In Bed with the Duke (18 page)

She peered inside as he pushed the door wider. There was enough moonlight filtering in for her to be able to pick out a couple of upholstered chairs set under one of the windows, and a table with some straight-backed chairs under another. But what really caught her eye was a little brick arched fireplace, in a nook directly opposite the door.

They were certainly not going to be cold in here overnight. Not once she'd lit the fire, which would only take a minute or two. She found a tinderbox and candles on the mantel shelf, dry kindling in the grate, and plenty of logs in a box on the hearth.

‘You see, Prudence?' Gregory came up behind her as she set one of the candlesticks back on the mantel after touching the flame to the kindling, and put his arms round her waist. ‘I couldn't manage without you. Not even so far as to the summer house in my own grounds.'

‘You have servants to light your fires,' she said, pulling his hands away so she could kneel down on the quilt which he'd spread out on the hearthrug.

‘Nobody lights my fires the way you do,' he growled, dropping to his knees beside her.

He draped one arm round her shoulder. It slid to her waist as she leaned forward to peer into the grate and check the kindling. She tried to ignore the way he was stroking her bottom. But it wasn't easy. The flames that licked over the twigs when the paper caught fire were no less greedy than the sensations his hands were stoking in her body. Soon she could no longer be bothered with what was going on in the grate and she knelt back on her heels, turned to him, and lifted her face hopefully.

‘Am I allowed to kiss you now, then?' he asked. ‘Not too busy with more practical matters?'

He didn't wait for her answer but began to nuzzle at the sensitive spot just below her ear. It sent a shiver right down her spine. A delicious shiver of longing.

‘Now, where were we...?' he murmured, placing a kiss on her jaw.

Chapter Eighteen

‘R
ight about here...' She sighed, sliding her arms round his neck and kissing him back. He caught her hard into his chest. Then they surged together, kissing and running their hands over each other as though neither could quite believe this was really happening at last.

And soon that wasn't enough. She just had to tear his shirt from his breeches so she could get at bare skin. Which was all the encouragement he needed to start plucking at the ties at the back of her gown. He undid them with a dexterity clearly gained from frequent practice.

But she didn't care.

‘Oh, yes,' she panted when he tumbled her down onto the quilt. ‘Oh, God...oh, Gregory,' she moaned as he pulled the front of her bodice down. ‘Oh, yes, push that out of the way.' She gasped. And gasped again as he closed his mouth over her breast. She plunged her fingers into his hair once more as he sucked, and licked, and nipped at her.

‘I cannot live without you,' he bit out briefly, before swirling his tongue round one painfully sensitised nipple. ‘Don't make me do without you, my sweet love.'

His sweet love? Was she really his sweet love?

‘Oh, Gregory,' she sobbed, as tears welled in her eyes.

Something arced between them and then they were kissing frantically. She clawed at his back as he pushed up her skirts. Wrapped one leg round his hips as he ran his hand up the outside of her thigh and kissed her neck again. Her face. The cleft between her breasts.

She was on fire. Burning up with the need that only he could create within her. That only he could assuage.

He raised himself slightly. Slid away so that he could bring his hand between her legs.

‘Oh, yes,' she moaned as he delved, and stroked, and pleasured her. ‘Yes. Please. Oh...'

Something like a shower of fireworks went off inside her, scattering her in a blaze of sparks across the heavens, before gently drifting her back down to the hearth. Where she discovered he was holding her close, his fingers buried in her hair, his chest heaving as though he'd just been running.

He dropped a kiss on her brow. ‘Wait right there,' he said as he got to his feet.

She watched drowsily from between heavy lids as he gathered pillows and blankets, then came back and dropped to his knees beside her.

‘Lift your head,' he said, passing her a pillow. She did as she was told without demur, seeing as he was only ministering to her comfort.

‘Raise your arms,' he ordered next.

When she did so, he pulled the sleeves down her arms and off. She raised her hips so that he could remove the gown altogether.

‘Now for the stays,' he said. Then checked himself. ‘Good God—your other stays are still in my valise. If anyone unpacks for me...'

She tried, and failed, to stifle a giggle.

‘Are you laughing at me?'

‘I'm sorry. I couldn't help it.'

‘You will pay for that, you minx,' he growled.

And deftly removed every last stitch of her clothing with ruthless efficiency. Then he knelt back. And stared at her. For so long that she began to start wondering if she should be worried. Or if she ought to feel shy. A modest, virtuous woman would surely wish to cover herself? In at least a couple of strategic places.

