Eliza Lloyd (6 page)

During the past eight years, he had spent many an evening
alone with his cock and dreams of Lucy Aversham underneath him. Did that make
him desperate? No. Only a man in love with a woman who seemed unattainable.

He had stepped closer to her without realizing it. Would
taking her in his arms make it better? Could she see the real John Allen if he
kissed her now, in the daylight, without a mask?

“I cannot keep you here,” she said.

John knew the words would come eventually, but that didn’t
prepare him for the pain. No matter his distance from her, his love would not
diminish, but he had to accept that her two nights of intimacies with him was
nothing compared to the eight years he had spent hoping.

He forced a smile and tried to say something reassuring and
pleasantly agreeable but he could not. He wanted to say that he loved her, but
those feelings would be much more than should be said, since he was the only
one who felt such a strong connection.

“But I cannot send you away.”

He took one step toward her. She rushed into his arms,
wrapping her them tightly about his neck. “I must be mad.”

He cupped his hands about her face and kissed her with a
sweet passion that hopefully conveyed all of his feelings. If bedding her was
the only thing he could do to make her happy, he would oblige.

Maybe tonight he would have one last night to convince her
that he could be good for her. That he would love her forever.

She was definitely mad.

She had a lover.

Lucy Aversham, Duchess of Wallingford, had a lover who was
her son’s valet. She laughed lightly and then turned into his chest to smother
her giggles.

“Do I make you laugh now that you can see me in the light of
day?”

Instead of taking time to make a rational decision, they had
fallen into each other’s arms, touching and kissing and whispering as
long-acquainted lovers might. Then separately made their way to her room.
Having his body inside hers was no way to assess her choices. His cock tended
to blind her to the looming reality of what to do with the man.

John locked the doors and then approached her, working at
his simple cravat and flinging it aside. He slid his hands over her hips and
drew her near.

“Dearest Lucy,” he said, then kissed her nose, her cheeks
and finally her lips. “You have made me the happiest of men.”

She didn’t know what to say. Did one take a lover thinking
it would last? Or was this an interlude before she moved on?

“You have only followed your heart, Lucy. Don’t think beyond
today.”

“I don’t want to ruin this moment, but it all seems so
strange,” she said.

She felt his hands slip the buttons at the back of her
dress. Breathless anxiety filled her stomach and ached at the back of her
throat. The man in her bed was no longer a stranger. She had seen John Allen
nearly every day of her married life yet she knew nothing about him except how
he made her feel when he touched her.

How had she not felt his heat, his nature in all those years
before?

“No one will know unless you wish it. I will come to you
only when you need me,” he said. In between his words, he pressed light kisses
against her neck before he peeled back the sleeves of her dress.

“I will make you happy here—in this room, in this bed.”

“John,” she said. Her head lolled back as he kissed down her
neck and over the tops of her breasts. “You make me so wet.”

He grinned, apparently liking the sound of her words, as
strange and foreign as they were to admit to a servant.

“Then let us not waste a moment.” He stepped with her,
walking her backwards toward the bed. When her knees hit the back of the
mattress, she tumbled back while John shed his coat and shirt. His searing gaze
tore through her. Seeing him in the full light of day made it seem as if he
were yet another lover, not the mysterious man from Madame Dupuis’ but a new
man. One who would be her every night lover.

Until he peeled back the placket of his trousers.

His cock she recognized.

She pushed up, bracing her hands against the bed while she
stared. “May I?” she asked.

John tilted his head to the side in mute acknowledgement.

Lucy touched him with her fingertips and then stroked
lightly downward. His only reaction was a deep, inward breath. His eyes closed
for a moment.

He was hot and the stretched skin seemed tightly wrapped,
making his erection feel hard. So hard. She leaned forward and pressed her lips
to the ruby-tipped head. He gasped, his eyes going wide and his mouth forming
an O as he expelled air.

“I think I’m not ready for that yet,” he said.

She used her tongue and swiped slowly, caressing only the
flanged edge. His fingers slid through her hair and with a determined tug, he
kept her still then forced her onto the bed.

He braced his knees beside her, hoisted her skirts and
removed her undergarments. His knee fitted between her legs and he spread her.
He pressed his body to hers, his cock between them. His erection felt like a
long piece of hardwood pressed to her.

“What can I do for you?” she asked.

“You are doing it.”

