Sins of a Duke (11 page)

Josefina gasped, feeling them tighten and harden. She would allow him to guide her in this. Otherwise he would probably leave again, and then her body would combust from heated frustration, and she would die. And he knew that, blast him.

“One day I’ll give you an order, and you will follow it,” she managed, though with her shaking voice and gasps of pleasure she likely didn’t sound terribly forceful or convincing.

“Doubtful,” he said, twisting his torso to replace his fingers with his mouth, sucking and licking.

If she didn’t do as he said, he could probably torture her to death with just this. Hands unsteady, she tugged at the first button until it came open. As she lowered her fingers to the next button, he groaned.

So he liked her hands there, did he? Moving deliberately, very aware that she was completely naked while he was not, Josefina drew her hands downward, running them over the tented material at his crotch.

His entire body jerked. She did it again. Ah, so now who was in control?

“Bloody minx,” he muttered, shifting to kiss the base of her throat.

A moment later one of his hands slid down her stomach, tickled through her dark curls, and brushed her most sensitive place. With a surprised shriek she barely remembered to muffle, she grabbed his shoulders to keep from collapsing on the bed.

He shifted against her, darting his tongue along the rim of her ear. “I know what feels good,” he murmured, pressing his fingers deeper inside her, moving and caressing.

“Oh, heavens.” Obviously he spoke the truth. And if there was more of that yet to come, she didn’t want to miss it. As swiftly as she could, she finished unfastening his trousers and shoved them down to his thighs. “Goodness,” she breathed as he came free.

“Goodness has nothing to do with it, Princess.” In a moment he had her on her back again.

She’d had no idea what a mouth could do until he trailed his lips and agile tongue down from her throat, lingering
again at her breasts, then continued on past her belly. Softly he kissed the backs of her knees, bending her legs and parting her thighs to do so. Then he turned his attention to the insides of her thighs.

Josefina writhed, tension and arousal flowing from her core all the way out to the tips of her fingers and toes. When his tongue darted against her folds, she thought she would explode. He pressed further with his mouth and his fingers, and she bucked.

“Stop! Stop. It’s too much.”

Sebastian raised his head to look at her. “Say what you mean,” he hissed, his voice shaking a little. “If you ask me to leave now, I will.” Slowly his mouth curved into that heart-stopping smile. “And then you’ll miss what comes next.”

She shut her eyes for a heartbeat, trying to regain some control over her thoughts and her spread, wanton body. “What comes next?”

“You do.” He lowered his head again.

His fingers moved deeper, in and out, and an exquisite tightness began at the base of her spine. She heard herself moaning and mewling, but all she could do was grab handfuls of the bed coverlet and hold on. Abruptly the tightness gave way, and she felt…heaven. “God,” she blurted, arching her back. “Good God.”

He continued his assault, and it took all her remaining willpower not to scream. Finally as her muscles began to relax again, he moved back over her. “In the future,” he murmured, “you and I may experience that together. But this was your first time, and I wanted to be sure you knew how good I can make you feel.”

His rock-hard manhood pressed against her thigh. “But you’re still…You know.”

“Aroused. For God knows what reason I’m giving you a last chance to escape me, Princess.”

Josefina tangled her fingers into his hair, pulling him down for another rough kiss. “I
am
a princess,” she said unsteadily. “I may do as I please. Continue.”

“With pleasure.” He shifted, lowering his body against hers. Slowly he pushed his hips forward, entering her with a warm, indescribable slide. “It will hurt,” he said a second later, his jaw tight and clenched.

She couldn’t breathe, her heart beating madly at the sensation of him. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

“I’ve noticed.” He resumed his motion and the pressure increased, followed by a sharp pain as he buried himself deep inside her. She gasped, grabbing his shoulders again. “Apologies,” he grunted. “It won’t hurt again.”

Sebastian began to move, a little at first, and then as her pain faded, he pumped his hips against her more strongly. The sensation of him inside her, the proof that he desired her, was exquisite.

His eyes closed. What was he thinking? Anything? About her? Or about the last woman he’d had? Josefina hit him on the shoulder, and his eyes flew open again.

“I won’t be a memory,” she managed, moaning in time with his deep strokes. “And I won’t be a substitute for someone else.”

“You’re not,” he rumbled, gently biting her ear as he thrust.

