At the Duke’s Pleasure (29 page)

Early morning light flooded the bedroom, Claire’s eyes flying open with a sudden snap. But it wasn’t the sun that brought her awake. Instead, it was the fierce need assailing her body and the passionate, burning slide of Edward’s touch.

Shifting restlessly against the tangled sheets, she moaned, desire riding her with an ache that was utterly impossible to ignore or control. Which was precisely how Edward wished it, she was sure, his hands and mouth moving over her body with a merciless demand.

And yet the sensations were sweet, nearly too sweet, making her crave him with a hunger that ought to have shocked her but didn’t. He turned her brazen, her body warm and ripe for his possession, a claiming she wanted more than her next breath.

Needing to touch him, she reached out and slid her palms over his naked body. His muscles rippled beneath her gliding stroke, conveying his pleasure without the need for words. Leaning up, he caught the back of her head in his palm and dragged her to him for a searing, openmouthed kiss. She matched him, returning his embrace with all the eagerness she possessed. Easing a hand between their bodies, she trailed her fingers across his powerful chest, over his sleek, hard stomach to his hip and muscled thigh.

He tangled his tongue with hers, reaching down to palm her breasts and finesse the tender peaks with a skill that drove her wild. She quivered, her fingers inadvertently brushing against his erection. His shaft jerked, a hoarse moan rumbling in his throat.

In her inexperience, she almost drew back, but curiosity prevailed, persuading her to continue. As did Edward, whose hips arched forward in obvious hunger and anticipation.

Wrapping her fingers around his length, she felt him shudder, then again as she began to explore with breathless wonder. He pulsed warmly inside her grasp, thick and hard yet velvety soft. After a first few tentative touches, he covered her hand with his own and guided her fingers over his erection with patience, as he showed her exactly how he liked to be touched.

Learning quickly, she soon had him quaking beneath her strokes, pleasuring him from root to tip. She paused and rubbed her thumb over a bead of moisture she found gathered there, aware of an answering ache that throbbed wet and willing between her legs.

Abruptly, as if he couldn’t bear another instant, he rolled her onto her back and parted her legs. In one swift thrust, he was inside, burying himself as deep as he could go.

Or so she thought until he began to move, his heavy penetration making her gasp, as blinding pleasure shot straight through to her core. Arching, she took more of him, yielding fully to his intimate possession. Her inner muscles clung to his every stroke, blood beating violently in her temples and behind her closed eyelids.

Clinging, she pressed her cheek against his neck, her fingers buried in his hair, as she writhed beneath him. Each stroke was better than the last, each thrust like the beat of a second heart hammering frantically in her loins. Need poured through her, hot and insatiable, demanding to be appeased. He kissed her then, wicked and wet, raw with sensuality and unleashed passion.

Consumed, she couldn’t think, fully abandoned to the beauty of his touch. The world tipped off its axis, her senses spinning as he slid his wide palms beneath her bottom and angled her higher. She took him then, all of him, rapture breaking over her with a keening wail as she reached her peak. Holding tight, she absorbed the wonder and bliss of every divine sensation.

He claimed his own release seconds after, pouring himself inside her as he came on a rough, ragged shout.

Cradling him near, she let herself drift, cast away on a sea of pure heaven. Kissing his shoulder, she stroked his damp hair, giddy and glad and pleasurably weary all over again.

Lifting his head, he met her gaze. “Good morning.”

She smiled. “Good morning.”

“I must be crushing you.”

“No,” she rushed to deny. “I like you crushing me.”

“Well, I don’t.” Bracing himself on his forearms, he began to move away.

Tightening her legs, she held on. “Don’t go,” she whispered. “Not yet.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured. “Just a change of perspective.” Clasping her close, he rolled them over so that she lay on top, their bodies still connected. “Good?”

Contented, she snuggled nearer. “Very good.”

He caressed the back of her thigh with one broad palm in a slow, sweeping glide. “Hungry?”

“No.”

“Tired?”

“A little,” she admitted, covering a sudden yawn with her hand.

He laughed, the movement jostling him inside her.

She gasped, then gasped again when she felt his arousal reawaken, swelling to noticeable proportions.

“Do you want to rest?” he asked, his hands moving in leisurely passes. “Feel at your leave to fall asleep on me again.”

Again?
Only then did she remember the night just past. “Heavens, I did, didn’t I?” Heat rose into her cheeks.

