What the Duke Wants (29 page)

Now, she was dressed plainly in anticipation of attending the Theatre Royal. They planned to forgo his box, and to continue their charade, were dressed as commoners. Their carriage slowed as it made its way to Russell Street (only a peer could enter via the main entrance on Catherine).

“Ready?” he asked.

“Definitely.”

* * * *

Inside the theater, they took their seats on a bench at the back of the ground floor viewing area. Grace’s eyes were wide with wonder as she took in the gas-lit chandeliers and three floors of box seats filled with members of the ton—watching and being seen. Her fingers gripped the bench beneath her; she fairly hummed with excitement.

Stonebridge had been here many times before, though never from this vantage point. Regardless, all he could do was watch her as she took in everything around her. He was content to simply see her eyes alight with delight at all she saw. She was marvelous, witty, and kind, and he had enjoyed every minute of their day together. He was smitten. And in trouble. But he refused to consider that their time together was almost at an end. The night wasn’t over, yet.

The gaslights dimmed in signal for the play to begin, all but wreathing them in total darkness. The cacophony of sounds from the crowd dulled to a low murmur as the players took to the boards. The orchestra ceased tuning their instruments. Occasionally, the quiet was punctuated by shuffling feet as people sought vacant seats.

The intimacy of their situation became palpable despite the crowd—or perhaps because of it. They were forced close together now, to make room for others on the narrow benches, forced to touch. To feel.

Before long, the sounds of
The Tempest
portrayed with such feeling on stage added an element of passion to the air. They were sitting so close, such that every movement, no matter how small, was felt acutely by the other. The brush of her arm became a caress. Her whispered comment became a kiss. By intermission, his blood burned in his veins.

His cock hardened painfully in his breeches as her leg pressed snugly alongside his. He shifted to try to lessen his discomfort, to no avail. Every move she made became another touch of seduction. He could no longer stand it. He gripped her hand, and leaned across to whisper in her ear.

“Grace, this is too much. I’m very nearly unmanned here.”

He pulled back to look in her eyes. Despite the dimness of their surroundings, he could see her eyes were as dark and as filled with passion as his. She, too, had noticed the charge in the air.

“Ambrose…We can leave, if you’d like,” she responded, breathlessly, to his implied query. He felt her eyes devour his lips.

“I wouldn’t like for you to miss your first play,” he responded like the idiot he was. Like a man whose blood no longer flowed to his brain. Was he trying to convince her not to leave?

She pressed her fingers to his lips. “I-I want to go, Ambrose,” she whispered.

She was serious! Yes! Without wasting another moment, he pulled her to a stand and guided her down the aisle and out the door.

* * * *

Once outside, they stood within the colonnade on Russell Street as they awaited a hired hack. They were hidden in a corner, the gaslights not quite able to pierce the darkness there. She was drawn to the warmth of his body and leaned back against him as they waited. She could feel his warmth through her cloak, inviting her to relax. She still felt chilled in front, though, and the opposing sensations made her edgy as her senses heightened with expectancy.

She felt him shift at her back before he leaned over and blew gently in her ear.

What was he doing?

He placed a gentle kiss there, and she shivered at his tender touch. Oh, that.

He chuckled softly before he proceeded to trail gentle kisses down the side of her neck and along the top of her shoulder. She laid her head on her other shoulder to allow him better access while his hands slid around her waist to pull her further into his embrace. They had a few minutes to kill before their conveyance arrived.

* * * *

They rode in unnerved silence. The atmosphere was charged and heated despite the chill night air. The sounds of the carriage wheels and the horses clopping over the cobbles punctuated by the occasional outburst from the London nightlife seemed surreal—part of another world outside their own. Inside, his senses were heightened with expectation. He was jittery with anticipation, his passion having built to a fevered pitch starting from the moment they first met.

They didn’t touch, despite his intense desire to do so. The ride would be too short and the carriage was too cramped. Besides, he relished how the interminable wait sharpened his desire.

