he murmured into her mouth.

  And suddenly he not only felt aroused, but extraordinarily tender. Silken strands wound themselves around his heart. He was not certain that he liked it.

  He pushed the images of her soulful brown eyes out of his mind’s eye and instead focused on the pure physical pleasure he was feeling. Hot, wet, tight. It was a rainy day, and there was not much else he could do.

  Deep, soft, moist.

  There were no pressing responsibilities to attend to. No clubs to visit, no letters to dictate.

  Sweet puffs of breath, tender lips tasting his skin, soft, feminine, little mewling sounds.

  No secretaries and no valets.

  Tentative hands exploring him boldly. A tiny blue vein, nearly invisible beneath the almost translucent skin of her breast. He nipped gently with his teeth. He pulled her ruched nipple into his mouth and sucked at her deeply.

  What harm was there in spending the day pleasuring his new wife? It did not need to become more than what it was.

  This was, by God, no love match.

  He was fulfilling a duty of honor.

  He was protecting a woman who had experienced a great lack of it so far throughout her lifetime.

  And she was nibbling at his ear.

  ****

  Several hours later, Abigail and Alex had only moved from their bed to retrieve a tray delivered by one of the inn servants. They’d eaten, made love, and slept randomly, lazily, without any desire to do anything differently. Lying beside her husband now, with her cheek resting upon his smooth, strong arm, Abigail raised a finger to trace the color around his eye.

  “Did Farley know why you attacked him? He did not think it was over Mrs. Gormley, did he? Because that would just seem wrong…”

  Alex chuckled, slid his eyes toward her, and then grinned wickedly. “Feeling a little bloodthirsty all of a sudden, are we, Your Grace?”

  His grin was too beautiful to ignore. She slid her finger down and touched the corner of his mouth. She answered him truthfully. “I told him to stop, over and over again. I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t. But when you touch me, you say I can tell you to stop at any time, even though you are my husband.” The words escaped her with a sense of wonder.

  Alex shifted into a more comfortable position and then tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. He raised one hand and grasped her fingers to keep them from moving. Almost subconsciously, he placed a kiss upon one of her knuckles. “I have no wish to make love to an unwilling woman.”

  Abigail remembered Farley’s eyes gleaming at her resistance. The wild look that had come into his eyes as she’d squirmed and pushed at him. “You are different from him.”

  Alex released her hand then and drew his forearm up to cover his eyes. He seemed almost irritated by her words. “Men are not so complicated, Abigail. Neither are we all that different from each other.”

  What was he trying to say? “But if I told you to stop, you would stop. Farley did not. This is a significant di
fference.”

  He fell silent for a moment. “There are ways for a woman to tell a man to stop that do not involve any words at all. And a man ought to listen to her. He ought to heed the messages her body sends.”

  Abigail wasn’t certain what he was talking about. So she simply cuddled closer to him and let her hand rest upon his chest. She turned her head and placed a kiss upon the skin she rested upon. “What messages?”

  Still talking to the ceiling, Alex answered her, “Rigidity. Tightness…dryness.”

  After the past several hours, Abigail had somewhat of an understanding as to what he was referring. But who? Lady Hyacinth?

  “She did not tell you to stop?” It must have been the deceased duchess.

  At her question, he let out a short bark of laughter. But it was not laughter, really. It was more of a self-deprecating gurgle. “She told me to hurry. She told me to get it over with.”

  Abigail contemplated his words. “And so you did what she said…even though she really did not want it?” What a horrible situation! “Was this on your wedding night?” The room had grown dark with shadows. She wondered if they ought to light a candle soon. But for now the darkness wove a comforting intimacy around the two of them. And Alex was talking with her, about himself no less!

  His eyes were closed, but he emanated tension. “And a few other times.” His voice sounded cold. “How does that make me any different from Farley? It does not.” He went to pull away from her and out of the bed, but Abigail used her weight to push him back into the pillow. He could have moved if he’d tried harder, but he allowed her to hold him down. He did not meet her eyes, however.

  “You did not enjoy it? Without her participation and satisfaction, you did not find a particular thrill?”

  “God, no, Abigail!” He stared at her in horror.

  “So why did you do it?” she asked him, remaining calm. He squirmed for a moment, but Abigail was almost lying completely on top of him now. Finally, he lay back in defeat.

  In a resigned voice, he answered her. “I was excited to bed her. It was our wedding night. We were supposed to have relations. She was a lady, she said. I’d never bedded a virgin before. I thought I was doing my duty. I hoped it would be better the next time, and then the next time after that. But it never was. And then she hated me for it.”