Another laugh rumbled from his chest. “Yes, much to my chagrin. A man of lesser self-esteem might have taken affront.”

She stroked a palm over his unshaven cheek, his whiskers scratchy against her skin. “There’s nothing lesser about you, not your self-esteem or your…your…” His shaft swelled more, stiffening fully. “Oh God, Edward. Oh, that feels so good.”

Shimmying against him, she drew an answering moan. “It certainly does,” he said.

Leaning up, he claimed her mouth, his movements forcing him deeper. “So, what’s it to be?” he asked, breath panting from between his lips. “Sleep or me?”

“You,” she sighed, accepting his first powerful thrust. “Definitely you.”

O
ver the next five days, Claire and Edward rarely left the bedroom—sleeping, eating, and making love to the exclusion of all else.

Claire laughingly told him on the third day of their honeymoon that she didn’t really even know what the rest of the house looked like, let alone the estate. Edward said he’d take her on a tour, but somehow they never seemed to find the time.

Most days they didn’t even get dressed, slipping on dressing gowns for modesty’s sake when the servants brought them a meal or carried in a great copper tub and hot water for a bath—which they enjoyed taking together. Otherwise, she and Edward lay in bed naked, the days drifting past in a lazy haze that made her feel as though time were standing still.

Now, on the morning of the sixth day, she awakened to the sound of servants’ footsteps hurrying throughout the house. Opening her eyes, she realized that Edward wasn’t next to her.

Instead, she found him across the room, attired in neatly pressed tobacco brown trousers, a pristine white shirt and a cream waistcoat. Standing before a large mirror, he tied a final knot in the cravat at his neck. Next, he reached for a dark green coat hanging in the wardrobe and slipped his arms into the snug-fitting garment. Despite his lack of a valet, he looked as dashing and urbane as ever by the time he turned her way.

“Claire,” he said, catching her watching. “You’re awake.”

“I am.” Sitting up, she pulled the sheet over herself for the first time in days. “Are you going somewhere?”

A brief silence descended. “London. We’re going back to Clybourne House. As much as I’d like to stay here indefinitely, duty demands that we return.”

Duty.

Of course. Edward never neglected those things that must be done, even at the expense of his own pleasure. But he was right, she supposed; they couldn’t stay here forever as much as she might wish otherwise. Still, he might have told her before now.

Rather than argue, she swung out of bed and crossed to take up her discarded dressing gown. “I’ll get ready.”

“I’ll send in the maid.”

Nodding, she turned away so he couldn’t see the sudden distress she knew must be visible on her face. She waited, assuming he would leave in a moment.

Instead, he walked up behind her. Laying his hands on her shoulders, he swung her gently around. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” She fixed her gaze on his cravat.

Tucking a finger beneath her chin, he urged her to meet his gaze. “I would have told you sooner, Claire, but I didn’t want to spoil our last night here. We’ve had a lovely time.”

“We have.” One of the most beautiful times of her life.

“But we must leave.”

“Of course,” she agreed. “I just assumed we’d have a few days longer, but it’s of no matter.”

Catching her around the waist, he drew her close. “We’ll have a proper honeymoon later, I promise. Two or three months, at least, wherever you’d like. Scotland, maybe? Or Wales? I have lovely estates in both places. Or the Continent. Assuming the seas aren’t too dangerous, we could take in Italy or even Greece. Would you like that?”

She nodded, a faint smile curving her mouth. “I suppose you have villas there as well? Is there anywhere you don’t have property?”

A grin shot across his face. “France, I believe, and the Americas. My father lost our holdings there during that confounded revolution of theirs. Upstart Yanks. As for the Frogs, my opinion is better left unsaid.”

A laugh escaped, her smile growing wider.

Smiling in return, he cupped her cheek in his palm. “All will be well, Claire. You’ll see. Nothing that matters between us will change once we’re back in Town.”

Closing her eyes, she leaned into his embrace and prayed he was right. Prayed she could hold on to him once their normal routine resumed and the real world and all its difficulties interfered again.

His lips met hers, tender and infinitely sweet, his gentle kiss easing the tension from her limbs, dissolving the jittery pressure trapped like bubbles beneath her ribs. Deepening their kiss, she wrapped her arms around his back and gave herself over to the sizzling pleasure. His mouth slanted over hers, passion blazing higher and hotter.

Suddenly, and with clear reluctance, he tore himself away. “I’d better go while I still have the strength,” he said on a husky tone. “Now get dressed, madam, before I change my mind and tumble you down onto the bed again.”

