Page 133 of Desires of a Duke Collection

Miss Jade Thacker wasn’t the shy and retiring type. She reminded herself of this as her knuckles hesitated to make contact with the hotel door.

It didn’t help.

Perhaps I need to remind my knuckles of the fact.

That didn’t help either.

The longer you stand here, the more foolish you look.

And the greater chance she might be discovered.

But still, she hesitated.

The step she was about to make—well, the knock—was bolder, and one might argue madder, than anything she’d done before. But Miss Jade Thacker had long ago become used to being seen as bold and perhaps a bit mad.

Besides, if you would just hurry up and get out of this hotel corridor, where anyone might see you and wonder why a young unmarried miss is about to knock on a rake’s private door, there will be considerably less chance anyone would ever learn of this.

Before she could talk herself out of it, her knuckles rapped against a stranger’s door.

From inside came a baritone call: “Un instant, s'il vous plait.”

French? The man she’d come to see was supposed to be Scottish. That was what he was called, after all: The Scot. Was it possible he was actually French, and “Scot” was a given name? The Scots and the French had a long history of alliances, but Jade was certain Honoria’s sister, Lady Melton, had said this man spoke with a delightful brogue.

Frowning, she considered the ramifications. Surely she hadn’t accidentally rapped on the wrong door? That would be embarrassing, especially when it came time to explain why she was there.

And then the door opened, and Jade found herself fervently praying she wasn’t wrong, because ai-ya, this man was gorgeous!

Blond curls swept across his forehead and hid his ears, blue eyes twinkled with mischief…and then he smiled, and Jade was almost certain she’d died and gone to heaven, because the vision before her had dimples. Two of them, mismatched on either side of that smile, which made him seem so much more touchable.

Not that you needed any excuses to touch the man, not if he’s the one you’ve come to see.

Her fingers were already itching to brush that curl from his forehead, so she curled them into fists at her sides.

Apparently, he’d decided he’d had enough of standing in his doorway smiling at her, because in that delightfully low voice, he purred, “Good evening,” in perfect English.

Not French, then.

Unable to control herself, her gaze dropped from that smile—his teeth were remarkably even and white, weren’t they? Did he use some sort of special cleaning regimen to get results like that?—to the man’s smooth jaw. She’d always been partial to a strong jaw, and she could likely stare at this one for a month or two.

It was natural for her eyes—currently caressing a man’s bare skin—to drop to his neck. With a shock, she realized he was wearing a dressing gown, a silk banyan in the same beautiful shade of blue as his eyes, over his shirt. Which was open at the collar, revealing the most tantalizing patch of golden skin.

In fact, the robe was tied lightly, as if he’d thrown it on to answer her knock, and she could see he’d rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing intriguingly muscular forearms beneath the silk. And lower…

His feet were bare.

Ai-ya, had she ever considered a man’s bare feet before? These were strong and wide and it was somehow intimate, to see them like this. She wondered if his hands would look similarly strong, and how they’d feel.

It wasn’t until he cleared his throat that her gaze snapped up, and she realized she’d been standing at his hotel room door, ogling the man’s feet.

Not your best moment, Jade.

Feeling a blush climbing from around her high-necked blouse, she did her best to lift her chin and find the steel which usually infused her spine. She’d made grown men quake when she glared at them, invoices and shipping schedules in hand. Why couldn’t she find some of that steel right now?

“Good evening,” she managed. “I am looking for The Scot.”

“Ye’ve found him, milady.” Oh, he really did have the most delightful brogue, did he not? “Come in, so we might become better acquainted.”

It was a command, but given in such teasing tone, she couldn’t bristle. Besides, he winked at her, and Jade suspected she might follow him off a short pier if he did it again.

In a bit of a daze, she stepped into the stranger’s hotel room, and heard the door close behind her.

Swallowing, she turned to face the robed man. “I am—”

He stepped closer, until the blue silk covering his chest was only inches from her, and Jade slammed her mouth shut.

“Nae names, milady,” he said smoothly, an easy grin tugging one corner of his lips. “I ken why ye’re here, and there’s nae need for me to ken anything more. Besides”—his shrug was fluid and graceful—“if ye tell me yers, I’ll have to tell ye mine.”

No names. Well, that certainly made things simpler. “And you…” She cleared her throat, trying to pretend she wasn’t affected—intimidated, aroused—by the man standing so close to her. “And you do not want to tell me your name?”

