Her Mystery Duke Page 5

  His way. He wanted more than other men had. He wanted to conquer her. If she let him do this, to make her come undone, he’d be privy to her deepest secret self. No one could be allowed to see such a private side of her. When people knew you too deeply, they had an advantage that they could use at any time to strike at you, to hurt you.

  He released her then touched the shoulder of her shift and gave it a pluck. “Remove this.”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  “Of course you should.” He sounded a little breathless now.

  This was fatiguing him. Guilt pricked her, distracted her from her thoughts. “No, I should arise and…work.”

  “Jeanne, I have lain here beside you and felt the tension of your need.”

  Her heart began to pound. He saw too much. “Please don’t—”

  “It is very arousing to me. I shan’t be able to sleep without some…resolution.”

  “Resolution?”

  “Yes, resolution for one of us. For you.” He seemed to forget the matter of her shift for he began to stroke her thigh again. “I am not capable of more at this moment and for that I am sincerely sorry.”

  There was no trace of arrogance in his expression, instead his gaze remained open.

  She kept her legs together.

  He traced that tightly closed line from her knees and moved upwards. “You wanted this a moment ago. What changed?”

  His tender, seeking touch spoke of so many things. It confused her. What did she want? To remain pristine, private? Or should she open herself to this experience? What would it feel like to come for a man? To allow him to share those vulnerable moments?

  He stopped his questing touch at her apex and rested his hand gently against her. “You’ve experience with men, correct?”

  “I have experience with men but it is not what you are thinking.”

  “What am I thinking?”

  “I don’t sell my wares on the street or in taverns.”

  The way he froze, the sudden tension in his fingertips told her that he’d been thinking exactly that. Considering the way he’d woken to find himself in a bed with her, she could forgive his assumption.

  She didn’t even understand why it had been important to her for him to know that she wasn’t some tavern whore. It just was.

  “Have you ever come with a man?”

  The question startled her out of her thoughts, sent a cold ball into the center of her stomach, and killed what was left of her arousal. To avoid his gaze, she tilted her head back and looked up at the headboard and studied the worn, dry looking wood.

  “I shall have to take that as a no, Jeanne.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Can you come by yourself?”

  Her lovers didn’t pry into such matters. So long as she jogged her hips and moaned a bit, they were happy. Likely, if she pretended to climax, this gentleman would leave her in peace over this suddenly invasive, embarrassing matter. But she didn’t feel like pretending for this gentleman and she couldn’t exactly pinpoint why. That alone made her frightened of him.

  “It is very late, we should sleep.” She made her tone as firm as was possible with his hand resting so softly, so casually against her most intimate part.

  He grazed her mons with his fingertips. Fire flickered upwards through her belly. Her arousal flared into full life once more. Of their own accord, her hips arched. “Is it that you’re a little scared for someone else to be in control of your pleasure?”

  He found and brushed her nub. Where her other lovers had either not touched or pressed too hard, too soon, he applied just the right amount of pressure. As though she were touching herself.

  A gasp forced its way up her throat and she bit her lip to suppress it. Increased wetness flowed over her inner folds.

  “Don’t be scared. Trust me.” He continued teasing her bud and her hips began to dance to and fro—she couldn’t stop the motion and it made it harder to keep her legs closed. Her mouth went dry and her heart pounded, for she was scared. Truly scared. Every instinct of self-preservation she possessed screamed that this was too risky.

  She didn’t really know him. Letting people inside was precarious at best.

  This was an unnecessary experience.

  Pretend, let him go to sleep, and then you can frig yourself to your heart’s content.

  David increased the pressure of his strokes, using a circular motion, all the while still holding her gaze. Dangerously intimate.

  “Breathe, relax.”

  In one quick burst, she released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and with the release of her breath came the sudden release of tension in the lowest pit of her belly. Swift, violent spasms convulsed her cunt. Pleasure crashed upon her, sweet, intense and brief.

