One Fine Duke

by Lenora Bell

  “Oh.” She raised her head slightly, arms held high above her head. “Yes, please. Carry on.”

  Petal-soft skin and mist-smile in her eyes. She wanted to be pleased.

  She deserved to be bathed in pleasure, float away in it, and he could give it to her.

  What a gift it was to be the one to give her this experience. He would make this so good.

  He spread one palm over her belly so that he could feel her responses.

  He lapped at the hood of her sex with his tongue, dancing around the main course. She squirmed beneath his tongue and her belly trembled under his palm.

  She had the most adorable rounded belly, not flat like his but with a few soft rolls of flesh that drove him wild.

  He rose on his heels to have a view of her tumbled hair and hazy eyes, her full breasts pushed high by the position of her arms.

  Had he really thought he was content to be alone? He’d been only half living. His senses dulled.

  He felt so alive, his purpose narrowed to one task: make Mina cry his name in ecstasy.

  He resumed his work, licking the folds of her sex, uncovering the sensitive bud at the center and flicking his tongue back and forth. Her soft belly rippled, thighs trembling on either side of his head.

  She liked that.

  His tongue danced again, finding the steps that made her roll her hips to meet him and her breath come in little gasps.

  “Drew,” she moaned.

  His heart soared into the heavens. He redoubled his efforts; moving his hands under her hips, angling her against his mouth.

  He dipped his tongue inside her. She tasted slightly salty and honey sweet.

  A frustrated sound above him, a little breathy moan. She was close now. She didn’t want him to stop licking.

  He was hers to command.

  Tongue stroking faster now, her body straining beneath him, striving for climax.

  He was everything essential to her right now, her wild London adventure. He’d prove his worth again and again.

  Her hands came to his head, fingers buried in his hair, clutching his skull. He rubbed his cock against the side of the bed in the same rhythm his tongue was using, aroused by the taste of her, the sound of her sighs.

  She was close now. Stay right there, her hands told him. Don’t stop.

  A few more seconds of steady, firm tongue strokes and she came at last, undulating her hips, riding his tongue and digging her nails into his scalp.

  “Oh,” she moaned. “Oh. Drew.”

  He didn’t stop moving his tongue until her hips stopped moving and she fell limp against the bed, hands leaving his head.

  He rose and climbed onto the bed, fitting his body around her.

  She was smiling. She turned sleepy eyes toward him. “That felt marvelous.”

  “And?”

  “You were definitely a wicked rake. Still are, though you try to deny it.”

  He kissed her lips. “I’m not nearly finished proving myself yet.”

  Her breath hitched. He laid a hand over one of her breasts, testing the weight and curvature. So delectable, her nipples prominent through the thin cambric of her shift.

  He’d been known for his stamina—how long he made lovemaking last—and tonight would be no exception.

  Not that his stamina would be put to the test tonight—things would never go that far. No, it would be her endurance that was tested. How many times he made her come.

  How many times she’d moan his name.

  He propped himself on his elbow while he continued his slow, unhurried exploration. Pulling the bodice of her gown down, uncovering her breasts, fabric sliding over shell-pink nipples.

  Her eyes were huge as she watched him. He lowered his head.

  “Drew.” A sweet little moan as his lips covered her nipple.

  Sugary nipples under his tongue. He gave it the same treatment, fluttering his tongue and licking around the contours and then sucking gently.

  The other nipple now, the same swirling and sucking, the same care and attention, giving everything to this moment, unhurried.

  While he explored, he listened. The bliss of it when she arched into his mouth. The joy of her small hand settled on his head, not to push him away, but to become buried in his hair, to urge him on.

  He rolled on top of her and wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her to him as he delved into her mouth and she answered, kissing him back with urgency.

  A moan escaped his mouth and she answered with a soft sound that was music and fireworks and all the sustenance he’d ever need for the rest of his life.

  He slid his fingers across the seam of her thighs. She shivered and her thighs opened slightly.