Another graceful shrug, and he lifted a hand to her neck, fingertips brushing at one of the wispy strands of hair she could never seem to keep tucked into her bun. While she was busy shivering at his casual touch, he answered.

“There’s a chance ye and I might meet at some function, milady. I think, with what we’re about to share, anonymity might serve us better.”

Her mind had turned to complete mush. Likely because his fingers were still on her skin, the soft spot below her ear. He wasn’t caressing or stroking, but merely touching, in the most horribly intimate manner. No one had ever touched her there—not even her maid—and the fact this stranger did so…

She swallowed, trying to regain her equilibrium. “I would think, sir, if we were to be paired together at a country dance, or meet at a musicale, or attend the same political rally, we would have no trouble recognizing each other, and thus our lack of knowledge of each other’s names would prove irrelevant.” Her chin rose, as she tried to ignore his touch. “Besides, I’m not a lady.”

His smile wasn’t teasing this time, but…impressed? “A political rally?”

“Well, I cannot very well choose someplace as an example where I might actually be, can I?” The docks. The shipping office. My townhome.

Her response surprised a chuckle out of him, and his hand fell away from her neck. Before she could be disappointed, though, she felt his fingers twine through hers.

Ai-ya, he was good at this being intimate with someone he didn’t know thing, wasn’t he?

That’s his job, bai-chi!

The reminder of why she was there was sobering.

And perhaps she would be sobered enough to make her excuses and back right out of his hotel room, had he not lifted her hand to his lips then.

“If I cannae call ye milady, ye’ll need another name. Darling? Sweetheart?” His eyes twinkled as he brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “Honey? I am partial to sweet things.”

In a swift movement, he flipped her hand over, and, lips a millimeter from the sensitive skin of the inside of her wrist, above her short gloves, murmured, “Dumpling?” He held her gaze as his breath teased her skin. “Muffin?”

Look, knees, this isn’t a great time to give out.

Jade sucked in a breath, and struggled to stay upright instead of allowing herself to melt into a pile of nonsense. It was a battle, as she realized she was leaning closer to this man, her pulse pounding in anticipation of feeling his lips against her skin.

“Raspberry tart?” she managed to croak. “Pudding? Sugar?”

His grin flashed right before he pressed a kiss to her wrist. Jade’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Kitten,” she whispered, trying to maintain a semblance of control. “Lovebird. Piglet.”

In a sudden movement, the man straightened, a laugh bursting from his lips. “Piglet?” His blue eyes sparkled, his dimples deep as he shook his head. “Ye’re mocking my attempts at seduction!”

Attempts? Jade’s erratic pulse and the way she pressed her thighs together beneath her skirts attested to his very successful attempts.

She swallowed. “I was merely trying to help.”

“Piglet,” he repeated with a disbelieving chuckle, as his free hand landed on her hip.

She wasn’t certain if he tugged her closer or if he took a step nearer, but the result was the same; Jade ended up plastered against the length of him, and oh Lord, but it felt good.

He felt good.

She had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze, but it was worth it; she couldn’t seem to make herself look away from the laughter in those blue eyes. He seemed to be enjoying himself in a carefree way she’d never managed.

“Treasure,” he whispered.

Oh, whoops, it seemed as if she could look away from his eyes, if only as far as his lips. They were wide and expressive, and she wondered how they’d feel on other parts of her.

Her brows drew in as she’d realized he’d said something. “What?”

“Treasure,” he repeated, his other arm snaking around behind her. “Ye’re a treasure, and I’m calling ye such.”

Treasure. It was his name for her, instead of kitten or sweetheart or dumpling?

Jade found herself smiling.

“Och, there ye are.” His lips pulled wide in response. “I was beginning to think I’d lost my touch.”

There was a hardness pressing against her pelvis, and Jade resisted the urge to squirm. “Considering our respective positions, I doubt that very much.”

The man blinked, then tilted his head back and laughed. She was mesmerized by the sight of the muscles of his neck, corded and golden, working under the lamplight. He had the same build as one of the sailors on her ships, or a fighter at her club.

He was magnificent.

And, judging from the way his movement had sent his hips pressing forward, as aroused as she was.

She might be a virgin, but she wasn’t an innocent. She knew what that hardness was, pulsing against her, causing her core to thrum in eager tandem.