  She lay gasping.

  God.

  It had happened.

  There was no taking it back now. What had been shared with him could never be unshared now. What would the ramifications of that be? She was too overcome at the moment to consider them.

  She waited for the relief, the relaxation to wash over her. But her tension seemed to be building up again. She became aware that he was stroking her, gliding over her triangle of hair.

  “Open for me.” His voice was like sumptuous, sensual velvet.

  No mortal woman could have resisted him. Jeanne parted her legs. Apparently she was mortal after all.

  He delved deeper, his fingers sliding on her wetness. Entering her. Thrusting in and out. Teasing her. Lingering. No man had ever done that, not with his fingers. Usually once she was wet, they pressed their own needs upon her.

  She arched and pressed the soles of her feet to the featherbed.

  With his thumb, he found her nub again and brushed it. It grew erect; and sharp urgency surged deep in her stomach, followed by the sweetest anticipation. Each brush repeated the sensation.

  “David…David…” She writhed and thrashed.

  He thrust his finger into her, pressing firmly on the forward wall of her channel. Need stabbed through her deepest core. She pressed her feet harder to the bed, arching up. Crying out.

  He put another finger into her and then began thrusting while pressing. Her wetness became audible. She had never known she was capable of putting out such a liberal libation. Her own scent lay heavy in the air. She was moaning, the sound echoing in her ears loud enough to hear above her pounding heartbeat. She thrashed, writhed all the more. She pleaded and begged. Her whole body was shaking. It was frightening but it was happening, again. It was as though she were dying, losing herself. Her breathing became harder and shorter. Then she could no longer breathe at all. Her inner muscles contracted drew tight then released and contracted, over and over, upon the firm resistance of his invading fingers. Pleasure, white hot, jagged shards of pleasure, exploded within her.

  Her body sagged in its wake. Dimly, she was aware of his cheek against hers. The prickle of his heavy stubble.

  “Jeanne.” His voice sounded weak, breathless. His embrace went slack.

  She panted too hard to speak and in any case, she had nothing to say. At least nothing out loud. Inside, she was a mass of pure, frantic, haywire heartbeats. Panic clawed at her. Energized her all over again.

  She leapt from the bed then stood there on legs shaking from the vigor of what had just occurred.

  Dear God. She’d thought herself so experienced with men. So intimately acquainted with them and their ways. Well, yes, she had been. But none of them had been intimately acquainted with her. Not before this moment.

  What did it mean? What would it change?

  She swallowed, hard, but her throat was so dry it did no good.

  It doesn’t have to mean anything.

  It didn’t mean a thing. Nothing more than spreading her legs for Dr. Edmonton or Bernard and then taking their money for rent. Obviously, David was better. In the morning, he would tell her who to send for and then he would be gone.

  Her peace, her privacy, her independenc
e would all be intact. Yes, he’d seen a part of her that no one else ever had, that no one ever should have seen, but she’d never have to face him again.

  A masculine snore drew her back to herself. Faint rays of morning light played over his sharply drawn, handsome features.

  Softness and warmth melted through her. She wanted to return to the bed and lay her hand on that stubble-darkened cheek. To trace his square jaw line. Fear arose within her anew.

  He had to go.

  As soon as possible.

  Chapter Four

  Jeanne stood by the bedside and smoothed David’s forelock back. The strands, fine and silken, slid against her fingers, the color so black it shone with bluish lights in the morning sunshine from the window.

  What the devil was she doing? She was supposed to be testing his temperature. She laid her hand upon his brow. A little too warm but not scorching.

  He had to go back to his life today. A whole day had passed since the night he had…they had…heat flashed through her body at the memory, wetness seeping from her core. Desire. She had no wish to re-ignite it by putting a name to what had occurred.

  The incident.

  That’s how she ought to refer to it. If she needed to refer to it at all.

