“I am not laughing at you.” The interruption was soft and quiet. “I am admiring a delightful view, and also plotting my strategy. After all, I am supposed to acquit myself admirably and surely the first time is the most crucial, is it not?”
“You are not used to women like me, though,” she responded with as much dignity as possible under the circumstances, “and therefore at a loss.”
Because she was an utter failure in the bedroom. He was used to the urbane, sophisticated ladies he usually pursued. The distance between those skilled ladies and her ineptitude was an immense one.
“At a loss?” He grinned then, like a young boy, but the connotation of the intoxicating curve of his lips was pure adult male. Even in her unenlightened state, she saw the promise there with a small shiver of anticipation. “Definitely not,” Nicholas told her, giving the flesh mounded in his hand a gentle squeeze. “I am merely trying to decide where to start. You are like a blank canvas, my dear, and that first brushstroke is crucial.”
The poetic reference was just part of his well-developed charm, she reminded herself. “I am sure you are the supreme artiste, Rothay.”
“Supreme? Have I won already so easily?”
“That was sarcasm over your arrogance.” It was a bit difficult to sound cool and detached when his skillful fingers now massaged her tingling nipple.
“Do I sense derision?”
She liked his light teasing tone, and he was beginning to ease her apprehension. No wonder scores of women succumbed, she thought as a strange warmth built between her thighs. Despite his impressive height and obvious strength, he gave the impression of power without threat, of male charisma without dominance. Even his smile carried an overt sensual promise.
Maybe her impulsive scandalous idea wasn’t a bad one after all. Oh yes, she’d be ruined forever if anyone found out, but this might just be worth it.
When he lowered his head and took the bud of her nipple into his mouth, she suppressed a shuddering sigh with effort, though she had the impression he still sensed it. The notion a grown man might want to suckle her nipples was startling, but as he ministered to one breast and then the other, Caroline realized it was wonderful. A luxurious feeling of enjoyment slowly began to captivate her body as he tasted and fondled, first one taut breast and then the other. His warm mouth traced the contours of the valley between them, the undersides, and back to the now tight, glistening crests.
But all she was doing was lying there and she was sure there should be more to it.
Or so Edward had told her in the most scathing way possible.
One of the duke’s long-fingered hands slid along the side of her leg, caressing the underside of her knee. Somehow it felt delicious. Caroline had never thought that spot to be so sensitive. Slowly he lifted her leg so it was bent just a little, and then settled her foot back on the bed. As he took her lips in another one of those long, intimate kisses, his mouth lingering on hers, he did the same with the other leg, so she was now lying with her legs slightly apart, and though her chemise still covered her sex, the suggestive position made the hem slide to the top of her thighs.
The realization of her situation was like a lightning bolt. She was in the bed of the infamous Duke of Rothay and almost nude, her legs spread apart enough to give him access, if he wished it.
He did, she discovered a moment later as, with a delicacy of a touch so light she barely felt it, his hand slipped under the concealing material and he brushed the triangle of hair between her thighs. Caroline quivered and it was all she could do not to clamp her legs tightly together, but that would effectively trap his hand right where he wanted it to be. She took in a deep calming breath and managed to stay still.
Very still. Too still, because he said, “This should make you melt, lovely Caroline, not turn into stone. I see I am going to have to be very persuasive indeed. It would be ungallant of me to not pick up the gauntlet you tossed down before myself and Manderville.”
He’d already called her icy, and it wasn’t a far leap to frigid. That had been Edward’s sneering opinion, and she opened her mouth to defend herself, but no words came out. Instead she let out something between a gasp and a cry of outraged protest when her handsome seducer shifted position, put his insistent hands on her quivering inner thighs to widen them farther, and then lowered his head.
She lay rigid, in total shock, so stunned she didn’t even object to the way he twitched her chemise upward, exposing her from the waist down. His mouth grazed her most private place, and then settled on it fully and the resulting sensation as his tongue delved between her feminine folds was . . . a revelation.