  Not yet. All the time in the world to lose himself in the music of her sighs. There should be a symphony called Kissing Mina.

  He slid his cock against her mound through the fabric of her shift.

  “Drew.” Her eyes flew open.

  “Do you want me to stop?” Please don’t want me to stop. I want to make you come again. And again.

  “No, I . . .” Her hands grabbed fistfuls of bedclothes. “I want . . .” She rubbed her pelvis against his cock in a wordless request.

  That he could give her. “You want to come again.”

  “Y-yes.”

  “You will.” He kissed her forehead. “Here’s what you’re going to do. I’m not going to move, you’re going to move. You’re going to find your pleasure.”

  He lifted his hips and freed his straining cock, pausing for a moment to squeeze the head to discourage him from being too eager.

  He showed her what he meant, moving her shift aside and guiding her seam against his cock, indicating that he wouldn’t move, he was hers to use.

  “Find what feels the best. Use my body.”

  “Oh.” She bit her lip. “Like this?”

  Tentatively, she wrapped her fingers around his cock and rubbed it over her cleft.

  “Just. Like. That,” he ground out, fighting for control.

  Sweet torture not to move, to hold perfectly still, cock swelling, harder than he’d ever been, as she moved more confidently now, using him with her fingers, and with the undulating movement of her hips.

  He sucked on her breasts as she rocked against him, faster now, more pressure, her slickness cradling him, her body shuddering as she slid along the base and middle of his cock.

  Every ounce of him wanted to take her, press inside her warmth and heat. It would feel better than anything had ever felt. Joined together with Mina, bodies slick with sweat.

  Make her cry his name as he stroked inside her. Buried so deep. Lose himself.

  Lose control.

  He would never lose control completely. Not in bed, not in his life.

  He could give her pleasure, but he would take none in return.

  Her body clenched tight beneath him. She gripped his shoulders with her fingers and rocked her core against his cock in swift, uncontrolled movements.

  “Come for me,” he whispered in her ear. “Mina. Come.”

  She reached her peak in a shuddering series of gasps, bucking beneath him.

  He collapsed at her side, smiling into her hair.

  He still had it.

  She cupped his cheek with her soft hand, rubbing her thumb over the stubble on his jaw. “That was . . . extraordinary.”

  A rush of pride and possessiveness filled his chest. “I’m glad you thought so.” He kissed the tip of her pert little nose. “But you know that we can’t keep doing these things. Not without consequences.”

  “I’m not one to follow orders, Your Grace. But you see”—she flashed a rakish grin—“taking orders from you in bed is my new favorite thing.”

  His cock responded to her words with an approving twitch. Not your turn.

  He tucked his cock back inside his smalls.

  “Don’t.” She grabbed his wrist. “Don’t put him away. I want to explore.”

  A request no rake had turned down ever. �
�No,” he said, with a Herculean effort of will.

  “No?” she asked.

  “I can’t let you do that. Because . . .” Because he couldn’t lose control.

  “It would be improper?” she asked. “I think we’re way beyond that, don’t you?”

  They were so far beyond improper.

  “I know why you won’t allow me to reciprocate,” Mina said. “You won’t allow yourself to surrender control with me.” The expression in her eyes was frustrated, hurt. She shaped his cheek with her hand. “Don’t you trust me?”

  He couldn’t surrender any more control. She’d already melted too much of his ice-cold center. The shell around his heart was cracking. He would end up abandoning her, hurting her, when this was all over. When they had to return to reality. He never let anyone inside his heart.

  “I think I proved my point,” he said. “And that’s all that was asked of me.”

  Don’t ask anything else. I have nothing else to give.

  She stared into his eyes for a long moment. “You’re afraid,” she whispered. “What are you afraid of?”

  He turned his head away. They were so different. She flung herself headfirst into danger and he’d replaced his fear with routine. Their futures diverged.

  His place was at Thornhill House, sleeves rolled up as he tested the soil, propagated plants in his conservatory, designed new ways to irrigate fields.