Ah.
That tightness began inside her again. “Then you say
my
name, Sebastian.”

His pace increased, deeper and harder. She could barely breathe as he rocked both her and the bed. “Josefina,” he growled. “Jo…se…fi…na.”

She shattered again, clinging to him. With a deep shudder he removed himself, holding hard to her as he climaxed along with her. For a second as she realized what he’d just done, she felt…disappointed. He’d protected her from becoming pregnant, yes, but if they
had
made a
child, he would have to marry her. One did not father a bastard on a princess.
He
wouldn’t.

Today answered one thing—she wanted Sebastian Griffin for herself, wanted him to gaze only at her, to spend his nights and his days with her, regardless of anything or anyone else in the world.

All of that, even though under the circumstances she would have been wiser to give her virginity to the Duke of Harek.
He
didn’t ask questions.

For a long moment Sebastian lay with Josefina close in his arms and tried to regain his breath and his sanity. He nearly hadn’t pulled away, nearly hadn’t been able to make himself do it, and the ramifications were staggering.

Even though he had, and at the very last moment, the fact that he was there with her at all attested to his abject stupidity. For God’s sake, the moment she and her father had given that prospectus to Prinny and said it was a true representation of Costa Habichuela, they’d committed a fraud against England.

And whether that text was in fact accurate or not—and he now had serious doubts about that—he had no business entangling himself, literally and figuratively, with this woman. Insanity.

Yes, it had been four years since he’d been with a woman, and yes, at one time he’d never wanted to touch another female. What the hell had she done to him? And why, even after he’d bedded her, relieved himself of the gnawing ache to be inside her, did he already want her again?

Get hold of yourself, Melbourne.
He sat up, reluctantly releasing her. “You should get back to your guests,” he muttered, sliding off the bed and retrieving a washing cloth from the dressing table.

She sat up, taking the cloth as he finished with it and
handed it to her. “And that’s all you have to say? ‘Get back to your guests’?”

“I may not at the moment be able to control the…lust I feel toward you,” he returned crisply, yanking up his trousers, “but I don’t—”

“You don’t what?” she broke in, climbing off the bed and grabbing up her shift. “You don’t like me? You don’t—”

“I do like you. I’m not an animal, rutting just because it’s the season to do so.”

“Then what? Because I like you, as well.”

He pretended for the moment that he wasn’t flattered by that. No simpering or bemoaning her lost maidenhead for Josefina. She wanted to know where she stood, how circumstances had changed. “I don’t trust you.”

“Hm.” She pulled on her shift, being careful of her hair, then stepped into her dress. “That’s a rather risky thing to say, considering that all I have to do is open that door and scream, and we would be married by Sunday. And even if your almightiness could prevent that, you would still face a scandal.” She turned her back on him, glancing over her shoulder. “Fasten my dress. I can’t reach.”

Sebastian stifled an unexpected smile. “I take this to mean you won’t be screaming,” he said, stepping over to tug her dress up and fasten the buttons running along her spine. As he finished, he leaned down and kissed the nape of her neck. Obviously having sex with her hadn’t worked; his desire for her had not been purged from his system.

He heard her sigh, and responding heat tugged at his gut again. Moving around in front of her, he tilted her chin up with his fingers and kissed her. Josefina twined her fingers into his hair, leaning her slim body along his. Physically, despite the slapping and other acts of bravado, she was no match for him. Mentally and emotionally, the ground seemed much less certain. She certainly spun him
about and stood up to him as no one else—including the members of his own family—did.

“No screaming,” she whispered against his mouth, “if you’ll join our party at Vauxhall the night after next.”

Sebastian set her away from him again. “No.” He picked up his shirt and pulled it on over his head.

“But I thought—”

“I want you. As I said, though, I don’t trust you. You’ve answered some of my questions about Costa Habichuela, but not all of them.” Squatting, he retrieved his waistcoat and jacket. “Until they are all answered to my satisfaction, I will not be put in the position of appearing to endorse your efforts.”

Josefina put her hands on her hips, her lips pursed as she regarded him. “You’re a very righteous gentleman, aren’t you? Except where bedding a woman just because you happen to want her is concerned. I find it all a bit hypocritical of you, Melbourne.” She walked over to the dressing mirror to check her hair.

