How to Seduce a Duke (31 page)

To her surprise, her slippers dangled a few inches from the floor, and she felt a bit like the diminutive Lady
Upperton
.

She glanced across the bedchamber at the enormous bedstead situated between the windows. It was huge and solidly-built, much like Rogan himself.

To her horror, she suddenly found herself imagining Rogan lifting her in his arms, his body naked—as he had admitted that he did not care for nightclothes—his muscles taut and hard as he carried her to the bed, gazing at her with a wicked, rakish look in his eyes.

How long until their wedding night?

Mary grinned at the thought as she opened the valise Elizabeth had packed for her and emptied the bottles, pins, and pots onto her makeshift dressing table. She unfolded a lace-edged handkerchief and dabbed the beads of moisture at her temples.

“It’s quite warm inside the house, isn’t it?”

Mary turned to see that Rogan was standing in the doorway, watching her.

“If you are finished, why don’t you join me for refreshments in the courtyard? There is a breeze passing through the greenery in the garden.”

“Sounds lovely.” She smiled at him. “I shall join you in a moment.”

When she could hear Rogan’s footfall descending the staircase, Mary lifted the hand mirror from the table and peered into it.

Blast!
It was as she feared. Her cheeks were as red as the sunset.

She glanced out the window and saw that much of the color had already drained from the sky.

The facades of the houses across the square were sheathed in thin veils of gray, but the alleyways between them were as black as a pot of ink.

Mary exhaled in relief.

At least her flaming cheeks would not be so obvious in the growing dimness.

She ran her fingers over her face. Or so she hoped.

When Mary came downstairs, the house, which had been teeming with scurrying maids and busy footmen, all afternoon, seemed quite deserted.

As she walked down the shadowed passage, she poked her head into each room she passed. But there was no one.

The house was dark inside. Not a single candle lit Mary’s path to the French windows leading to the outside.

“Rogan?” she called nervously. She pressed down the latch and stepped into the courtyard.

Crickets chirped in the night, and the air was lightly scented with lilac and roses. But Rogan was not there, either.

“Please, Rogan, answer me. Are you here?”

“This way, my darling.”

She whirled toward the sound of his deep voice and squinted her eyes to peer into the lush garden beyond.

There
, a single lantern flickered in the distance. A beacon in the darkness.

She walked down a path of crushed oyster shells, deeper into the lush garden, ever closer to the light.

He had to be near now, just on the other side of a large walnut tree.

She stepped from the path, and coils of ivy twined around her ankles. “Rogan?” Resting her hand on the rough trunk, she peered around the tree. But the light was suddenly gone.

The moon was just beginning to rise, and a soft blue light cut through the branches of the walnut tree.

Just ahead, she glimpsed something moving in a small clearing. “Rogan, is that you?”

She hurried for the swath of grass she’d seen, and when she reached it, she stilled and held her breath to listen.

Where was he?

Large, calloused hands suddenly smoothed over her shoulders from behind, and she sighed with pleasure.

“Ah, there’s my goddess,” he whispered to her. “My garden statue.”

His mouth was moist upon her ear, his breath, hot against the skin of her throat. “I wonder, will the moonlight bring my statue to life as it did once before?”

“Rogan.”
Mary closed her eyes and leaned back against him, reveling in the closeness of her body to his.

“Perhaps a kiss might prompt her forth. I shall try it.” He turned her around to face him. Slowly, he slid his hands down to grasp her waist and pull her to him.

“No, we can’t... the servants.” She brought her hands up and pressed against his chest. “We should not—”

“They are gone.” He smiled. “Sent them all to the special victory performance at
Astley’s
Amphitheatre, which means they won’t be back until very, very late.”

She gave a whimper because an unmarried miss should do just that, but her empty protest was drowned as his lips pressed down upon her mouth.

She wanted him so much. She arched her body against him as she gave in to his sweet kiss.

He lifted his lips from hers, only a breath apart, and whispered to her. “I need you, Mary. Need you in my life. I am only sorry that I didn’t realize it before—”

“Before we were ceremoniously
not
wed?” Mary tilted her head up and smiled at him, then touched her lips to his as she trailed her fingers sensuously over the muscles of his stomach.

God above, she should not do this. Kissing him, touching him, as she was, would lead her down a path of no return.

But tonight, she didn’t care.

Rogan was to be her husband.

This time, there would be no questions.

And so she gave in to the passions she had suppressed for so long. Willingly. Eagerly.

With nimble fingers, she caught the billow of his lawn shirt and tugged it free, then eased her palms beneath it and over his smooth skin.

He shivered with pleasure at her touch and pulled her roughly up against his body.

Fortunately, she guessed, because of the heat of the night, he wore no
neckcloth
, and his shirt was open at his throat.

She nibbled along the long column of his neck, tasted the saltiness as she kissed the pulse beating through his skin. But her hands, her arms, still craved the feel of his body.

She wanted more. She wanted all of him.

Abruptly, she pulled back and yanked his shirt upward.

A primitive glint shone excitedly in Rogan’s eyes. He slipped his arms free and whisked the lawn shirt over his shoulders, casting it off his body.

He gazed hungrily at Mary’s white linen gown, and her breath came faster.

