Page 18 of A Duke But No Gentleman (Masters of Seduction #1)

“You have no tenants?” Imogene asked. She had not seen any signs of a family in residence on their arrival.

“The house has been empty since January. The new tenants will be moving in next month,” he said, turning her until she faced him. “Does it concern you that we are alone?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Blackbern frowned at her swift reply. “Maybe it should. Your company inspires some rather wicked thoughts.”

“I trust you, Tristan,” she said coyly.

He groaned in exaggerated despair, as he captured her hand and led her back to the blanket. “What am I to do with you, Imogene? Such blind faith makes me long to prove to you that I am deserving of your high regard.”

“You are an honorable gentleman,” Imogene said, her voice ringing with conviction. “You cannot convince me otherwise.”

It had been Norgrave who had lied to her about the redhead.

“No, I am not,” he countered, dragging her closer. “If you could read my thoughts, you would be demanding that we return to town immediately.”

“If you wish to kiss me again, you have my permission to do so,” she invited, though she refrained from admitting that she was eager for more of his kisses.

“Little innocent,” he said, shaking his head, his expression tender with amusement and affection. “And what if I demanded more?”

He had told her that she had a choice, so she was uncertain of what his current demands would entail.

Imogene had not been lying when she had revealed that she trusted him.

In spite of his arrogant boast that they would eventually become lovers, Blackbern appeared to be in control of his appetites.

He would not press her for more than she would not offer him willingly.

“I fear you might think me wanton if I answer your question truthfully.”

***

Her innocence would be the death of him.

If he had any sense, he would escort Imogene back to the carriage and return her to the safety of her family.

She stared up at him, a decadent confection of sweetness and light, and it was all he could do not to drag her to the ground and give her a taste of the pleasure he had promised.

He no longer gave a damn about Norgrave or their foolish wager. He simply wanted the lady in his arms.

Though Norgrave intended to have her, too. Otherwise he would not have lied about the redhead.

Even if Tristan sent her away, his friend would laugh at his sentimentality. Nor would it end his pursuit of Imogene. The only way to stop his friend was to claim the lady himself.

Selfishness cloaked in nobility.

Tristan almost snorted at his cleverness. Leave it to him to rationalize that he was more deserving of Imogene than Norgrave—that by winning the wager, he was sparing her the marquess’s fickle and not-quite-so-gentle affections.

He cupped the left side of Imogene’s face with his hand. “You can be as wanton as you like. Nothing is forbidden.”

“Nothing at all?” she echoed, her expression as transparent as glass as she contemplated such freedoms. In her cherished and protected world, she had no concept of the possibilities or the risks.

“Allow me to show you,” Tristan said, his voice deepening with desire. He bent his head and kissed her, a small test of her commitment.

His initial plan when he had lured her away from her friends was no longer relevant now.

The attraction crackling between them like invisible lightning was mutual.

As far as he was concerned, he and Imogene were equals as curiosity manifested into something tangible, as intimacy and friendship entwined to create something new for both of them.

Imogene’s eyelashes brushed her cheeks as she tentatively parted her lips, another invitation for him to deepen the kiss.

When it came to the woman in his arms, he needed little encouragement.

His tongue pushed against hers, even while he tugged her close so he could feel her body rub against his.

The connection was giving him all kinds of naughty ideas, but her inexperience had him mentally tethering his lust. He desired her, but he had no intention of pouncing on her like a mindless beast.

“More,” she murmured breathlessly against his mouth.

He groaned and pressed his forehead lightly against hers as he prayed for strength. “I am not a saint, Imogene. Push me away or tell me to go to the devil.”

She offered him that shy half-smile that always made his testicles tighten within their sac and his cock harden. If she had more experience, he would have thought she teased him deliberately. “I thought you said that nothing is forbidden.”

Tristan silently bid his good intentions adieu as he used his weight to draw her down with him. “You are truly a very wicked lady,” he said, meaning it as a compliment, as he guided her onto her back. “What am I to do with you?”