Why had he expected that she would melt, become sweet and demure, just because he’d made love to her? In fact, he’d begun to wonder whether he hadn’t been more affected than she had. And she had a point. True, the Griffin name and how it was perceived meant everything, but being a boor in private and a saint in public didn’t sit well, either.

On the other hand, there was more to consider than how he felt. For God’s sake, there had been a Grifanus standing for England since before the time of Christ. “No. Somewhere less well attended, perhaps. I won’t be your trained monkey, Josefina.”

“Say what you like, Sebastian,” she returned. “I always get my way. Did you consider whether you’re here because you wanted me, or because I wanted you?”

“We’ll have to pursue that in depth later.” If there was a later. Because he had the feeling that once he did have all of the answers he required and decided what action he needed to take, Princess Josefina would have reason not to wish to be with him any longer.

“I
assume you’ll be sneaking out the window or something,” Josefina said flippantly, making a last check of her attire and then walking past Sebastian to unlock the bedchamber door. “Don’t fall on the roses. My father said Colonel Branbury’s always been very particular about his roses.”

“Thanks for your concern.”

She wished he were easier to decipher, though she supposed that if he was, she wouldn’t find him nearly so fascinating. “Send over a note inviting us to a box in Vauxhall. I imagine you will have a better location than Harek.”

“No, and I won’t say it again.”

Josefina stuck her tongue out at him. Without giving him a chance to reply to that, she strolled out of the room and closed the door behind her. Thankfully the hallway was empty.

“Oh, heavens,” she whispered, collapsing back against the door and fanning herself with both hands.

She’d done it. Irretrievably her virginity was lost. And
it had been deliriously exciting and arousing. To think, she’d waited until her twenty-fifth year for the experience, when she’d had an abundance of invitations starting before she’d turned sixteen.
Glorious
.

However much trouble he was, she was still glad that Sebastian Griffin had been the one to introduce her to sex. He’d wanted her, after what was apparently several years of not wanting anyone. There was power in that realization, and she reveled in it. He’d wanted
her
.

Harek seemed to, as well, but she had a difficult time imagining that he would bring as much…intensity to the experience as Sebastian had. Certainly he would focus more on his enjoyment than on hers. She ran a hand down her body, sighing. That had been an experience worth repeating. If he had agreed to blasted Vauxhall, at least she would have an indication that he felt the same.

Well, she still had two days to convince him. With a smile that probably looked as satisfied as it felt, Josefina descended the stairs to the drawing room again.

“There you are, Your Highness,” Lord Ausbey said, blocking her way. “I must read my poem to you now.”

Drat
. At least it would give her an additional moment to compose herself. “If you want to recite it to me, I’m afraid you’ll have to do so in front of an audience.” She gestured at the chatty crowd. “I can’t desert my guests.”

The viscount cleared his throat. “Very well. Then everyone may see my devotion to you.”

That had probably been his intention all along. “Proceed, my lord,” she said, resisting the urge to sigh.

“I call it
The Tropical Flower
,” he said, unfolding the paper.

He bowed to a scattering of applause, some admiring female-toned acclamation, and a few lower-voiced mutterings of ridicule. Josefina smiled, adding her applause to the general cacophony. “Very nice, my lord. Thank you.”

“It is all sincere, Your Highness,” he said, his hand covering his heart. “And if you would but…” His gaze focused behind her, and he trailed off. “Your Grace,” he said, bowing and backing away simultaneously.

Had Harek pointed a pistol at the poor fellow? The poem hadn’t been
that
awful. Josefina turned around, ready to scold the high-handed duke, but the words stopped in her throat.

Melbourne stood a few feet from her, his steely gaze on the boy. It was a wonder Ausbey hadn’t swallowed his own tongue.
Jealousy?
The duke’s gaze moved to her, and her skin heated. “Your Grace,” she said belatedly, giving a curtsy as she remembered that as far as anyone else knew, he’d only just arrived.

“Your Highness,” he returned, with the usual dip of his dark head. “I hadn’t realized you were holding court this morning. A word, if you please?” He gestured her toward the doorway.

He managed to make even that mild request sound like an order. With a lift of her chin she followed him toward the open door, but stopped short of the entry. If she vanished again this morning, people would begin to wonder
what she was up to. She turned around. “I cannot leave my guests,” she said. “What do you require?”