“Will you think less of me if I tell you all I can think
about his having you inside me?”

“Then we are in accord.”

He leaned slightly and gripped his manhood, rubbing the tip
between the wet folds of her legs and gently testing the tightness of her
sheath. She felt her eyes flutter shut as he used the blunt end to circle the
nub that was the source of such exquisite anguish.

Then he was pushing into her. The sweet fullness caused Lucy
to forget her worries about discovery. Why could she not enjoy mutual pleasure
with a man such as John?

And then she had the most amazing thought. John was doing
this because of how he felt about her. He had risked all, including his very
respectable and well-paying position to expose himself to her. He could have,
may very well have, bedded any number of grand dames, even her friends.

But he had waited eight years for her.

At last, his erection filled her. She remembered the nudge
high in her sensitive womb that confirmed he was fully embedded.

“John? Tell me. How many women have you been with during the
last eight years?”

“Would you believe me if I told you not a single one?”

She slid her fingers into his hair and stared up into his
face—so serene and kind and trustworthy—she thought. “Truly?”

“Truly. I had my fill of women I didn’t want. I thought that
it was my duty to wait for the one woman that I did want. It wasn’t always easy
but I didn’t want that life anymore.”

“Even if I never wanted you?”

“Even if,” he said. He smiled sweetly.

It was then she noticed that his hips were thrusting in slow
movements—in and out—and the buildup of pleasure sent sharp tingles and warm
delirium through her body.

He tugged at her bodice and lifted one breast free before he
began sucking.

How was it possible to know nothing about a person and yet
know that person might be…?

She could not think such thoughts. Not when she had a son to
raise.

No. It was better to live for today. Let each of their
nights together be their last and enjoy it accordingly.

She determinedly forgot those things that bothered her about
such an illicit assignation. It was surprisingly easy to do with John over her
and inside her, gently carrying her along as if her pleasure was all that
mattered to him.

“I can do so many things to you, Lucy. Things that will make
you weep. Things that will make you scream. Or I can worship you and your body
with slow care until you beg me for more.”

Lucy squirmed in his arms, feeling the uncomfortable
tightness in her back. She arched into him, searching for relief, already
wanting to beg. One hand gripped her bottom and lifted her as he pushed hard
and deep. The fabric of his trousers rubbed against her thighs.

She clenched her eyes tight while the gentle euphoria
spread, taking her to a new existence. She squeezed against his cock, trying to
hold on to the feeling and it lasted…

But not long enough.

She came crashing back to reality as her sheath contracted.
John was kissing her face and neck, murmuring loving words that she had never heard
in all of her marriage.

When she could breathe normally, he rolled from her. She
opened her eyes and watched as his hand gripped his erection and began a slow
stroke up and down the impressive length.

She rolled to her side and watched, both fascinated and
curious. “Why?” she asked.

“I cannot give you children, Lucy.”

Of course not. Once again, she had not fully thought out the
consequences. Rather than spoil the moment with her sudden doubts, she cupped
his testes where they were strained and bunched against his unmentionables. He
gasped even though she had only touched him lightly.

As he stroked, his breathing became erratic and his chest
heaved. She wasn’t sure if her touch had any effect until he said, “Don’t stop.
I’ve never been touched so—”

He gasped in the midst of his statement. Lucy stared as a
milky stream roped across his stomach and drizzled over their fingers.

No, she had not counted the cost. In the end John couldn’t
have full freedom when they bedded each other.

It was romantic to consider that they would have such bliss
each night they spent together but they must consider the days too.

So she tried to be serious. What little thought she had was
her own selfish nature asserting itself.

“We could never marry.”

“In the eyes of God or because you could never marry a man
like me?” He reached for his shirt and wiped at the mess on his stomach before
he rearranged himself and buttoned his breeches. He remained sanguine,
accepting.

“Don’t place me in such an awkward position. I am a
duchess.”

“You haven’t always been.”

“I have a son to raise. A duke. A peer of the realm.”

“So you are to remain alone and unhappy while you perform
your sacred duty?”

“I am not unhappy.” It felt like their first argument. It
felt like he knew her intimately, that he knew she had been unhappy with
Thomas.

“When were you not unhappy? While you were married to the
duke? Now? Now that you’ve known sexual fulfillment and you plan to deny
yourself that pleasure for the rest of your life? Yes. You seem very happy to
me.”