“You may tumble me whenever you like, Your Grace,” she murmured.

His eyes sparkled with a wicked light she’d come to know well over the past few days. “Be careful what you promise, dear girl.” As if he couldn’t help himself, he gave a half groan and bent to claim one last ravenous, soul-stealing kiss.

Then he let her go.

“I’ll send the maid to attend you,” he said. “Breakfast will be sent up as well. When you’re ready, we’ll be off.”

Curling a hand against her pounding heart, she nodded and watched him stride from the room.

“Welcome home, Your Graces,” Croft said later that afternoon, as Claire and Edward entered the town house. “On behalf of the staff,” the butler continued, wearing the widest smile Claire had ever seen on his unflappable face, “I would like to extend our heartfelt good wishes on your marriage. Everyone is truly delighted by the happy news and looking forward to being of service in whatever way either of you may require.”

Edward inclined his head. “Thank you, Croft. The duchess and I are most touched by your warm regards on this special occasion. Please convey our deep appreciation to the staff.”

It took Claire a few seconds to realize that she was the “duchess” to which Edward had referred. Despite having been raised with the prospect of one day becoming the Duchess of Clybourne, she’d long since convinced herself she would never assume that particular title.

And yet here she was, Edward’s wife. Edward’s duchess.

Heavens
.

Recovering quickly, she smiled at Croft. “Yes. You are all so wonderfully kind and keep the house running as smoothly as one of Mr. Perigal’s best timepieces. I know I shall be in excellent hands and scarcely have need of managing the household.”

Croft’s smile deepened, his wizened eyes taking on a gleam. “Thank you, Your Grace. And please excuse me for not saying so immediately, but the family is waiting for you in the upstairs drawing room.”

By “family,” Claire assumed Croft meant Mallory, Drake, and Cousin Wilhelmina, but after preceding Edward up the stairs and down the long corridor, she quickly discovered her error.

“Ned!” exclaimed a tall, stalwart gentleman with forest green eyes. One of Edward’s brothers, she assumed, noticing the strong resemblance between the two men. “It’s about time you arrived,” he went on. “We had your note and thought perhaps you had run into some sort of delay.”

“Told you they’d be along at their leisure,” remarked another man, equally tall, handsome and unmistakably a Byron. “And why should they not when they’ve just come from their honeymoon bed?” He flashed a devilish grin and wagged his eyebrows, earning a nudge from the comely, statuesque redhead at his side.

“Jack,” she admonished in a quiet voice. “Behave yourself.”

“I could,” he drawled, “but only think how dull things would be if I did?”

Her lips twitched as though she were trying not to be amused, while Jack chuckled, clearly unabashed.

“If my brother is done making his usual outrageous remarks, allow me to introduce myself,” said the first man. “I’m Cade and this is my wife, Meg.” He laid an obviously proud and possessive hand on the shoulder of the beautiful blond woman seated in a chair before him.

Claire returned their smiles, then exchanged introductions with Lord Jack and his wife, Grace.

As she’d assumed, Drake, Mallory, and Cousin Wilhelmina were there as well. Mallory rushed across to give her an exuberant hug, while Drake bussed her on the cheek and Cousin Wilhelmina fluttered a handkerchief in the air. Apparently, the sentimental lady cried even at the notion of weddings and honeymoons.

Next she met Edward’s twelve-year-old sister, Esme, a bright-eyed girl, who had a pad of paper in her small hand and a smudge of what looked to be drawing ink on her right cheek. She piped out happy words of welcome and congratulations. And then there was Edward’s mother, Ava Byron, who looked every inch as regal and lovely as Claire recalled.

Claire had been younger than Esme on the one and only occasion when they’d met—at least the only one Claire recalled, that is. Even now Claire remembered the duchess’s gentle smile and the kind words she’d murmured the day she’d visited the Marsden nursery when Claire was ten.

Approaching her now, Claire saw that the dowager duchess’s eyes were their same clear, luminous green, her hair still brown with only a few strands of silver to show the intervening years. As for her smile, it was every bit as warm, gentle and inviting as Claire recalled. With their reintroduction at hand, Claire had to admit she was mildly concerned over the thought of meeting Edward’s mother again after all these years.

What if the dowager didn’t like her, now that she was grown?

What if Ava Byron had heard, and disapproved, of all the gossip surrounding Claire, and was sorry Claire had married her son?