However, after a few more turns along various side streets, the hush became too much for either to bear, and he turned to her just as she turned to him:

“Ambrose…”

“Grace…”

They chuckled at their simultaneous words, and as their laughter died, searched each other’s face to read the signs of desire.

Through recent experience, he had gained enough sense to refrain from speaking further, thereby spoiling the moment. Instead, he raised his hand to touch her face. He was gentle. She was warm and oh, so soft. He cupped her cheek, and she leaned into his palm in return. She closed her eyes as he slid his hand down to caress her neck. He studied the progression, and her involuntary response. She moaned softly, and he was completely and utterly in awe. He looked up and searched her eyes, which had opened and rejoiced when he saw her desire so plainly apparent. And then the dam broke.

Chapter 22

Grace returned his kiss with all the passion in her soul. She was exposed and vulnerable to him now. A full day of stimulation and laughter had worn down her defenses. She was honest, though, and admitted that she had left her propriety at home from the beginning. From the moment she stepped inside his carriage this morning, she knew where this day would lead. She had gone along anyway, knowing it was futile to resist her last chance to be with Ambrose. Perhaps that was the real reason for her excitement earlier? Not the chance to attend the theater, but her chance to be with him intimately.

Their carriage slowed to a stop, but she was blissfully unaware of that fact. After a few minutes, though, the carriage rocked as a footman climbed down from his perch. John Coachman knocked on the carriage door, bringing her back down to earth.

They touched their heads together as they sought to reign in their emotions. As her breathing slowed, Grace pulled back to look at Ambrose. His desire for her was writ plainly across his handsome face, and she reveled in it.

“Grace, this is my home—well, one of my homes. It’s just a small place I use occasionally when I need to get away from the dukedom and all it entails. We would have complete privacy here…”

She cut off what was sure to be a long-winded explanation. He was nervous, poor man. She pressed her lips to his, and smiled at the sweetness driving his sudden discomfort. She knew he struggled for the right words. She put him out of his misery. “It’s all right, Ambrose. I would love to go inside.”

Inside, she stared at Ambrose, relieved to finally be able to look him over at her leisure. Unguarded. Thoroughly. He was beautiful in his plain clothes with no fancy togs to distract the eye. Her desire climbed a step higher. He had already removed his boots and coat, and it made him appear more virile, more obviously male, now that she could see the hardness of his body clearly defined in the light and without the extra layers of clothes to hide what lay beneath.

She closed the distance between them as her curiosity compelled her to move. She wanted to initiate first contact to prove her acceptance of what they would do. She didn’t want to approach this night as a victim, vulnerable to his desires. She wanted him to see and remember her as an equal this night—equal in desire, equally capable to take what she wanted. What she needed.

He reached out at her approach, but she forestalled him with a raised hand.

“Don’t. Move.”

The order in her demand was unquestionable.

She ran her hands up his chest and steadfastly unbuttoned his shirt, relieved he wore no cravat with which to inhibit the unveiling of his chest.

She saw that her boldness set fire to his desire. Hers had been ratcheting up in unhurried degrees. She wanted to take it slow, but his eyes blazed with passion and she lost a little bit of her own control.

He fisted his hands as he fought for command, but she was determined to take the lead.

* * * *

Grace finished unmooring the last button of his shirt letting it gape open, naturally, to his sides. Then, she slid her fingertips up his abdominal wall, trailing her thumbs though the arrow of hair that ran from his navel and disappeared into his trousers. His muscles hardened at her contact. Each of her fingers sent a bolt of lightning through his body everywhere they touched making his heart thunder in his chest.

Breathe.

She flattened her hands on his chest and pushed up toward his shoulders. When her hands rubbed over his nipples, they beaded in response. He had never known them to react thus, and he gritted his teeth that much harder. It would kill him, but he would stand still and let her do this. It was important he let her do this.

She placed a gentle kiss on one distended peak.

And his control nearly snapped.