A sudden breeze blew through her tumbling hair, smoothing her gown against her aroused body.

The coolness of the breeze blowing on her warm skin hardened her nipples.

Rogan’s gaze instantly focused on the two hard buds pressing against her thin gown. His fingers traced the curve of one breast, then he palmed its fullness, rubbing his thumb over her erect nipple.

Mary gasped as his heated touch and her own wanton thoughts drove her arousal to the edge. She turned her head up and stared up at him.

“I need you, too,” she whispered.

He cupped one hand to the small of her back and with the other eased down the capped shoulders of her gown. And then her chemise, pushing both down about her waist.

Instinctively, she crossed her arms over her breasts, covering them.

Raising his hand, he stroked her cheek as he gazed deeply into her eyes. “You needn’t fear me.” His fingers slowly played their way down her throat, then moved lower, until they lightly pushed her arms away. His fingers slid over the soft skin of her breast.

She closed her eyes at the sensation. “I don’t fear you,” she said softly, her words barely riding a breath. “I want you.”

His breath hitched in his throat as she spoke those simple words.

“Oh, Mary.” Her name, wrapped in his heated breath, washed over her throat. His moist lips followed the same path and pressed against her skin there.

She let her head fall backward, and her hair fell loose from its pins, sending the dark locks of her long hair cascading down her spine.

His hand, which had been pressed so firmly into the small of her back, slid upward and cupped the curve behind her neck. He pulled her head forward, her face upward to his, and he kissed her hungrily.

As he moved his mouth over hers, he removed his hand from her breast and suddenly swung it down behind her knees, lifting her into his arms before gently laying her out on the grass beneath him.

He stood over her, studying her body through those dark, smoldering eyes of his.

She was panting now with her need. She reached a pleading hand through the air to him.

As he came down on his knees beside her, she slipped her hand around his neck and pulled him down atop of her. She touched her lips to his, then slipped her tongue into his mouth.

He was as hard as the deuced stone under his left knee.

It would take an act of the Church and Crown to restrain himself now.

Mary arched against him, pulled him, with both hands, harder against her.

Her willingness, her desire for him and her passion were not in question. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her.

Now.

He rolled beside her, and as he fed on her mouth, he gathered up the layers of her gown and underpinnings and shoved them up to her waist. Baring her to his hands.

She sighed as he cupped his hand behind her knee and dragged it toward him, parting her legs to his touch.

He ran his hand slowly up between her creamy thighs, higher and higher until he felt the humid warmth of her beneath his palm.

As he raked his fingers through the downiness he found there, she pressed her mound firmly against his hand.

She felt hot and wet, and he slipped his index finger between her cleft and circled the small bud there.

Mary’s eyes went wide. She stiffened and feebly grabbed at his wrist, trying to pull him from her.
“Rogan.”

He angled his shoulder against her arm and pushed her hand away as he touched his lips to her mouth, as his fingers continued to explore her wetness.

He thrust two fingers inside her and felt her muscles contract around them as he moved them in and out.

Mary squirmed, whimpering in frustration. She bucked against him. “Rogan,
please.
” Her arm caught his shoulder, and she pulled hard, trying with all her might to move him fully atop her.

He knew she wanted to feel his weight. Wanted to feel him inside her.

Her desire was his undoing.

He withdrew his wet fingers and leaned back from her, releasing the two buttons that restrained him. His erection sprang forth.

Her gaze fell upon him, and her eyes widened for several moments. Then she calmed and raised her hand.

He expected her to reach out to him, but instead, she curled her fingers around his hardness and stroked him firmly as he moved between her knees.

He gasped a breath of surprise. “Where did you learn that maneuver, from that book you’ve been carrying around with you?”

Mary smiled wickedly up at him. “Well, of course. It’s all about river sickness, dysentery, and seeping infections—oh, and of course how to seduce a duke.”

“Say anything about how best to seduce a goddess?”

“Not a word.”

“Then I fear I shall have to learn through a lot of trial and error.” He cast her a wicked grin, then peered down at the porcelain, satiny skin of her thighs. He nudged them farther apart, wanting to sheath himself deep inside her that very instant.

Abruptly, his gaze shifted to her face. Her expression was that of an innocent, and he remembered that despite her passionate nature, she was inexperienced in the ways of making love.

But then, though he had lain with too many women to remember, so was he.

Until this night, he had never been with a woman he loved.

And he truly did love her.

The backs of his eyes began to sting with the naked realization of his feelings for her. For the first time in his life, he felt what it meant to be in love.

Love.

The Black Duke was in love.

And, as his eyes met hers, he knew, with every
fiber
and sinew of his being, that she loved him too.

“Rogan, I want you,” she gasped, sliding her fingers faster against him as she guided him between her legs. “I don’t want to wait.”

Damn it all. Not like this.

Not like last time, her first time.

He had to do this slowly, gently, even though his bollocks already tightened in anticipation.

He watched her face intently as he touched her with one finger where she was most sensitive. He felt her thighs tighten against his knees as she reflexively sought to close her legs.

Once again, he touched her softly. His finger circled the bit of flesh, gradually pressing harder, moving faster.

Mary’s eyes closed. She turned her head to the side and bit down into her full lower lip.

Yes, this is what he wanted for her. And more. Much more.