Page 23 of A Duke But No Gentleman (Masters of Seduction #1)

Chapter Thirteen

Tristan watched Imogene as she bade his aunt farewell. He was more than slightly drunk, and if he had any sense he would go home and sleep off the brandy in his cold, empty bed. He had Norgrave to thank for stirring his appetites this evening, however, there was only one lady he desired.

It took her a few minutes to notice that he was standing in the street. Imogene gaped at him. “Tristan, what are you doing here?” Forgetting about appearances, she ran to him. “I did not expect—”

He silenced her with a kiss. She seized him by the cravat and tugged him closer. He punished her by biting her lower lip and then rewarded her for her wanton ways by pushing her against the side of the coach.

Tristan grabbed a fistful of her skirt before his coachman cleared his throat as a polite reminder that anyone could stumble across them. “Take us home,” he ordered as he guided Imogene into the compartment.

“I had a lovely evening with your aunt.”

“I do not want to talk about Ruth,” he said, reaching for her again. The interior of the coach was not as public as the exterior. He must have spoken the words out loud because Imogene stilled his hand that was currently resting on her knee.

Imogene cradled his face in her hands and peered at him. “Are you drunk, Your Grace?”

“Utterly,” he confessed. “Do not fret, my lady. I am fully capable of seducing you. I do not need my wits, though in your case, it definitely helps. All I need is my c—”

She pressed her mouth to his to prevent him from finishing his boast.

“I cannot wait,” he muttered, balancing her on his thigh so he could unfasten the buttons on his breeches. It took some effort because his coordination was off, but he managed to free his cock and work Imogene’s skirt and petticoat above her knees.

His fingers sought and found the soft slit between her legs. He was pleased she was wet and ready for him.

“Perhaps we should wait until we—Ahh!” She moaned as he filled her with an impatient thrust. “What about the coachman?”

“He will have to find his own woman. I do not intend to share.”

Tristan could not be certain, but he thought he heard the coachman’s soft chuckle.

Then Imogene lifted her hips and his thoughts were wholly focused on her as she rode him. His lovemaking lacked his usual finesse, but his lover did not seem to mind their rough and hasty coupling.

Tristan slipped his hands under her skirt and caught her hips so he could set a dizzying pace.

His cock plunged into her, his hip grinding against hers until he literally saw stars.

He and Imogene found their release together.

She cried out as his fingers left bruises on her flesh.

He pulled her against him and counted the pulses as he spilled his seed deep within her.

Imogene held him as he shuddered. Tristan rested his face against her breasts while he savored the small residual twitches and jerks as the head of his cock was nestled against her womb.

A part of him was appalled by his behavior.

He had taken her as if she was a courtesan he had handpicked for a few hours of amusement.

She deserved tenderness and a patient lover, not a wild fucking in his coach.

The realization sobered him enough for him to struggle for an appropriate apology.

“Imogene, I have no words—”

“Nor do I, Your Grace. That was sinful, decadent, and wonderful.” She licked his ear and giggled. “When can we try that again?”

His brain was so fuzzy with wine and lust, he was almost convinced that he was in love. “You are insatiable. Mortal men should be warned that dallying with goddesses is hazardous. At this rate, I will never celebrate my next birthday.”

The coach slowed to a full stop.

“I would have never considered doing such a wicked thing in a coach,” she said, carefully lifting her hips so she could fix her skirt.

Tristan liked her where she was so he tried to pull her back onto his lap, but she evaded his hands.

“Go home and sleep, Blackbern. If you think to dally with me in my father’s house, I can guarantee that you will not have to worry about me or your next birthday. ”

Imogene kissed him and opened the door before the coachman. Tristan cursed as he tugged up his breeches and tucked his cock back into place. He fastened a few buttons on his breeches. “Wait for me. Damn it.”

She blocked the doorway. “Tristan, this is not my father’s house,” she said, gazing over her shoulder at him.

“No, it is mine,” he said as he placed his hand on her back to nudge her down the steps. When she remained speechless, he felt the need to clarify. “My private residence.”

This was the one place he refused to share with any of his lovers. Tristan was too intoxicated to question the reason why he wanted to bring her to his home. Make love to her in his bed.