Brief annoyance crossed his face, then vanished again. The gray-eyed glance touched her nearest guests, and they immediately found acquaintances or conversations elsewhere. “I have a bit more advice for you,” he said in a low, intimate voice than sent damp warmth between her legs.

“More? Heavens. And stop frightening my guests away with those black looks of yours.”

“I’m not playing, Josefina. Keep some distance between yourself and Harek and poetry-spewing pups. If they were to learn anything about your literary efforts, I doubt they would be as discreet as I.”

“Are you jealous, Melbourne?”

He smiled, the expression not touching his eyes. Slowly he reached out for her hand and brought it to his lips. “Don’t test me, Josefina,” he said even more quietly.

She smiled right back at him, quickly withdrawing her hand before he could feel it tremble. “Truly, Your Grace?” she exclaimed loudly. “Lord Harek and my family and I would be pleased to share your box at Vauxhall! How delightful.”

Without the slightest hesitation he nodded again. “My pleasure. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have meetings.” As he moved past her to the door he slowed, brushing her ear with his mouth. “Well played, Princess. Next comes my turn.”

Before she could conjure a reply, he was gone. Damn it all, who did he think he was, anyway? The Duke of Melbourne, of course. Her lover. The most powerful, influential man in England. And her very large problem.

Sebastian rode home, handing Merlin over to Green at the stable and striding into the house. At Stanton’s greeting he managed a grunt, grabbed the stack of personal
correspondence awaiting his attention, and went into his office.

The bloody chit had managed to outmaneuver him with alarming ease. The price he had to pay for losing control, he supposed. “Stanton!”

The butler opened the office door. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“I’ll be hosting a small party at Vauxhall the night after next,” he said crisply. “See to it that all the appropriate arrangements are made.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Once the door closed again, Sebastian sat forward to sift through the piles of letters and calling cards. All the usual, plus Rivers had set aside the weekly report from Whitlock, his Melbourne Park estate manager, and updates from three of his other properties.

Zachary had left a card with a note scrawled on the back that he’d absconded with Peep to see the menagerie at the Tower. That boy clearly needed offspring of his own. He hoped Caroline had by now begun to realize that as a Griffin she could have both her painting and a family. Perhaps Eleanor would know their sister-in-law’s mind on the matter.

The next letter in the stack stopped him. It was from Eton. His heart rate accelerating, he broke the wax seal and unfolded it.

A moment later he shot to his feet. “Stanton!”

The butler reappeared in the doorway. “Yes, Your Gr—”

“When did this letter arrive?”

“With the post, Your Grace, some forty minutes ago. Is something amiss?”

“No. Send for Shay, and inform him that he and I are leaving for Eton within the hour.”

“Right away, Your Grace.”

On the butler’s heels he left the office and pounded up
the stairs to his private rooms. It seemed that John Rice-Able was teaching at Eton, and would be happy to share his knowledge of the geography and societies of Central America. Finally he would get some damned definitive answers about the kingdom and country of Costa Habichuela.

“I know you told me to be quiet and let you think,” Charlemagne said as the coach finally rocked to a halt and they stepped to the ground, “but you seem a bit…preoccupied with this.”

Sebastian grabbed one of the lanterns off a coach post and strode toward the hall where the professors lodged. Dimly to the south he could make out the lines of Windsor Castle looming above them. “Why shouldn’t I be?” he asked, lifting the light to read the name of the building and then moving through the main courtyard.

“Because you resigned your post and you’ve been avoiding contact with Princess Josefina and her parents. Costa Habichuela and its royalty aren’t your concern any longer.”

“They are my concern.” He glanced sideways at his brother. “And you’re the one who stormed into my house this morning, all aflutter about some plagiarisms.”

“Some extensive plagiarisms. I didn’t say we should flee London to go track down a professor who would probably be pleased as petunias to call on you at Griffin House.”

Shay had a point. “I have my reasons,” Sebastian grumbled. “And I don’t necessarily want our professor to be seen in London at this moment.”

“Why not? I mean of course it’s Eton we’re talking about rather than Oxford, but it’s not as though being seen with him will ruin you. Not entirely.”

“Very amusing. As I said, I have—”

“—your reasons. I accept that. But what do you think this Rice-Able fellow knows?”