If The Scot was everything Honoria’s sister Melanie claimed, Jade would soon see—touch, feel—that hardness. It would be in her, divesting herself of the last trappings of propriety, making her her own master.

Mistress.

Whatever.

The point was: A Harlot’s Guide to the Forbidden and Delightful Arts had always been quite instructive, and Jade felt she had a fairly good grasp of the mechanics. But this arousal, this need, was a new experience entirely.

Excellent. That’s what she needed; an experience. An experience to hold in her memory, so many years from now, when she was Lady Buthert.

No. Do not think of Jered, not now.

She hadn’t entirely given up on finding a way out of this mess, after all.

Perhaps Uncle Argus will change his mind about the necessity of marriage.

She almost snorted. Her guardian’s letter had been quite definite.

“Treasure? Ye’ve stopped breathing. Surely ye’re no’ so overwhelmed by my presence?”

Since the man had flexed his hips again, ensuring Jade felt all of his arousal, she understood his wry tone. Matching it, she raised a brow and forced herself to push aside all thoughts that weren’t here, now, tonight.

“Your ‘presence’? Modest, are you?”

A laugh burst free of his lips again, and she felt herself smiling in response.

“Lass,” he murmured, one large hand splayed across her lower back to hold her in place, while the other rose to her neck. “I’d verra much like to kiss ye. Will ye allow me?”

Her breath caught again. He was asking her permission? She’d spent the years since her father’s death crossing words—and sometimes blades—with men who saw her as lesser, unequal. And here was a courtesan, asking her permission.

“Please,” she breathed.

His lips tugged into a grin as they lowered to hers.

***

This was not a normal assignation.

For one thing, most of Cam’s patrons were older women, married, bored, desperate. For another, he knew them, and was careful with whom he chose to spend an evening of pleasure. It had been a while since he’d accepted a new client, and he’d only done so tonight because Lady Melton had arranged the meeting, and he trusted his old friend.

But this lass was not what he’d expected.

When Melanie had written him, explaining her sister’s friend was searching for an evening of pleasure, he’d almost denied her. He had no business deflowering virgins, and Melanie should’ve realized that. She knew of his vow; all of his clients did, even if they chose not to speak of it.

And it wasn’t as if he needed this woman’s money. But if the wealthy ladies of Society were willing to lower themselves to be fooked by a Scottish bastard, then by God he was going to make them pay for it.

But he’d been intrigued enough to agree to meet the lady—or rather, the miss—in his usual room at The Savoy. And now, he was certainly glad he’d made that decision.

Because this treasure he’d found had set his blood afire in a way no other woman had.

Perhaps it was the strength he saw in her, beneath her blushes. Or perhaps it was her wit, which had made him laugh several times already as he crafted his usual seduction around her.

Or perhaps it’s the way she kisses, ye complete fooking idiot.

Och, aye, that was it.

He was a man who used kisses and smiles and whispers in the bedroom, the way he used lunges and ripostes and parries at his club. They were tools for accomplishing a goal.

But this kiss…when she whimpered softly, her lips pliant beneath his, he froze, cursing himself for moving too fast with an untried virgin. But then her arms came up, and rested on his shoulders, and he realized she was embracing him.

Holding him.

Pulling him closer.

And his cockstand was absolutely fine with the situation.

Grinning against her lips, he took control again, teasing her, playing with her, showing her how he liked to kiss and be kissed in return. She tasted like all his favorite desserts, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she made a soft, eager sound as she welcomed him inside.

An enthusiastic learner, indeed.

Perhaps there were benefits to accepting an untutored client.

Really, he was being helpful, teaching her how to kiss, wasn’t he? It was his civic duty, to show her exactly how much pleasure could be found between a man’s and a woman’s lips. So when she left him, sated and happy, she’d have understanding of desire, and fulfillment, and what exactly a man’s mouth was capable of.

He was doing his good deed for the week, really.

The fact he was going to bloody well enjoy it was an added bonus.

Her fingers twined through the curls at the back of his neck, and Cam was surprised to feel himself shiver. When was the last time he’d been so affected by an innocent response? He was rock-hard already, and the fact she wasn’t practiced didn’t seem to matter at all to his body.

He wanted her, plain and simple.

Lucky him.

Knowing his lips were talented—they’d had much practice, after all—he moved his kisses to the corner of her mouth, then to her jaw, nibbling just lightly, enough to make her suck in a sudden breath, then let it out on a moan, which filled him with pride.