The Devilish Duke had his mouth between her legs, the dark silk of his hair brushing her inner thighs, and his wicked tongue began to do some very interesting things.
Tiny jolts of pleasure swamped her body and she twisted her hands in the bedclothes, as if holding on to something might keep her from flying away. Her affronted sensibilities held sway over her mind for only a moment and slid away in rapturous delight.
Oh God.
Nicholas chuckled, a brief sound that vibrated against her throbbing sex, and she realized she’d said the words out loud. Under normal circumstances it would have been enough to make her blush, but these circumstances weren’t normal at all. He held her body in a thrall of erotic possession and she let her thighs fall even farther apart, lifting her hips a small fraction as a strange anticipation built.
This was
it
. This was why women whispered behind their hands, fluttered their fans, and spoke of the bonny dark-haired duke with reverent, sly innuendos and heated sighs. As erotic enjoyment swept over her, she shuddered in involuntary reaction.
There was no way she could keep back an unladylike moan and once it escaped, she found she didn’t care about any other sounds, just the escalating mysterious need that built inside her. It was magical, elusive, captivating. Her blood warmed, her pulse raced forward, and she arched in an involuntary movement to increase the pressure of his bewitching mouth.
It felt too wonderful, something between agony and bliss, as if her wayward body yearned for something.
She found it, or it found her—a joyous burst, like being plummeted from a great height, knocking the breath from her lungs, making her give a small cry as the physical joy of it rushed through her and she shuddered and trembled.
It was, in a word, glorious.
Reality drifted back in hazy bits. The sun-drenched old-world elegance of the ducal bedroom, her dishabille with her chemise undone and the thin material bunched up over her hips, and
him
, the man who had just done the single most scandalous thing she could imagine—actually, she would never have imagined it—to her.
Nicholas Manning lounged next to her, lean and imposing, the bulge in his breeches prominent, though he made no move to touch her as he waited for her to recover. Except for his boots and undone shirt, he was still fully dressed.
A part of her wanted to wipe the self-satisfied smile from his face, but another part—the part that had set her on this course for this very reason, wanted to thank him from the bottom of her heart.
He said with an impudent quirk of one downy ebony brow, “Well?”
The woman sprawled so delectably on his bed was an enigma. Lush yet prim, inexperienced but obviously aware of an inner sensuality she wanted to discover, repressed but not eager to remain that way. Her beauty also was glorious; the contrast between the pristine white linen sheets and her lustrous auburn hair compelling, her breasts full and perfectly shaped, her legs slender and pale. Those soft full lips he’d kissed were the same shade as her nipples, both darkened to a deep rosy shade by his attentions. Everything, from the delicate arch of her brows, to the straight line of her small nose, to the shape of her chin, held an almost fragile femininity. He had to admit, he was captivated by her physical appearance.
There was also the very intriguing notion he knew he’d just given her the first sexual climax of her life. Whatever had happened between her and her late husband hadn’t been pleasant, he’d wager, because timid certainly wasn’t her nature. The anger he felt toward a man already dead was futile, but it was there all the same. What had Wynn done to her? The realization she was physically afraid of him had been startling, but it explained a great deal.
If Lord Wynn weren’t already in his grave, he might have found himself there anyway, for violence against women or children was something that particularly turned Nicholas’s stomach, and his accuracy with a dueling pistol was undisputed. He’d certainly risen at dawn for less-worthy causes.
It made her offer to judge the adolescent contest not just the whim of a bored widow, but a lesson in courage. She had taken a great step to free herself of that innate fear that kept her so cold and distant.
Caroline stared at him with those striking silver eyes. She repeated as if still a little dazed, “Well?”
He could still taste her, the earthy sweet residue of her release on his lips. Nicholas smiled despite his rigid, uncomfortable erection. “I suppose it is unfair of me to ask how I am doing so far, so instead I’ll pose it a different way. Would you like to get dressed and go for a walk in the gardens? They are quite beautiful here this time of year. I’d forgotten, since it’s been so long, but I took a stroll while I waited for you to arrive and it was lovely.”
