The Art of Duke Hunting (3 page)

The ship heaved to port then fell so hard that Roman felt his body hang in the air.

She exhaled roughly as her body jolted against his.

He regathered her to him and without thought lowered his head to press a kiss on her forehead. He felt far more in control with this woman in his arms. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted to lose himself while he was locked inside here. He felt paralyzed, unable to find the effort to break down her door. There would be nothing but a wall of water behind it.

She looked up at him, and he felt the tension of desire fire through his veins. He still could not believe this countess was allowing him to hold her. For some odd reason, she made death feel farther away than it was.

A deafening crack of thunder rolled through the air and it broke the moment. Before he could react, she moved halfway on top of him, grasped his face and kissed him. He latched onto her like a man gasping his last breath. He could not stop his arms from binding her to him.

He should be a gentleman. He should stop. He should not take this gentle woman. But he could not change course. He could not let her go. She felt like a life raft. The best he could do was to utter one word. “Please.” And then he could not stop from repeating it. He prayed she would not see reason.

He felt her head bob on his shoulder, and then he pulled face-to-face with her and kissed her again, long and deep. Only once did she turn her face away for but a moment.

He reached to touch her cheek but could not stay the shaking in his hand. He lowered it.

She grasped his hand and brought it to her lips.

“I want you,” he said in a dark voice he didn’t recognize.

She slowly ran her fingers down his chest. Instinctively, he knew it was all the answer he was going to get. Her soft hands were now unbuttoning his damp waistcoat and the top shirt buttons. His neckcloth was nowhere in sight—surely lost in London, where he should be.

Without another thought, he pulled down her sleeve and swept aside the top of her dark blue bodice where the swell of her breasts hid the fast beat of her heart. Her skin was so soft, unlike anything he’d known. She inhaled sharply when he cupped her lovely breast. A hard crest formed at the tip as he touched her.

A howl of wind brought him back to reality. He started to breathe unevenly and it was all he could do not to jump toward the door. And then shockingly, her hands were fiddling with the button on the falls of his breeches. Her hands found him and he could not breathe.

Time stood still and the sounds of the tempest faded.

Roman had thought he had experienced it all when it came to seduction. It was a fairly simple game played by jaded ladies of the Upper Ten Thousand who wanted to be led astray; charming widows and married ladies who exuded an air of fatigue and a desire for something to distract them from their lives of lassitude. But he had never ever had a lady attempt to take the lead once the bedroom door was closed. It was the last thought he had as her hand encompassed his arousal. He was as hard as a cannon and the small of his back tightened, poised for release.

The ship dipped sharply and Roman used the momentum to roll on top of her. The great, damp mess of her skirting was in the way and he bunched and pulled at it until it was above her slender waist. He stared at her kiss-bruised lips, the flush of her cheeks, and her stark expression before he parted the slit in her drawers, and drove into her without pause.

She exhaled with the most erotic sound, and pulled him closer.

He forged deeper as the vessel rose, and held tight as the ship bucked in the wild sea. Roman worked her tight passage, lost in her instead of the raging storm. Each time he reached a peak and longed to go over she stilled and held him back. There was a method to her madness, and soon he understood her game.

And so they prolonged it. Prolonged it until there were no more peaks to ascend and descend. He was so close to the edge that every movement was pain and pleasure.

“Go on then,” she whispered.

“With you,” he replied raggedly.

But his nerves were all at once at such a pitch that he could not let go. Never in his life had he found himself in such a state of terror and arousal. During this time out of time, they continued as before—giving and taking, pausing and continuing, yet rarely speaking. Instead he stared at her face, her eyes dark and unreadable. And then she traced her fingers from the base of his spine, down his backside to caress his sensitive, tight sac—an action that was his undoing. He made an inarticulate sound and felt her contract around him. He pulled out of her tight, warm wetness and emptied himself on the linen in long bursts that drained him. The pulsing was unbearably pleasurable as he tried to regain his breath.