Breathe.

She pushed his shirt off his shoulders, and it fell, but stopped short of the floor as the sleeves caught on his hands. She walked around him, slowly, looking over every inch of his body as she did. He had never been more aroused in his damn life. One of her hands remained in contact with his skin the entire time, trailing about his waist as she moved. She paused behind him, then yanked his shirt the rest of the way free, discarding it where it landed. The buttons at his wrists were ripped from the fabric and bounced a few times before settling on the floor. He wasn’t going to survive this unscathed.

Breathe.

She ignored the orphaned buttons as she continued her circular path. Her questing hand still followed, dipping dangerously close to his buttocks before reaching his side. Every one of his muscles tensed in anticipation of her touch as she circled back around to his front.

She paused only a moment before she knelt and began to unbutton the placket of his breeches.

Ah, sweet Mary, mother of God.

He was harder than stone and wanted to beg for relief. His cock was so swollen it pushed against the front of his trousers, making it difficult to undo the buttons.

But they came loose anyway for she was determined, his sweet, indomitable Grace.

And finally, as the last button was unfettered, his cock sprang free with welcome respite.

Aaahhh, sweet, blessed relief.

*

His prick bobbed a few times, and her eyes widened at the sight. She gripped his thighs to steady herself. His shaft was long, hard and dark, with a prominent vein running its length. The bulbous head flared like a mushroom cap, and it looked soft and shiny in the firelight. She wanted to touch it. She needed to touch it.

She ran her finger over the smoothness of the head before circling the hole at the tip and was surprised to find the pearly wetness there. She felt the softness of the flared edge, before continuing down the shaft—tracing the vein as she went.

Ambrose sucked in a sharp breath, and she was distracted by the sound. She looked up, gauging his response. His hands were fisted so tightly his knuckles were white, and his eyes were squeezed closed. A muscle in his jaw twitched from the pressure of him clenching his teeth. She didn’t think he was in pain—her touch had been too soft—so she determined he was possessed of a desire so strong he almost couldn’t control it.

She grinned with satisfaction, then, returned to her perusal of his manhood. She patted his hip in understanding. He would be fine.

She gripped his shaft, her fingers barely meeting around its circumference, and was surprised at the feel of steel beneath the velvety skin, such a contradiction in texture. She gripped firmly and slid her hand down to the base, drawing forth a low moan from her man.

“God, Grace, I am about to explode. Unless you want a close-up view of my seed, you had best stop.”

He actually looked at the ceiling as he spoke. And she smiled and almost laughed out loud at the sight. The thought of witnessing his ‘seed’ pricked her curiosity, but she could see he was struggling with his control, and she knew there was more to experience first. Maybe she could see it later.

She felt powerful. A goddess in control of this man.

She inhaled and caught a whiff of his unique, male musk. Without thinking about what she was doing, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss in the wiry hair next to his shaft. Her nose buried, she inhaled deeply his unique scent, and felt a curious splurge of wetness between her legs in response.

She leaned back, looked up, and was distracted by the sight of him standing there—his chest bared and his legs spread wide, his cock jutting out from the opening of his trousers and surrounded by his dark, male hair. He looked magnificent. Commanding. All man. And for the moment, he was all hers.

He finally looked down at her after perusing the ceiling again. What was he thinking when he beseeched the heavens? His eyes were ablaze; his stare intense.
Ah
. She knew. He was at the end of his rope, and she smiled as she recognized her effect on his self-control.

“It’s my turn.” His voice was gruff and shook with emotion.

He knelt before her and pulled her hands from his thighs. Then he pushed her to the floor and straddled her legs. His hard shaft lay across her still-clothed belly. She could just feel the kiss of its erotic caress. The thought of it inflamed her, and she reached down to touch him again, but he caught her hands. He leaned forward and pushed them over her head, holding them to the floor. Cheek to cheek, now. Breast to breast. She liked the feel of it. She was his prisoner. Out of control, now, herself.