Sebastian lifted the lamp again to look at the apartment numbers.
Ah
. “Let’s find out.” He rapped on the oak door.

“Who is it?”

“He’s not expecting us,” Shay muttered, “is he?”

“Not precisely,” Sebastian answered. “Melbourne,” he said more loudly. “I wrote you, and you said—”

The door rattled and opened. “Your Grace.” A thin, well-featured man two or three years younger than himself gazed at him over a pair of reading spectacles. “I’m honored. I didn’t expect—”

“I know,” Sebastian interrupted. “Might we come in?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” The professor stepped away from the door, and Sebastian followed him inside, having to duck a little to pass through the low doorway.

The dormitory room was tiny and dark but for the small fire in the fireplace and a pair of tallow candles sitting on a cluttered table. Clutter, in fact, seemed the main theme of decoration. A separate door at the back stood open to reveal a small, rumpled bed surrounded by still more haphazard stacks of papers and books, maps and trinkets.

In the main room John Rice-Able grabbed a stack of books off a chair and carried them out to pile them on the bed. “Did you receive my note?” he asked, emptying a second chair. “I was surprised to hear from you. I didn’t think anyone but my students had read my
History
.”

“I did receive your note, Professor. This afternoon. I apologize for not sending word that I was coming, but this seemed more expedient.” Belatedly he gestured at Shay, who stood close by the door and looked on with a bemused expression on his face. His brother no doubt recognized the lair of a fellow scholar when he stumbled into one. “This is my brother, Charlemagne.”

The professor looked up, belatedly removing his spectacles. “Charlemagne? After the ruler of—”

“Yes,” Shay interrupted.

“Apologies, Lord Charlemagne.” The professor flushed. “It’s just that, well, you have to admit that Charlemagne is an unusual name.”

“Oh, I’m aware of that.” Shay flashed his charming smile. “Why is an explorer teaching at Eton?”

“Teaching pays a better salary,” Master Rice-Able returned. “And since my last book was published six years ago, I think I made a wise decision.” He sighed. “My explorations will have to be done between terms.”

If this fellow was helpful enough, Sebastian might be able to do something about supporting his exploration efforts. It would all depend on their chat tonight.

“Please Your Grace, my lord, sit. I have some water on for tea, if you’d care to join me.”

Sebastian sat in one of the vacated chairs. “Thank you. Tea would be welcome.” In his life of political and social maneuvering and alliance-making, he’d learned to assess a man’s character quickly. He liked Rice-Able. The professor had an unassuming honesty about him that spoke well for the man—and it could turn out to be useful, later.

“If I may say,” Rice-Able commented, digging through his cupboard for teacups and saucers, “to be here now you must have left London shortly after receiving my note. Why the urgency to make my acquaintance?”

“A matter of geographical curiosity. What is the degree of your familiarity with the Mosquito Coast?”

“I know it as well as any non-native can, I suppose, though it’s been three years since I last set foot in the region.”

Three years
. Before the Mosquito King granted Costa Habichuela to Stephen Embry, but recently enough that he should have a fair grasp of the geography and climate.

“I suppose you would have visited some of the villages and towns along the coast?”

“I have.” Rice-Able passed out his mismatched collection of cups and saucers, then went to the fireplace to get the teapot. “I assume you came all this way because you have specific questions you want answered. If you could tell me directly what it is you require, I could probably provide you with better information.”

Sebastian sat forward as the professor returned to the table. “The difficulty, sir, is that I don’t wish to guide your answers. Nor do I want you to tell me what you think I want to hear.”

“I see.” Rice-Able seated himself in the third chair, the only spot in the room that had been empty upon their arrival. “Ask your questions, then. I assure you that my answers will be honest. If I provide you with an assumption, I will disclose it as such.”

“Thank you. Firstly, then, do you read the London newspapers?” If the professor did, he would know that the Embrys were in England, and he would probably be able to surmise the rest.

“Only when forced to, and under protest. And not in the past few weeks, if that was to be your next question.”

Sebastian smiled. “I think we understand one another.” He lifted his teacup and took a swallow. It was awful, something bitter and tasting like old sticks, but he didn’t allow his distaste to show on his face. “Does anyone have governorship over the Mosquito Coast in general?”