Tristan quietly accepted that he craved her—her smiles, her touch, the sound of her voice, and the way she looked at him. He needed her in his life. It was more than he offered any of his former lovers, and he prayed it was enough for Imogene.

***

Anticipation thrummed through her as she stepped through the front door and into the front hall of the Duke of Blackbern’s town house.

Imogene had already deduced that he valued his privacy.

She had learned firsthand that he preferred to entertain his guests in his mother’s old house.

Most of the interior was cast in shadow, but what the glass lanterns mounted on the mahogany-and-rosewood staircase revealed hinted at the wealth and grandeur that she was certain he took for granted.

“Are you planning to give me a tour?” she teased, when they crossed the alabaster marble floor worthy of a Renaissance palazzo.

“Another time when I can show it off properly,” he replied, brushing a light kiss against her lips.

Instead of pulling away, he captured the delicate curve of her jaw with his large hand.

His blue-gray eyes met hers, and his expression was both tender and vulnerable.

“You are so incredibly beautiful. There are times I feel unworthy to touch you.” He stepped away, allowing his fingers to trace the line of her jaw before his hand fell to his side.

“It’s too late. I cannot fight it—nor do I wish to any longer. ”

Imogene sensed that the brandy or wine he had imbibed before he approached her this evening was ruling Tristan’s tongue. “What are you fighting?”

The duke responded with a careless shrug. “You… and me. Fate. Does it matter? I have surrendered.”

Imogene laughed at the outrageous comment. She doubted her companion yielded to anything or anyone. “Now I know you are drunk. You are speaking nonsense.”

She gasped when Tristan knelt, his knees pressed into the unforgiving marble floor. His hat tumbled to the floor as he grasped her hips and pulled her closer. He pressed his cheek against her stomach. “I may have had too much wine, but my thoughts have never been sharper.”

“About what?”

“About you, Imogene. All I can think about is you. Thoughts of you consume me.” Tristan held her tighter and sighed. “The poets would call it love.”

Imogene held her breath as she placed her hand lightly on his shoulder. Tristan thought he was in love with her? He did not seem particularly thrilled by the prospect. “Since you are not a poet, what do you call it?”

Tristan pulled back so he could meet her steady gaze. His lips parted as if he intended to explain his feelings for her. Instead, he shook his head and said, “I prefer to show you.”

With more grace than a gentleman in his inebriated state should have had, he stood and took her by the hand. “Come.”

Imogene placed her foot on the first step and hesitated. “The hour is late.”

“It is,” he readily agreed. “Too late for both of us.”

She shook her head. Although she was no longer a virgin, she lacked the sophistication and experience of being a man’s lover. “Your servants—”

“No one will disturb us. Everyone has retired for the evening.” Comprehending her unspoken worries, the tension in his stance eased. “My servants are loyal and discreet. I promise, no one will speak of your visit. You have my word on it.”

Tristan turned and she followed him up the staircase, the glass lanterns lighting their path.

“And what of my family?” she whispered, fearing her voice would carry.

“You will be home before your father summons the watch,” he replied with his usual confidence.

As they climbed the stairs in silence, Imogene mused that it might have been more romantic if Tristan had swept her into his arms and carried her to his bedchamber.

The thought made a lovely picture in her head, but she was a practical creature.

In this dark interior, they would have more than likely stumbled and broken their necks.

Perishing in the Duke of Blackbern’s town house would have been difficult to explain away.

“What is so amusing?”

Before she could respond, he opened a door and pulled her into one of the bedchambers.

“A fanciful thought,” she said dismissively. Imogene remained near the door while Tristan strode to one of the unseen tables to light a candle. “Such an impressive staircase seemed to demand a more romantic ascension, do you not agree?”

The candlewick flared and illuminated the duke.

“Hmm, something along the lines of me carrying you up the stairs?” Tristan picked up the candleholder and joined her. He reached behind her and shut the door. His arm brushed against her side and the connection startled her. She heard him turn the key so no one could disturb them. “Too risky.”

“I beg your pardon?” She felt his arm curve around her waist as he led her to the bed.

“Carrying you up the stairs in the dark. We would have broken our foolish necks.”

Imogene laughed since she had come to the same conclusion. “I cannot refute your logic. It is one of many things that I admire about you.”