Imogene gazed up at him, her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright with anticipation. “Kiss me again, Your Grace.”

She was a delightful imp, he thought, happily rewarding her with another enthusiastic kiss.

As he lay stretched out beside her, the hand he had placed on her abdomen slowly moved up her body until he felt the comforting weight of one of her breasts.

As Tristan lightly squeezed, he had a liberal glimpse of the soft flesh peeking above her bodice.

“And what do we have here?” he asked, his right brow angling upward.

“What are you—” She gasped as he caressed her breast with his mouth. “Oh my!”

Tristan tasted the soft swell with his tongue. “Mmm… just as I suspected—you taste as good as you look.” His fingers slipped beneath her bodice, peeling back the layers of fabric to reveal more of her flesh.

A rosy nipple, plump and inviting as a berry, popped free.

He felt her hands on his shoulders. “My God, you are so lovely.” Without asking her permission, he lowered his head to suckle the first signs of her arousal.

Imogene dug her fingers into his shoulders. “Your Grace… Tristan. W-what are you doing?” she asked, her voice taut with nerves and uncertainty.

“Worshiping you as you deserve, my golden-haired goddess.” Tristan licked the nub with his tongue, swirling and teasing it until he could suckle the firm flesh. He could feel the tension in her body and her halfhearted protests as he moved to her other breast.

He lifted his head from her damp flesh and met her anxious gaze. Her expression revealed her shock at his intimate ministrations, and her hand reached for her bodice.

He placed his hand over hers to stop her. “Leave it. I am not finished with these lush beauties.”

“What if someone sees us?”

“I do not take kindly to trespassers.” Or anyone who dared to glimpse her half dressed.

He had no interest in sharing her with anyone, and that included Norgrave.

The realization should have sobered him because he had never felt so possessive about a female, but he was too enthralled to pull away.

“Here… allow me to cover you,” he said, using his own body to blanket hers.

His cock was thick and hard, and his flesh ached as he pressed it against her hip.

Imogene seemed unaware of the effect she was having on his unruly body.

If she thought his mouth kissing her breasts was indecent, then she would be truly scandalized if he freed the rigid flesh from his breeches and pressed the swollen head of his cock against her maidenhead.

The mere thought of breaching that fragile barrier and filling her made him lightheaded with desire.

“Tristan?” she politely inquired, her brow furrowing at his stillness as he fought down the clawing need to claim her.

“Give me a moment,” he said tersely.

“What is it?”

He took her hand and brought it to the front of his breeches.

She tried to retreat when her fingers came in contact with his cock, but he was stronger.

Her hand molded over the rigid flesh. “You are not the only one aching, darling,” he said.

His mouth felt stiff as he tried to make light of his needs.

“I did this?” she said, sounding appalled. “Does it hurt?”

Only Imogene could make him laugh at a time such as this. “Aye, lady, but it is a good sort of hurting.”

“I do not understand.”

“Do you recall how you felt when I put my mouth on your breasts?”

Imogene nodded. “I felt a kind of warmth here.” She touched the cleft between her breasts. “Also—”

When she appeared reluctant to finish her confession, he pressed, “Where else did it hurt?”

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head, too embarrassed to admit the truth.

Tristan guided her hand from his straining cock to the front of her skirt. “Does it ache here?”

“Yes,” she shyly admitted. “There is a kind of curious warmth and it sort of tingles.”

“Aye, it is the same for me,” Tristan said. He needed her to understand that the sensations were not aberrant and she was not alone in feeling them.

“I can ease you, if you will let me.” Tristan released her hand, and did not try to stop her from tugging on her bodice. Instead, he moved his hand lower and buried it under her skirt.

Imogene squirmed to avoid his hand, but he grasped her knee to calm her. “There is nothing to fear. Trust me.” His hand slid higher on her inner thigh. “This is one particular ache that I can ease with just a gentle caress.”

“You need not go any further,” she said, squeezing her thighs together and capturing his hand between them. “The ache is gone. Truly.”