All Prudence wanted to do was preen. Because the way he was drinking in the sight of her, lying naked and ready for him, made her feel like a goddess being worshipped by an acolyte.

‘You look so lovely, lying there with the firelight flickering over your body, I cannot decide where to start,' he said at last. ‘Should I start at your poor abused toes and work my way up?' He ran one hand along the length of her leg, round and over her hip, up and over one breast, ending by cupping her cheek.

‘Or at your hair? Your glorious hair?' He leaned forward and started plucking out the pins.

‘Wait, Gregory,' she said, as a thought suddenly struck her. ‘I know where you should start.'

‘Where? Where do you wish me to begin making love to you?'

She smiled up at him. ‘I thought you already had. But, please, my dear, won't you put a couple of logs on the fire before you do anything else? I don't want the fire to go out at a crucial moment and for you to have to stop to get it going again.'

‘I can promise you the fire won't go out all night,' he growled.

She didn't think he was talking about the one just getting going in the hearth.

‘My practical little wife-to-be,' he said, tending to the fire. ‘Always thinking one step ahead. You will be a formidable duchess, you know.'

She didn't really believe him, but she felt far too lazy, too replete in the aftermath of all those fireworks going off inside her, to be bothered to argue.

And she was glad she hadn't when he knelt over her with an intent expression on his face and shrugged out of his jacket. Then his waistcoat. Then his shirt. His chest was as magnificent as she remembered. Only now she had the right to run her hands over it. To follow the dips and hollows, experience the difference in texture between smooth skin and hairy, hard muscles and the soft skin of his nipples. To sit up and kiss the bruises marring his ribs.

He shuddered. Gripped her shoulders and pushed her away. ‘Don't,' he grated. ‘Not yet. Or I won't be able to keep my promise.'

‘But I want to
feel
you,' she complained. ‘Taste you.'

‘
I
will make
you
feel,' he said, taking hold of her wrists and pinning them above her head.

Again.

‘It will be like nothing you have ever felt before,' he vowed, before stopping her mouth with a kiss.

The feel of him on top of her, bare chest to bare breasts, was indeed like nothing she'd ever felt before. She couldn't help rubbing herself up against him, to increase the wondrous pleasure of it.

He lifted himself off her, keeping her wrists clasped firmly in his hands as he kissed each breast, then her stomach, and then...

If he hadn't been holding her hands so firmly she would have tried to grasp his head and stop him. It wasn't easy to cast off all the morals her aunt had tried to din into her over the past dozen years. And for him to put his mouth
there
simply couldn't be right.

But it felt so good. The way he kissed, then nibbled, then licked...

‘Gregory!' she gasped. ‘Gregory, that is...' And then her ability to breathe and speak at the same time ceased. All she could do was writhe, and pant, and moan. Those fireworks were going to go off again. She could feel them building, fizzing inside her.

Then Gregory let go of her hands, shifted slightly to one side, and pushed one finger inside her.

She screamed. And went off like a rocket. One single, immense rocket that blotted out every single star twinkling feebly in her night sky.

‘Gregory,' she moaned, as she slowly came back together.

‘Shh...' He was next to her now, holding her in his arms, stroking her hair, dropping kisses on her brow.

‘I don't think,' she panted, ‘I can keep on doing this all night.'

He chuckled. ‘A short while ago you were claiming you didn't want me to let the fire go out—not even for an instant.'

‘I didn't know what I was talking about,' she complained.

To her immense relief he let go of her and sat up. Though she felt perversely disappointed when he then stood up.

Until she saw him undoing his breeches and shucking them off. She held out her arms as he came back to her, clasping them round his back as he lay fully on top of her. At which point a wave of shockingly fierce response had her pressing up against him. It was as though her hips had developed a mind of their own. And her legs, which parted in welcome.

‘There, you see,' he said. ‘You are still smouldering. You can blaze again. And again.'

Incredibly, it was true. For the feel of him there, hard against her softness, probing insistently every time he flexed his hips against hers, was making the explosive excitement start to grow all over again.

He kissed her, stroked her, licked and nibbled at her throat, her breasts, while his hands kneaded at her bottom. And then he shifted slightly so that he could reach for himself, where he lay between her legs, and rub himself along her wetness. Then he held himself poised, where she was melting and aching for him. And pushed, just a little, so that he was stretching and penetrating her.

She arched up to him—and felt a sting from which she instinctively recoiled.

He followed her down, allowing her no quarter.

Pushed again.

This time there was a searing pain which tore her out of the sensual haze in which she'd been floating.