  She wanted to become a spy for the Crown, as her parents had been. She wanted to avenge their deaths.

  “There’s something you’re not telling me, Drew.” She turned his words back on him. “Something about the kidnapping. How did you free yourself? There was only a brief mention of it in the Duke Dossier.”

  He stared at her. How could she know that he’d freed himself? No one knew that. And what in Hell was a duke dossier? “The what?”

  “Oh, I forgot that I never told you about that. My uncle compiled a background document on you. He called it the Duke Dossier and it detailed all four of London’s eligible dukes, with you being the number-one choice. That’s how I knew all about your treatises on crop rotation techniques.”

  “I wondered why you’d been reading agricultural journals.”

  “He probably had you watched for weeks, months, even. Was there any new addition to your household staff in the weeks before you came to London?”

  He thought about it. “A new scullery maid.”

  “My uncle is very thorough.”

  “So you know everything about me. That puts me at a decided disadvantage, I’d say.”

  “You care about the plight of the tenant farmers of England, you introduced a bill on tenant rights that was laughed out of Parliament, you retreated to Cornwall where your estate now serves as a model for a true end to famine. You sounded very noble and rather boring, if I’m being truthful.”

  “Ouch.”

  “I didn’t say that I found you boring. When I met you, I learned there was more to you than what my uncle wrote. For example, he neglected to inform me that you were a former rake. I suppose he thought that information inappropriate for a young lady.”

  “You discovered that part all on your own.”

  She lowered her skirts and covered her breasts with her bodice. “I certainly did.” She rested her head on his chest.

  He played with strands of her hair, the texture as soft and smooth as silk. He pulled the coverlet over them. “There’s one thing I still don’t understand. Why would Rafe write a coded diary and hide it in a secret room? No one else could have found and deciphered it but you.”

  “Or someone like me. Someone raised on spy craft. I’d say he kept the diary out of a sense of pride and perhaps as a legacy. If anything happens to him, he’d want there to be a possibility that someone, someday would know what he’d tried to do.”

  “He’s always been a hothead. Never thinks things through. The idiot will get himself killed.”

  “He may even have left another coded letter for my uncle somewhere, using one of the ciphers common to our organization. He’s doing all of this to prove himself to Sir Malcolm.”

  “You know we can’t just run off together, Mina. You’d be ruined.”

  She raised her head and caught his eye. “Does it seem to you as though I’m concerned about my reputation?”

  “I don’t want to be the cause of your options being limited.”

  “Then we’ll take Beatrice with us. She’ll be thrilled. We can leave her at Thornhill House in your library and she won’t emerge for a year.”

  “Mother won’t like it. The Season isn’t over and she still has hopes for finding Beatrice a match.”

  “Beatrice has no desire to wed. Find a way to convince your mother that Beatrice is miserable. She hates going to balls and dancing with shallow dandies. Allow her into your life for once. She’s not only longing for your library, she wants to be your friend. She wants your love and your acceptance. This is your chance to forge a real connection with your sister.”

  “She can ride this Season out. It will give me time to continue renovating Thornhill.”

  “If you truly care about your sister, you’ll let her choose her own destiny. You’ll let her be free to make her own choices.”

  “And if my mother demands to come with us to Thornhill?”

  “Then bring her along. If you tell her that her younger son is in Cornwall, she’ll drop everything and accompany us in a heartbeat. We can leave them at Thornhill House.”

  “We need reinforcements, Mina. We can’t do this alone. That police inspector I spoke with at Vauxhall, Inspector Langley, is a stouthearted fellow, and his force is well trained and at the ready.”

  “Would they allow him to leave London?”

  “I’m sure if I put it to his superiors that he could be a hero for England by intercepting a smuggler, they’d allow him to commandeer a stagecoach. They could arrive before we do and try to find Rafe.”

  “I like those odds far better.”

  Drew counted the days on his fingers. “Rafe has nearly a three-day start on us.”