“Liar,” he contradicted. “It is just the beginning. Do you know why? Because it is the same for me.” Tristan shifted and straightened his spine until his mouth was inches from her lips. “Relax your legs. I promise this will not hurt.”

Tristan nibbled on her lower lip. She was as stiff as a statue. Even her mouth was unyielding. He would have stopped if he had glimpsed genuine fear in her eyes. Imogene was wary of the unknown, but she was not frightened of him.

“Think about my hands on you,” he murmured enticingly against her throat. He kissed her neck. “My lips on your lips… down to your breasts. Do you remember the warmth you felt?” Her thighs loosened enough that his hand was free. “That’s it, sweet love. My hand on your knee… your thigh.”

Imogene made a soft sound of surprise at his first tentative touch.

“Aye, even there,” he whispered encouragingly. “The soft down between your legs. A fine soft pelt for me to pet over and over until you are wild for my caresses.”

Tristan kissed her firmly on the mouth, swallowing any protests she might have at the liberties he was taking with her body.

His cock throbbed in his breeches, but he ignored the discomfort.

Imogene would never accept him until he conquered her fears—not of him, but of her own body.

Her needs were as great as his, but she was unfamiliar with satiating her desires.

He wanted to be the man who wholly awakened her. Ignited and fanned her carnal needs.

His finger dampened with her arousal as he emboldened his strokes. Wariness faded as she raised her head in distress. Tristan comforted her with a few low wordless sounds and a kiss to her cheek.

“The warmth and wetness is a natural response to my touch,” he assured her, keeping his touch light.

“Your body is welcoming me. Encouraging me to be bolder.” His thumb sought the hidden nubbin of flesh and he gently stroked it.

She sucked in her breath and tensed, fighting her body’s response.

“Breathe, darling. Let the caress of my fingers flow over you and through you.”

Usually, when he seduced a lady, he managed to get her out of her clothing.

Imogene’s gaze was unfocused and her cheeks were flushed, either by the sunlight beating down on them or the wicked things he was doing to her body.

Tristan preferred to believe the high color in her cheeks was because of him.

He had lost track of time as he concentrated on the lady in his arms. Soft compliments, kisses designed to coax and tease her, and his hand between her legs—stroking her wet yielding flesh as he enticed and tamed her to his touch.

The heady musk of her arousal filled his nose, and perspiration dampened his brow.

He demanded nothing, but was silently asking for everything.

Minutes later, his patience was rewarded.

Imogene tensed and shuddered, her face pressed against his shoulder.

She whispered his name in wonderment. It was a small response, but it might as well have been as shattering as an earthquake.

The increased wetness coating his fingers was another sign that she had found pleasure at his touch.

His own arousal thundered back into his consciousness.

Tristan had been so focused on Imogene that he had buried his needs.

His hand withdrew from Imogene’s hot, welcoming flesh and he wiped the wetness on his fingers on the outer thigh of his breeches.

In his mind, he could see himself freeing his cock and thrusting into her womanly sheath.

She had found her pleasure with his hand, and it would be twofold with his cock.

He could see to both their needs. She would not regret surrendering her maidenhead to him.

He would make certain of it. The need to finish what he had started pounded like a drum in his head.

Every muscle in his body tightened as he fought against his instincts. He closed his eyes and concentrated on steadying his breathing and heartbeat. When he opened them, he noticed she was staring at him. She reached out and caressed his cheek.

“Tristan?”

He had accomplished what he had set out to do.

The next time he touched her, she would not fight her body’s response.

She would let him pleasure her again. With a ragged sigh, he smoothed her skirt down over her legs.

“I do not know about you, but I am famished. Shall we see what Cook packed in our basket?”

“Of course.”

Imogene’s gaze shifted to the front of his breeches. Oh, how could he have forgotten about his cock? His need for her was on prominent display. Perhaps he should stand up and head straight for the lake, though he doubted the water would cool his ardor.

Tristan turned away and climbed to his feet. He needed a strong drink, though he suspected his cook had packed nothing stronger than apple cider.