  It wasn’t important. The important matter was getting David well enough so he could leave. But David had slept, still and without moving, for a whole day and night since the incident. Then this morning, there had been the awkward and strangely embarrassing necessity to help him with the chamber pot. She’d assisted Papa with such matters so often it had become simply a routine.

  David wasn’t Papa. She didn’t owe him a thing.

  David needed to leave.

  “Intimacy.” She said the word aloud. It tasted foreign on her tongue but it sounded so harmless. The consonants and vowels gave no hint of its dangers.

  After David had emptied his bladder, he’d fallen back into the bed and into slumber. Surely he couldn’t sleep much more? What could she do to hasten his departure once he did awaken?

  A bath and a shave. Yes, a gentleman wouldn’t wish to be seen, even by his coachman, looking like a castaway from some remote island. But Papa’s shaving items were gone, stolen from him at the asylum…along with the last of his dignity. A sudden pain stabbed her chest. She inhaled sharply, trying to ease it. Oh goodness, she’d simply send Wat, the neighbor’s son, for some shaving items. And some beef and ale, something sustaining to feed David. And fresh fruit, whatever was available. He was so weak, he needed to be built up again—

  The softness centering in her chest halted her train of thought. She shook herself with ruthless vigor.

  No, don’t feel about this. It is just a practical matter. Just do whatever is needed to be done to send the stranger on his way.

  Her life shouldn’t be this complicated. And it wouldn’t be any longer, as soon as David was gone.

  Walter returned with the shopping and Jeanne set beef stew to cook. She swept the garret from corner to corner. Read a novella. Ate beef stew with ale. And still David slept.

  She then tried to write but to no avail. Now it was evening. With eyes strained from staring at a blank page, she watched the little white flakes flutter-dance in the light from a street lamp. Her tired gaze grew bleary. She shivered and hugged her shoulders. There was nothing left to do but crawl into bed and forget another day of failure.

  Jeanne undid her wrapper and lifted the coverlet. David’s scent wafted up to her, familiar, beguiling. She slid between the sheets, and warmth from David’s body welcomed her, surrounded her, and melted away the tension in her muscles. She sank into her pillow and closed her eyes. A sort of bliss spread in her chest and her belly, into her limbs, making them heavy, so heavy. Silvery white softness, like fluffy clouds, enveloped her mind, the gentlest embrace of slumber.

  “Thérèse.”

  Awareness crept in.

  Don’t think. Don’t spoil it.

  She was on her side, facing away from him. His hands gripped her hips. The firm ridge of his erection pressed into her buttocks. She arched back, pressing him. But she wanted to see it. To hold its velvety steel firmness in her hand, to stroke him and feel every pulsation. She was naughty like that, yes. Men didn’t really mind her proclivities—why should she feel ashamed? Bernard had even once allowed her to bring him to crisis with her hand and to watch.

  Her gentleman would be gone soon enough. This very morning from the feel of things. Once more wasn’t going to hurt.

  Surely not.

  Her heart raced with jagged, thrilling little beats. Her mouth went dry. Delicious anticipation. She turned to face him. His eyes were closed but his patrician features were sharpened with lust.

  “David?”

  “Thérèse.” He touched her shoulders and pressed her down. “Suck me.”

  Lord, the commanding, utterly entitled way he’d said that. No man had ever spoken to her in that manner. No, they had all used persuasion, compliments and ready coin to sweeten matters. She should tell Mr. High-and-Mighty to go frig himself then jump from this bed and leave him to his own devices. However, devilish arousal beating in her nub, a second heartbeat, held her in thrall. She grasped his erection. Heavens, he had seemed rather large earlier but now, from this angle, he appeared huge.

  He rolled on his back.

  She took a moment to let her gaze sweep his nakedness. Men’s bodies were all such works of beauty, crafted by the Creator for a woman’s pleasure. But this man’s hard-muscled yet lean frame exceeded even her most wicked dreams of masculine perfection.