Utter exhaustion engulfed him, almost comforted him, as he rolled and pulled her back into his arms. Filled with something that felt like gratitude mixed with confusion and mystery, he tenderly kissed the top of her head. Who in hell was this lady? Had he been introduced to her at any of the hundreds of the ton’s entertainments he’d attended over the years?

His exhaustion and curiosity were short-lived. She was no-nonsense. The countess dragged herself to a seated position and swung her legs off the bunk.

“Where are you going?” He tried to regulate his voice.

“To the deck.” She pushed her tangled locks of light brown hair over her pretty shoulder.

He was dumbstruck.

“Are you coming?” She was rearranging her bodice.

“Now you want to go?” Ladies really were the most capricious creatures.

“I think it a good idea, actually.”

Speechless, he stared at her.

“I think one of the masts is down. We should decamp as you said.” She peered at him over her shoulder with those huge gray eyes of hers that were eerily familiar.

“I beg your pardon?” He rasped out, his mouth cottony from the spirits.

“Didn’t you hear the crack and the splintering a few minutes ago?”

He lay back down and covered his head with a forearm.
Christ
.

“Well?” she urged. “Look. I know your head must feel wretched, but we’ve no time to dally. It was absinthe, right?”

Just hearing the name of that poison made him nearly retch. He held up his hand. “Please don’t say that word.”

He heard her footsteps walking away.

Her calm voice floated back to him. “I don’t know why gentlemen insist ladies are the inconstant sex. Do you or do you not want to go on deck?” She paused. “I, for one, am not going into the rigging even if a mast is still standing. But I’m going to search out one of those small boats on deck, just in case.”

Roman refastened his falls, feeling like an idiot in the face of her cool head and courage. She was not at all playing this game the way it ought to be played. She was the fair maiden and he was supposed to be the savior. She should be weak at the knees and instead, he was the lunatic. He rearranged his shirt, buttoned his waistcoat, and awkwardly shrugged back into his blue superfine coat, damp and misshapen from a thorough drenching. He raked back his hair, and pretended to be the collected aristocrat he was on dry ground. He crossed the small chamber and bowed as cool as you please. He would not hurry even if every pore of his ravaged body screamed to rush.

The mysterious Countess of Derby bent down to retrieve a key from her boot.

The devil
. No wonder she hadn’t bothered to remove her boots during their interlude. Wasn’t she the cool one?

And again, wasn’t he the bloody idiot.

Chapter 2

E
sme wasn’t at all sure how she managed to keep her façade in place the next morning. Inside, she was all raw nerves and shock. She hadn’t known she could possess a shred of aplomb after almost two hours of lying in a cabin bunk last night with a reined-in wild man, exuding equal measures of feral passion and intoxicated fear. And all along, the shock of such intense pleasure washed over and through her. The way this man had taken her had shaken her to the depth of her being. There had been none of the gentleness, none of the loving words she had known in the past. There had just been raw carnality with a touch of terror on his side and intense emotions on hers. He had been like a bull, stretching her, taking as much as he could and pushing her harder until something had happened to her that had never happened before. She still wasn’t certain what had gripped her but for several long moments the most extreme sensations had coursed through her. Did he know? It was absurd. The entire experience had unnerved her so that she did what she did whenever she felt too exposed, she hid inside of herself and presented a calm front to the world.

Right now, standing among the flock of other bedraggled persons on the deck of
The
Drake
as it limped into port, she felt as if it must be transparent to everyone what she had done.

She prayed she wasn’t blushing. She glanced from the tips of her practical boots to the captain of
The Drake
, who was conversing with the Duke of Norwich. The latter was gripping the railing off the bow, his gaze focused on the port they were approaching at a decidedly uneven pace. The duke turned suddenly and his blue, blue eyes bore into hers. He gave her a knowing glance. And a smile that spoke of intimacy shared. It was the look she had dared to hope he would give her the first time she had seen him so many years ago in that ballroom.

