A Duchess in the Dark (4 page)

T
he shock on Daphne’s face was almost worth the price of heading to the marriage gallows. He’d hoped to discover that it was her who’d slipped into his bed.

The memory of their first meeting was still vivid in his mind, and it swirled to life more often than he cared to admit. He could still remember the emerald gown she’d worn to James’s wedding, the delicate, slightly breathless look about her when James had introduced them. She was beautiful, with wide blue eyes and fiery red curls, and a smile that had stricken him silent. If she were any other woman, he’d have pursued her relentlessly, but her innocence and her connection as James’s sister-in-law had placed her far beyond his reach.

Until now.

“You can’t possibly mean that.” She scrunched her face in disbelief. “Now let me go before someone catches us.”

“The door is locked. We are quite safe. Unless you
wish
for someone to happen upon us.” He flashed her a wicked smile.

“Of course not!” Shock looked rather fetching on her. Cheeks flushed, eyes brightened, she was a prime article indeed. Marrying her might not be quite the trial he’d feared. In fact, he rather liked the idea her filling the role as Duchess of Claymore. More than that, he liked the idea of claiming her in every way imaginable.

“Then I’d advise you to lower your voice. The whole house is liable to hear you.”

She pressed her lips together and glared.

“Now,” he said, “where were we?”

He’d had enough women to know what desire looked like and Daphne had it written all over her pretty face—she was just too afraid to admit it. The way she trembled, the way her gaze licked him from head to toe, the way her breath hitched when he drew in close. Oh yes, she was hungry for him indeed.

“I don’t believe you are unaffected by me.” He had her pressed against the bed, so she scrambled atop the mattress and faced him on her knees. “Perhaps I shall prove just how affected you are.”

“Completely unnecessary, Ashton, I assure you,” she said. “I’m perfectly willing to admit you have a certain…appeal, but it’s Edward I intend to…” Her words trailed off as he reached out and brushed a silky tendril of hair off her shoulder, exposing the mark on her neck again.
His
mark.

“Do you want me to leave? Say the word and I’ll go.”

Boldly, her gaze raked down his bare chest, down to his straining erection. He needed to be inside her, filling her, taking her to the very edge of ecstasy. She licked her lips and shook her head, just a slight movement, but it was all he needed. Triumph shot through him. She wanted him; she was just too frightened to admit it.

“What do you need, Daphne? Tell me.” He needed to ease her into this, seduce her with his words, his tongue, and then perhaps she’d be willing to admit the truth.

Their eyes met and held, before her gaze suddenly flicked away. “I don’t know.”

He advanced, pushing her back against the pillows. Her lips were red, plump, ripe for his kiss. He itched to tear at the fabric of her nightgown and push into her tight, welcoming heat. To bury himself inside her so deeply he’d be a part of her forever.

“Let me show you.”

She was kneeling, trapped between him and the headboard, her gaze lingering on his mouth. One knee on the mattress, he braced one hand on the headboard above her head. Before he left this room, he wanted to know that he stirred her body in shocking and immoral ways. To prove that she was just as affected by last night as he was. He wanted her to
hunger
for him,
crave
him, just as he craved her—not just her body, but her spirit, her soul.

She licked her bottom lip and looked up into his eyes. Hunger shone back at him, nearly as fierce as his own. She nodded, almost imperceptibly.

With a wry smile, he unbuttoned the top of her nightgown and exposed a generous amount of flesh to his hungry gaze. Her skin was perfection. Pink and creamy, it looked as smooth and flawless as painted china.

Curling his fingers around her ankle, he tugged gently, forcing her flat on her back. Her breath hitched as he swept the fabric aside, baring her left breast. Her nipple was deliciously ripe and he sucked it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip. She mewed a little, just a breath of sound that made his cock swell painfully. He feared he’d ever get enough of her sweet, enticing responses.

“Ashton.” She arched into him, pressing her warmth against him as he licked the swell of her breast, savoring the sweet, salty taste of her skin. She was exquisite, his little minx. He could explore her forever, with his hands, his tongue, languidly memorizing each dip and curve. From this moment on, when he closed his eyes each night, he’d imagine her like this, warm and passionate, writhing beneath him.
His
name on the tip of her tongue.