“How dare you. You don’t know me.”

“Don’t I? Lucy, I’ve known everything there is to know about
you.” He rolled toward her, reaching for her hand and holding it over his
heart. “What you don’t know is what is in my heart. What I feel for you. If you
thought I did not love you, I would leave this moment. I saw every hurt you
experienced and I felt it with you. When your mother died. When Vincent was
ill. Even when the duke died. I was there. So when I speak boldly, it is
because I think you understand what it is that I say.”

“John, what if in the end, I don’t love you? What if this is
all we ever have?”
This
was considerable—a cock that had her crying,
arms that made her feel safe and yes, loved. Was a man who had waited eight
years for her not worth the risk? Shouldn’t she give that a chance?

“Then we should consider every night together is our last
night and we should enjoy it accordingly.”

She had had the same thought.

“So we can be just lovers?” Lovers! She had never seriously
thought of taking a lover. He kissed her forehead and she felt a gentle well of
laughter. She was going to take a lover—and a magnificent one at that.

“As long as you wish. Forever or a day.”

* * * * *

When the Duke of Wallingford turned ten, his mother was in a
panic because she thought, mistakenly, that she was pregnant with her lover’s
child. That false alarm prompted a decision to holiday in Scotland. While the
duke was hunting with Mr. Darrow, his mother eloped to Paxington Toll rather
than Gretna Green and married secretly.

The weight of their impetuous decision fell heavily upon
them as they thought of the consequences.

“I am going to hate sneaking into your bedroom at night. Is
it such a ghastly thing to let the world know you are married to me?” John
asked.

“Am I horrible and selfish?” she asked, throwing her head
into the pillow in a pout.

“Somewhat, but then, I don’t know a duchess who isn’t.”

“I’m not a duchess anymore.”

“Sad. Just a plain old missus.” He lay beside her with his
head propped in his hand. With one finger he stroked along her skin, touching
anything that looked interesting.

She groaned. “Mrs. Allen.”

“You’ve given up so much,” he teased.

“But I do love you.”

“You used that trick on me over two years ago. You’ll have
to think of something more sincere to earn my forgiveness.”

“I love you forever and ever, cross my heart.”

“That’s better. I can forgive you now for not announcing it
to the world that you are my wife. But we will have to someday,” he added with
solemn veracity. He wasn’t sure when she would be ready for such an event but
wondered, foolishly perhaps, why he could not do something to change that.

“But when? I’ve barely gotten over the shock. What is the
ton
going to say?”

“They are going to say that she must have been sleeping with
him before the duke died.”

She slapped at his hand. “That is a ghastly thing to say.”

He laughed. “You know the
ton
. They must have their
amusements.”

“Will they not think I married you for love?”

“Since most of them haven’t seen my cock, I would say that’s
a fair assumption.”

“You don’t deserve to be my husband.” She smiled in spite of
her words. He leaned in to kiss her.

“You are right about that. Now, Mrs. Allen, do we not have
one last night together?”

“An eternity of them, I hope.”

They enjoyed a slow, sensual evening of loving. John was
relieved to know that Lucy was finally his but he could not have their secret
become public. He had held scant hope that they would ever marry and now that
the deed was done, he was having doubts about the sensibility of it. No one
would condemn her for taking a lover. Yes, they would gossip. However, she
would be ostracized for marrying so beneath her station.

John had also grown attached to Vincent who, in a few years,
would notice that his mother loved someone besides her son. He would then understand
their association was sexual.

And John, the bastard son of unknown origin, should not be
the one to take her title or cause her embarrassment if the truth of his
heritage became public.

Her wit, halfhearted but real, as it pertained to her title
was not easy to mistake. She loved him, but this was England and a title was
vitally important to a noblewoman’s future. He would not have her live in
obscurity.

They could not immigrate to America—their future was here,
as was Vincent’s.

John’s wealth was modest by any means but he had enough to
protect her.

That is why he would privately engage Alice Dupuis.

“Lucy, do you trust me?”

“I know all of your secrets and now that you are mine, I can
confidently say that I do. I am sorry I made you wait so long.” When she smiled
at him, it was enough to make him believe in miracles, but her loving gaze made
him believe the impossible. Maybe that is why he had been able to wait eight
years for her to notice him and three more before agreeing to be his wife.