  She moved down, settling between his powerful legs, feeling the tickle of the dark hairs upon her bare arms. She grasped his shaft and squeezed him. Copious amounts of fluid leaked from the head. She moaned and swallowed, holding back from the moment that would delight them both to draw their pleasure out.

  Wetness seemed to gush between her legs, slicking over her folds. The luscious sensation aroused her further. She bent and touched the tip of her tongue to the creamy fluid that glistened on the head of his cock.

  Saltiness and the tang of seed exploded on her senses. The earthy scent of man.

  She wanted more. She wanted all of him. Wanted to swallow him whole and to feel his huge cock straining against the limits of her throat.

  Her cunt tingled as though it were on fire. She licked him clean and then, unable to wait any longer, sucked him into her mouth in one slick, swift glide. She turned her head to the left and then to the right, letting the head of his cock slide around every inch of her mouth. She reached and cupped his cods, softly, savoring the feel of their cushioned, jellylike texture. Relishing the trust he placed in her to allow such intimacy.

  He touched her hair and tightened his grip until he held her head so firmly, she couldn’t move and then he thrust. All the way in, sliding into her throat so fast, it was all she could do to swallow and not gag. No man had ever done anything so presumptuous whilst a guest in her mouth. God, it was thrilling. Her cunt clenched so hard, she didn’t know if she’d had a tiny climax or not. She needed to take a deep breath but he was thrusting again.

  Harder, faster. His cock began to quake against her tongue. Her heart thudded. She held her breath. All her internal muscles went painfully taut.

  She had to…she had to…oh, dear God…

  She slid her hand down to her nub and rubbed as hard and fast as she could. The first hot jet of his seed into her throat, his ragged groan, sent her spasming into a maelstrom of pleasure. She continued swallowing only out of sheer instinct.

  She lay with her cheek against his hard abdomen, vaguely aware of his hand slowly caressing her hair. Every part of her hummed, as though singing with joy. This must be what a shooting star felt like. Sent down from the heavens to explode into a million pieces and reform upon landing. Or something like that. She laughed at her silly, disjointed thoughts.

  “Jeannie”

  She started and jolted to a seated position, so fast that her head spun.<
br />
  He stared at her with complete lucidness. “Jeannie, darling.”

  Sudden shyness swept over her and she darted under the coverlet and rolled away from him.

  The covers lifted with a whoosh. David gave her shift tug. “Take this off.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “That’s not really necessary, is it?”

  Nervousness energized her. Made her leap from the bed.

  “Jeanne, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  A slow grin spread over his face. “Then why are you running from me?”

  “I must start my day, I have my work.”

  “Remove the shift.” There was a definite edge of command to his words.

  Heat blossomed in her lower belly, a tugging sensation that made her want to obey. Her heartbeat pulsed with alarm. He had too much sway over her.

  “Go on, remove it. Show me yourself.”

  As though she had become possessed, she watched herself lean down and reach for the hem.

  “Wait.”

  With her hands on her hem, she froze.

  “Light a candle.”

  She straightened herself.

  “Jeanne, what’s wrong now?”

  “It is just that…” Her voice caught and she cleared her throat. “I have never really been naked, I mean not wholly naked, in front of anyone.”

  “You’ve known men?”

  “Yes.”

  “And they didn’t demand to see you unclothed?”

  “No, not completely.”

  He stared at her for a moment and then he laughed, the sound deep, rumbling, wholly carnal. It sent renewed heat slamming into her loins.

  He stopped laughing. “Were they all Puritan tradesmen? Giving into their lusts whilst scurrying to complete the deed as quickly as possible, as though that would somehow mitigate the sin?”

  At his very apt description of Dr. Edmonton, she couldn’t help a smile. “Yes, mostly.”

  “Jeanne, how did we meet?”

  “You approached me in a coffee shop.”

  “Did I?” He sounded amused. “I don’t remember it. I suppose I must have been quite foxed.”