But I did, so there’s nothing for it now
, Claire told herself, smiling as she sank into a respectful curtsey.

“How do you do, Your Grace?” Claire said.

“I am very well, thank you. And aren’t you lovely. Even prettier than I remember you being as a child.”

So the dowager duchess remembered her visit as well. The thought warmed Claire.

“I trust you had a good journey on your drive down from Oxfordshire today?”

“We did. Thank you for inquiring.”

“Good. I am glad to hear it.” Ava walked forward, stopped and turned her gaze on Edward. “Perhaps, then, you’d like to explain just what pair of you were thinking, running off to get married, as though you had eloped? There I am, visiting with Jack and Grace and baby Nicola, when a messenger rides up with a note informing us that you have gotten married. The very next day, I received another letter, several pages long, I might add, from Claire’s parents demanding an explanation. Naturally, I could give them none.”

“Now, Mama—” Edward began.

“Don’t ‘Mama’ me,” interrupted the dowager. “Given your behavior, one might think you had reason not to wait to have a traditional wedding in a church with guests in attendance.”

“We
were
married in a church,” Edward clarified in a calm tone of explanation.

Ava cut him off with a slash of her hand. “Pish-tosh. I don’t care if it was in a cathedral, since none of your loved ones were with you. Just tell me the two of you weren’t…” Pausing, she cast a glance toward Esme, who had found her way into a chair some feet away and sat drawing. Ava lowered her voice. “Just assure me the pair of you did not
have
to wed.”

Claire’s lips parted, color flooding into her cheeks at the duchess’s implication. Edward, on the other hand, tossed back his head and laughed.

“You may put your mind at ease, Mama,” he said, recovering enough to speak. Reaching out, he wrapped an arm around Claire’s waist and tugged her against his side. “Claire and I didn’t have to marry, we wanted to marry. And don’t blame her in any way. The whole affair was my idea, and once I’d made up my mind, there was no stopping me. Is that not so, dear?”

Claire met Edward’s gaze. “Yes. He’s most obstinate. Some might even say pigheaded, if it weren’t so impolite.”

Laughter rippled around the room. Edward’s smile widened with a lack of repentance that put her in mind of his younger brother Lord Jack.

“She’s obviously got our Ned figured out,” quipped that same gentleman. “And has him wrapped around her little finger, if I don’t miss my guess.”

On that second point, Claire knew, Lord Jack was mistaken. Could he not see that she was the one all wrapped up and not the other way around?

Playing into his brother’s remark, Edward continued, “That’s right. Once I got her to say yes, I wasn’t wasting another minute until I put my ring on her finger.”

Ava’s delicate brows furrowed. “But I thought she had already said yes? You’ve been engaged for months.”

“I meant yes to not waiting,” Edward said, making a swift recovery. “And you’re right, it has been months and we didn’t want to wait another year, just so we could invite half the Ton to the ceremony.”

“You might have waited long enough at least to invite your family members,” the dowager said. “The countess is quite put out. Apparently she had plans for a grand round of parties in the neighborhood that must now be canceled.”

Poor Mama
, Claire thought. Then again, just think how distressed her mother would have been had Claire’s plan succeeded and Edward had jilted, rather than married, her. The thought swept away a large measure of her guilt. She was sorry, though, about her sisters not being bridesmaids. They must be mortally disappointed. She would have to think up some way of making recompense. New bonnets perhaps? And maybe a smart London frock or two. That ought to work wonders.

“As I’ve already told Claire,” Edward said, “I’m perfectly amenable to having another ceremony at Braebourne, but that shall be entirely up to her. We shall do as she wishes.”

Ava gazed between Claire and Edward for a long moment, then she smiled. “Well, of course we shall. Claire is the Duchess of Clybourne and her word is gold. Now come kiss me, both of you. And no more ‘Your Graces,’ Claire. You are to call me Mama from this time forward.”

Claire found herself enveloped, first by the dowager, and then by all the others in turn. By the time the hugs and congratulations were done, she was breathless and wreathed in smiles.

Just then a resounding, distinctly canine bark sounded from the hallway. Paws drummed over the hall runner before a large black-and-white spotted dog darted into the room at a near gallop.

The animal’s whip-thin tail was on full wag, his pink tongue lolling out of his mouth with keen excitement. He barked again, as his sherry brown eyes locked on Edward, his joy uncontained. Bounding forward, he seemed ready to leap on his master and smother him with dog kisses.