He stilled. Kissed her cheek when she turned it away from the fire, away from the sight of him looming over her. Kissed her neck. Stroked her damp hair back from her forehead. Then reached between them and began to gently caress the point where they merged.

Unbelievably, the slow burn started up all over again.

She turned her face to look up at him. ‘I can't, Gregory. Please, I...'

‘You can,' he said. ‘You only have to let go.'

Let go? What was she to let go
of
, precisely? He was the one pinning her to the floor. Moving inside her now. Pushing even deeper. Withdrawing. And circling his fingers over a place that seemed to be screaming for him to do it harder.

Harder?

Yes, she wanted more of him. More sensation.

The next time he pushed in she pushed up, against him, to increase the sensation.

‘That's it,' he murmured. And kept on murmuring words of encouragement, and praise, and approval as he kept up a gentle, rhythmic thrusting.

Until she didn't want him to be gentle any more. Until she was gripping his buttocks and twisting her hips, clamouring to reach that place he'd already taken her to twice before.

And then she got there. Only this time it was even better because he was there with her. She could feel him pulsing deep inside her as he groaned into her ear. And it was better feeling him drift back down to earth with her, too. Feeling his heart pound against her chest. His breath coming in great, ragged gasps.

For a while they just lay there, getting their breath back, and in Prudence's case watching the firelight sending shadows flickering across the beamed ceiling.

Until he reared up, looked down at her with a smug smile, and said, ‘There. You will
have
to marry me now.'

* * *

They slept wrapped in each other's arms until dawn. At which time the light crept in through the curtainless windows and roused Gregory. His breath billowed out like a cloud when he yawned. He reached over to the log box, extracted the last log and tossed it onto the fire.

From somewhere deep beneath the covers Prudence lifted her head and squinted up at him crossly.

‘Lie down,' she complained. ‘You're making a draught.'

‘I'm taking care of you, you ingrate,' he countered happily.

She shifted against him, snuggling closer. ‘You are,' she conceded. ‘You got up some time in the night to fetch extra blankets, didn't you?'

‘All on my own,' he jested. ‘Without any help from a servant.'

He felt her smile against his chest.

‘I suppose we ought to get back to the house before anyone notices we are missing,' said Prudence.

He snorted. ‘Didn't you see the curtains twitching last night? They all know exactly where we went. So...' he rolled on top of her ‘...you will have to marry me now.'

‘You said that last night.'

‘I still mean it.'

‘So do I,' she said, wrapping her arms round his waist and hugging him hard.

In this position, he approved of hugs. In fact there was a great deal to be said for hugs at any time of day. So long as it was Prudence doing the hugging.

‘So you are still of a mind to marry me, in spite of my being a duke?'

‘I think I shall have to,' she said. ‘Not because of what we did last night. But because I could not bear the thought of life without you. Although,' she said, wriggling rather deliciously before swatting his bottom, ‘I am still cross with you for not telling me the truth about your station before we got here. You might have warned me, and then I wouldn't have felt like such a prize idiot.'

‘I was too worried about how you might react to broach the subject,' he admitted. Now that he was sure of her, it felt safe to confess many things. ‘I'd been trying to think of ways to tell you about my being a duke long before we got here. But... Well, for one thing I wasn't sure you'd believe me. I had visions of you saying that you must have hit me really hard with that rock for me to suddenly start getting delusions of grandeur. Or of you becoming afraid that I was a dangerous lunatic, escaped from some asylum, and trying to run away from me again.

‘I couldn't let you go,' he said, dropping a kiss on her brow. ‘I needed to keep you near. Actually,' he admitted, with a burn of something that felt like guilt heating his cheeks, ‘I'd even considered claiming to get lost and not finding Bramley Park at all just to prolong our time together without the dratted title coming between us.'

‘You would really have rather stayed out on the road, facing farmers with guns and eating stale bread that I'd earned by singing, than come back to all this?'

‘Without question.'

‘But you didn't,' she pointed out, pragmatic as ever.

‘I couldn't, in the end.' He sighed. ‘On account of your feet. You were in pain, Prudence. And you needed a decent meal and clean clothes. It would have been monstrous to keep you in that state just to preserve the illusion that I was an ordinary man. Besides which, if I'd succumbed to the temptation to put off the moment when you discovered what I really am you might have thought it was because I was still trying to win that wager. And I couldn't have you ever thinking that I'd put something so trivial before your welfare. Whichever path I chose, I risked losing you. I was...' he shuddered ‘...caught on the horns of a horrible dilemma.'