As he lavished attention on the other breast, he gathered the hem of her nightgown with his free hand, drawing it up, exposing her inch by glorious inch. He pulled back to look down at her. She was so beautiful.

With a low growl, he bit her rib cage—gently—and worked his way down her body, nibbling her soft flesh, enjoying her little gasps of shock and pleasure as he slowly descended. She was so ready for him, the scent of her desire hot and heady. He feared he’d never get enough of this, that he’d be caught in a cycle of want and longing his entire life. He hadn’t lied earlier when he told her they had something rare. In all his years, bedding a woman had never felt so…
right
, as though he were
meant
to be here, with her.

With one hand, he spread her thighs wide. As he gazed down at her, desire slammed into him—
hard
. She was wet, vulnerable, completely open, and a wave of male pride flooded him at the sight. She was wet for
him
. He’d broken down her barriers, at least partially, and it was only a matter of time before she gave herself to him wholly.

Dipping his head, he licked the seam of her entrance in one leisurely stroke. She tasted like honey, sweet and slick, so damn good.

She drew in a sharp breath and shifted her hips, trying to squirm away. “W-what are you doing?”

“Tasting you. Would you have me stop?”

She fisted the sheets and shook her head sharply but said nothing.

He needed to hear the words from her lips. He needed to know she wanted this just as much as he did. “Tell me you want more, Daphne. Say it.”

Silence stretched between them for long seconds before she finally surrendered. “I want more, Ashton. Please…don’t stop.”

Triumph pounded in his chest, quickly replaced with pure, undiluted desire for this woman. “As you wish.”

Nudging her wider, he gripped her hips and slipped his tongue inside her. She thrust upward, her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging. “Oh,
Ashton
. Sweet heaven, what—oh!”

He devoured her, his tongue moving inside her, swirling, drawing out every gasp and moan. He drank her in, inhaled her lavender scent, took her essence into his lungs. She was
his
, whether she knew it or not. There was something powerful between them, something potent and real, and he wanted it. More than anything, he wanted this. He’d fight for it with everything in him.

He slid his tongue deeper, taking more of her, until finally she froze, every muscle drawn tight. With one final flick of his tongue, her hips arched off the bed, her fists balling the sheets. Her climax came hard and quick, but he didn’t stop. He continued to lick her, wringing every last tremor from her body.

At length, her body went limp and he pulled away. She panted beneath him as he smoothed her nightgown back over her legs and pulled the coverlets over her.

“That was wicked,” she said, turning onto her side facing him, looking as content as a freshly fed kitten. “And it shall”—her words were broken by a yawn—“never happen again.”

Even as she spoke the words, her eyes drifted closed, a gentle smile playing on the edges of her lips. He brushed back the red tendrils framing her face, and stared at the woman who’d managed to ensnare him with her passion and vibrancy.

“Fate has put you in my hands, little minx.” He traced the line of her delicate jaw with his finger. “And I’d be a fool to lose you to Wallingford.”

She let out a loud, indelicate snore.

The next morning, Ashton sought out the privacy of the library. Now that he’d discovered his mystery woman, he had business to tend to—letters to write, preparations to make. He sat at the only desk, mahogany inlaid with ivory, and penned a letter to the Archbishop of Canterbury, requesting a special license be sent through Ashton’s man of business, who resided in London.

He was just sealing the letter when a quiet
thud
on the far side of the room drew his attention. Daphne. He looked up to see her straightening the small table she’d apparently bumped coming in.

He stood, his chair sliding back on the thick blue-and-green carpet. “Daphne.”

She turned abruptly, a book clutched to her chest. She must have snatched it off the shelf before he’d spotted her. He leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest.

“Ashton.” Her voice shook slightly. “I didn’t realize the library was occupied. I’d thought all the men had gone out shooting this morning.”

Her eyes were red-rimmed, as though she’d gotten little sleep. She wore a simple blue dress that hugged her gentle curves to perfection, her hair pulled up into a messy, chaotic knot. She looked beautiful, and his male pride swelled again at the knowledge that he’d been the one to pleasure her last night, not Wallingford.