“But you haven’t—that is . . .” A vivid blush washed her cheeks and her hand crept to the hem of her shift, but she didn’t pull it down to cover herself, though it was easy to guess she wanted to do so. Her gaze traveled to his blatant arousal, clearly visible through his breeches.
“I can wait.”
“You don’t look as if you want to wait, Your Gra—Nicholas.”
His erect cock agreed with her wholeheartedly, but if he wanted her confidence, it was best to use restraint. He reached out, tugged down her chemise over her thighs, and took the ribbon on her bodice and regretfully tightened it over without a doubt the finest pair of breasts he’d ever touched and tasted. “We have all week.”
Her smooth brow furrowed. “Did I do something wrong?”
The question amused him and was perplexing at the same time. “What makes you think so, if I may ask?”
Even as he said the words, he realized there
was
one thing she hadn’t done yet. Even though he’d kissed her, tasted her delectable breasts, and brought her to climax with his mouth, she hadn’t—not once—touched him. Not her fingers in his hair, not that telltale grasp of his shoulders, not even so much as a hand resting on his back.
Before this week was over, he’d change that, he made a silent vow. He had a feeling winning her trust on an intellectual basis was as important as wooing her gorgeous body.
This was an unexpected challenge.
She answered his question in an oblique way. “I do not want to . . . disappoint you.”
The idea of it was so ludicrous he felt his mouth twitch. He looked into her eyes. “I promise you do not, and no, you did nothing wrong. I am intrigued by you in many ways, my lady. Now, then, shall we take a stroll in the garden and perhaps get to know each other a little better? Lovers should have more in common than the act of sexual intercourse, don’t you think? Whatever they say, I don’t value a woman just for the physical pleasure she might bring me.”
It was true, but with a philosophical twist. Emotional closeness was not Nicholas’s goal either. That was a disastrous path he didn’t choose to tread. He liked to be friends with his lovers, no more. If nothing else, it paved the path for a more amicable parting.
Caroline sat up in a flurry of glossy auburn hair, a small smile gracing her very kissable mouth. “I see you are determined to win this wager. Who would guess the Devilish Duke has such romantic sensibilities?”
“Anyone who knows me well,” he said in smooth repartee. “When I am with a beautiful woman, I want to know all of her, not just her body.”
“As for the last part,” she said wryly, “I think we’ve taken care of that in my case. I seem to be the only one undressed.”
He’d barely begun to introduce her to the joys of the flesh. Nicholas grinned. “It’s a nice place to start, I must admit. Never fear, I’ll undress later.”
Chapter Nine
I
f he slammed his fist through the wall, someone might notice, so perhaps it was best that he didn’t.
But damn it all, he wanted to. Derek tossed down half a glass of wine in one gulp. The idea of enduring the rest of the evening made him want to bolt out the door. However, if he did that, his humiliating secret would be exposed to the world, and it was one he had to keep at all costs. If he couldn’t have what he wanted, he would at least like to keep some vestige of male pride.
Bloody hell, though, did Annabel have to look so beautiful? Of course she did, he reminded himself in sardonic honesty. In sackcloth she’d be the loveliest woman in the room, and in a low-cut gown of pale blue silk that set off her eyes and golden hair, well . . . she was stunning. Though he did his best to look nonchalant in his casual pose with one shoulder propped against the wall, Derek watched her, his brooding gaze following her around the room as she mingled with the guests, accepted congratulations, and, the worst of all, favored her intended with one of those dazzling smiles. . . .
“It’s turned out well, I think, don’t you?”
Thomas Drake, his father’s youngest brother, took a sip from his glass of wine as he joined Derek in the corner of the elegant drawing room.
Derek nodded politely. “Splendid party, Uncle.”
“Annabel looks very fine, don’t you think?”
Derek gritted his teeth. “Yes.”
“Lord Hyatt is clearly besotted.”
That was an understatement. The blasted man was drooling all over her. Derek chose not to comment. Hyatt wasn’t the only besotted fool in the room.