She immediately turned her attention to the older man beside her. Mr. King, also known as the Master of Ceremonies in Bath, and also known as a man who liked nothing better than to peck at gossip until it barely resembled the truth at all.

“My dear countess,” the gentleman opined. “Such a fine day, no? And after such fireworks last night.”

Fireworks, indeed
.

The old puff-guts was dissembling, trying mightily to have everyone forget that he hadn’t blubbered, “All is lost! Every man for himself,” several long hours ago at this same spot on deck.

“Who would have guessed,” she replied faintly.

“My dear, I should like to offer you my services this bright morning,” he continued. “I shall take the trouble to secure a room for you as soon as we set anchor.”

“Thank you, sir, but I shall see to myself.”

“Dear me. But I should insist, Lady Derby. A lady traveling alone? Without even a maid? It is not at all the thing, don’t you know. Why, if your husband were alive, he would—”

“But he is not and I am very capable of seeing to myself.” She always had.

The older gentleman cleared his throat and muttered something.

“Sorry?”

“I said, Lord Derby should have shown more restraint and taken better care. You would not be alone in the world if—”

She interrupted and stood straighter. “My husband always spoke very highly of you, sir. And my family and Lord Derby’s rarely leave me alone.” She smiled at the humor that was lost on the gentleman in front of her. “Indeed, I have never understood why solitude is so frowned upon.”

“I’m not speaking ill of him,” Mr. King harrumphed. “Merely stating the truth and coming to your aid, madam. I’m certain he would want me to help you in your hour of need.”

Esme had hoped to escape the endless years of defending her husband Lionel. It never satisfied, for no one ever believed the love she had held for him. “You are too good, Mr. King, but I’ve already plans for accommodations.” The lies were mounting now.

His bushy gray eyebrows rose a notch. “Really? And how did you accomplish that when we’re at a port that was not our destination?”

“Why, Mr. King, are you doubting my word?” She prayed she was not blushing.

Mr. King cleared his throat. “I say, in my day, ladies did not just go traipsing off alone on a ship.”

She gaped at him in mock surprise. “Mr. King, whatever are you suggesting? Have I ever given anyone cause to question my character?”
Until the last four and twenty hours.

He studied her and tutted. “Of course not, my dear. Your character is without blemish. You are a model of propriety. It is a shame the same cannot be said of everyone.” His eyes gleamed with delight. “Did you not see that the Duke of Norwich is mysteriously among us this morn? I assure you he did not board this vessel in the usual manner. I was given a list of passengers prior to sailing, and well . . . What can one expect from one of the royal entourage? I feel it necessary to warn you off this duke, madam. He brings ill luck and worse to our respectable group. I for one shall—”

She nodded to the gangplank. “Good day to you, Mr. King.”

“Ah, we’re ready to . . .”

Esme twirled her parasol and strolled away from the blowhard in mid-sentence. It was the best she could do for if she had stayed another minute he risked a whack on his head by her parasol which had been known to have a mind of its own. She felt a smile forming and then paused.

It had been a long time since she had felt relaxed and playful. It had been a long time since she had felt a plume of anything but duty or the passion of her art unfurl in her breast. She stood beside her two trunks at the end of the queue of weary passengers anxious to debark.

What on earth had come over her? What had she done? If someone had told her she would do something so outrageous, she would have denied it to the end of her days. Yet, she did not regret it. When first widowed, she had wondered if she would ever lie in a bed with a man again. She had very much doubted it. She was old at four and thirty, and worse, she was plain. And too tall. A wretched combination for a lady. At least she had independence, a rare enough thing for any female, widowed or not.

Norwich had left the cabin after her, insisting she leave first despite his poorly hidden desire to flee. They had not shared one word since. She had only heard him tell the captain that the ladies on the voyage must be given the two rowboats if the ship sank, which at one point had appeared a distinct possibility. But the crew had chopped off the downed mast and morass of rigging that had been dragging down the ship. She had kept an eye on him throughout, but he had seemed able to marshal his fears, with only one hand gripping the aft mast.