  “Can we make it to Falmouth before the Poseidon arrives?” Mina asked. “The diary said one week but that was more than three days ago.”

  “Falmouth is the Royal Mail packet station and the roads are good. I have fresh horses stabled along the route.”

  “I’ll bring my red silk gown,” Mina murmured sleepily. “In case I need to look seductive and distracting.”

  “You don’t have to wear the gown. Everything you do, every breath you take, seduces me. Every time you hold that pistol, every time you unleash an unladylike curse, it seduces me. I’ve no doubt that you could become a spy, and a damned good one. You can achieve whatever you set your mind to, but please take your time coming to that decision. You don’t have to shape yourself in someone else’s image. You want to become your mother, but perhaps that’s not who you are.”

  “I don’t have time to contemplate my choices, Drew. We only have three days.” She raised her head and stared straight into his eyes. “Are you with me, or not?”

  “I’m with you,” he said.

  “Then tomorrow we leave for Cornwall.”

  “And now it’s time for sleep,” he said gruffly. “We have preparations and a long journey ahead of us tomorrow.”

  Fumbling with clothing, restoring respectability.

  He found one of her slippers under the bed and handed it to her.

  Back to Cornwall, to his home. Taking Mina with him.

  Hope threaded through his heart. Maybe . . . when she saw Cornwall, the wild beauty of it, she’d never want to leave.

  He shook the wrinkles out of the coverlet on his brother’s bed with more force than necessary to hide the direction of his thoughts.

  Maybe she was everything he’d ever wanted. Maybe he could be the one who showed her that she was absolutely perfect the way she was—she didn’t need to change or throw herself into danger at every turn.

  “It’s time for you to go
to bed, Mina,” he said. “I’ll talk to Beatrice and my mother tomorrow morning.”

  “And I’ll go and say good-bye to my great-aunt.”

  Chapter 25

  When Mina entered Grizzy’s bedchamber the next morning, her great-aunt was sitting upright in bed wearing a gray wrapper. Mina almost didn’t recognize her out of her usual black silk gown and with her long gray hair falling over her shoulders instead of piled on top of her head.

  She was so much smaller and less intimidating. A tray with an array of wires, brushes, bottles of fixative and dead butterflies was balanced on her lap.

  “Good morning, Great-Aunt,” said Mina. “I hear you’re feeling improved?”

  “Much improved, thank you, Wilhelmina.” She brushed fixative onto a butterfly wing and the brilliant orange color danced to life. “I never did hear exactly how the duke proposed. Come and tell me all about it.”

  “We’re keeping our engagement a secret for now.”

  “Oh of course, Sir Malcolm told me as much. But you can’t keep it a secret for too long, Wilhelmina. People will start to talk.”

  “We’re leaving for Thornhill House today.”

  “With the duchess, of course?”

  Mina wasn’t sure about that, but Grizzy would never allow her to go if there was any doubt. “And Lady Beatrice,” she said.

  “I’m quite proud of you, Wilhelmina.” Grizzy carefully set the butterfly onto a velvet cloth, and lifted another. “And so is your uncle, though I’m sure he didn’t tell you in so many words.”

  When the truth came out, Mina would be such a disappointment to Grizzy.

  “I know you think my taxidermy is unnatural,” said Grizzy with a smile.

  “It’s rather odd.”

  “My husband, Albert, was a game hunter, and he was always traveling. When he returned home from his hunting expeditions, he always brought another carcass, another head to mount on the wall. I hated those animals hung on my walls. Each one reminded me of one of Albert’s prolonged abandonments.”

  Mina moved to sit in the chair next to Grizzy’s bed. She’d never heard her speak of her marriage. “Didn’t he want children?”

  “Desperately. But every time I increased, by the fourth month I lost the babe. After I lost my fifth child, the doctors said that I could never bear children, that I was too scarred. Albert left then, and he never returned. I hated him for leaving but I didn’t blame him. What use was a wife who could bear no children? I allowed my grief to consume me. I stopped eating. I nearly died.”