“You should still be abed,” he said, desperate to enfold her in his arms. He didn’t think she’d welcome his touch, so he held himself back, just barely. “It looks as though you’ve hardly slept.”

“I slept perfectly well, thank you.” A lie, and he knew it. With a worried look, she touched a finger to the circle under one eye. “Are you implying I look unrested?”

“That’s precisely what I’m implying. Go back to bed. I’ll fetch a maid to bring you a breakfast tray.” He smiled wolfishly. “Better yet, perhaps I’ll bring it to you myself. Butter and cream might satisfy any lingering cravings, don’t you agree?”

Her cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink. “I don’t know why I bother talking to you. You are
completely
uncivilized.” She drew in a long breath, then released it with a huff. “And you are not permitted to go anywhere near my bedroom…
ever
again.”

Just as she turned to leave, he said, “We need to discuss what happened.”

She turned back to him. “Nothing happened.”

He leaned against the desk, legs stretched out in front of him, head tilted to the side. “Oh, something most certainly did.”

She stiffened. “I’ve drawn a veil over last night. It doesn’t exist.”

He chuckled. “Really? I remember quite vividly how you—”

“Quiet,” she hissed, crossing the room to where he leaned against the desk. “There are servants everywhere. Someone will hear you.”

His lips curled up into a smile. “We’re quite alone.”

“You’re impossible.” She blew out a breath. “What is it you wish to say?”

“Has Wallingford officially offered for you?”

Before he proceeded, he needed to know precisely how many obstacles stood in his path. If there was already an understanding between her and Wallingford, it would make Ashton’s task all the more difficult.

She hesitated. Defiance flickered in her eyes. “Not yet, but he will.”

Unexpected relief washed over him at her words. In all of his thirty-three years, he’d never been so fascinated by a woman. But Daphne was vivacious, opinionated, exceptional in every way.

“When James returns from shooting, I intend to ask him for your hand.”

Her eyes widened. “No! Please, Ashton, be reasonable. I understand why you feel you must do this, but Edward—”

Ashton pushed off the desk and stood toe to toe with her. “Edward,” he growled. “You speak of Edward loving you, but does he know you, Daphne, truly? Does he know you’re deathly afraid of horses, or that you loathe dancing? Does he know you prefer coffee over tea and brandy over wine? Does he know you blush when you lie?”

She blinked up at him, her brows drawn together. “You remembered all those things about me?”

He remembered every little facet of her, every detail that set her apart. Over the years, he’d watched her, intrigued, never allowing himself to feel anything more.

Her gaze searched his face and a faint smile curved her lips. “How did you know I prefer brandy?”

“You steal sips from James’ glass when you think no one is looking.”

She laughed. “You are very observant.”

He cupped her chin in his hand and brushed his thumb over her plump lower lip. She deserved so much more than Wallingford. She deserved a man who would worship her, a man who would dedicate himself to her happiness. “Only when it comes to you.”

She sobered a little, her gaze dropping to his lips before darting away. “I should leave you to your work. Someone is liable to catch us alone and make a fuss about it.”

He dropped his hand and his gaze fell to the book clutched to her chest. “First tell me, what are you reading?”

What books did she enjoy? He’d buy her an entire library of them.

Clutching the book tighter, she straightened her spine. “Um, just a book of poetry.”

Something in the way she stiffened, suddenly uncomfortable, piqued his interest.

“Interesting. I thought you hated the genre.” He reached out and plucked the book from her hand. She lunged for it, but he held it up, just out of her reach.

“That’s mine.” She pressed her sweet curves against the length of his body, straining to retrieve the volume. “Give it back.”

Heat instantly swept through him, fierce and potent. The feel of her soft curves, the warmth of her breath on his neck, nearly undid him. How easy it would be to lock the door and strip every stitch of clothing off her body. He’d explore her with his mouth again, languidly, taking time to memorize every dip and freckle. Only after he’d wrung every last moan from her body would he release her.