And that’s when she rocked her hips forward, cradling his cock with her softness, rubbing her pelvis against him in the age-old quest for fulfillment…and damned if his knees didn’t suddenly go weak at the sudden burst of nearly uncontrollable desire.

He was beginning to suspect it was going to be very, very hard to stick to his vow with this little steel-edged treasure.

Straightening, he forced his breathing under control as he held her, watching her slowly blink and come back to herself.

God Almighty, but she was beautiful. He might not have said that, were they to meet at some Society event—or, what had she said? A business meeting? Nay, a political rally. She wasn’t a flashing sort of beauty, all paint and primping, the kind who usually caught his eye.

This treasure was quiet, understated, self-assured. And there was definitely a beauty in that.

Her hair was black and straight, pulled back in what had been a severe coiffure, but now was mussed. Her eyes were gray, and tilted at the corners in a way which reminded him of one of his fencing masters when he’d been a lad. As they slowly blinked open, he smiled down at her.

“Ye really are a treasure, are ye no’?”

His compliment flustered her, he could tell. Or perhaps it was because he was currently standing half-naked in a hotel room, embracing her.

One of the two.

Before she could respond to his rhetorical question, Cam decided to further the seduction. He wanted this woman with a strength he hadn’t felt in a long while, but duty first.

In a sudden movement, he dropped his hold on her and stepped away, pleased to see her sway, but maintain her balance. Reaching the drinks cart in front of one of the curtained windows, he debated between the brandy and whisky.

He settled on brandy, because he was most definitely in the mood for something sweet, and poured her a measure. Taking a larger one for himself—both glasses in one hand—he turned back to reach for her hand. He saw the confusion in her eyes as he led her to the sofa, and it didn’t lessen when he sat down, tugging at her.

She landed in his lap, exactly where he wanted her to be.

Her firm bottom cradled his cockstand as if it were completely natural, and when she wriggled into a more comfortable position, his knuckles tightened around the crystal to keep him from groaning.

“Now what?” she asked quietly, not looking at him. Instead, she stared at the dark liquid in her glass, cradling it in both hands. “I assume there’s some sort of order to this?”

His lips twitched. “There is. But usually I have some idea of who my partner is.”

A sharp gaze cut his way, then back. “You said you didn’t need to know my name.”

“And I dinnae.” He settled against the sofa, one hand resting on her hip, holding her in place, as he sipped at his brandy. “But I dinnae ken ye. I dinnae ken what ye like, or what ye need.”

“I thought Lady Melton explained—”

He interrupted with a smile. “Why no’ tell me yerself, lass? Why have ye come to me?”

Her gaze still on her brandy, she grinned ruefully, just a quick flash of teeth. For the first time, Cam saw the slight reddening of her skin along her jaw, where his stubble had scraped at her.

He should’ve felt guilty, he knew. But his first, instinctive response was pride, that he’d marked her as his, if only for a night.

This was a new sensation, and one he’d have to examine. Later. When his lap wasn’t full of delicacies.

When she exhaled, he felt her spine unbend just slightly, and his fingers pressed into her hip, letting her know she could relax into him, if she wanted.

It seemed to work, and he was surprised how peaceful he felt in that moment, sipping brandy and softly petting a beautiful woman. Her attention had landed on the copy of A Harlot’s Guide to the Forbidden and Delightful Arts, which he tended to bring with him on his assignations, along with a few helpful accessories he wondered if he’d need tonight.

His guest didn’t seem particularly surprised by the book, and he wondered if she’d seen it before. He wondered if she’d read it before.

Intriguing.

The moment stretched, and he felt her shift against him. Because she was uncomfortable? Or did she feel the way his cock strained against her, and know what that meant?

“I am to be married,” she blurted.

A pang of—of something shot down his throat into his chest. He’d spent plenty of time with married women. That was, in fact, what he was known for. But he’d momentarily forgotten Melanie’s explanation letter, and the reminder was a twinge of jealousy he didn’t want to examine at that moment.

“Congratulations.” He managed to sound unaffected.

But he caught her wince, just before she raised the glass to her lips. She sipped at the brandy like someone used to its potency.

With a sigh, she relaxed further. “I am not pleased about it, sir, so I won’t accept the congratulations. I am used to being in control of my life, and I have successfully managed the business my father left me upon his death. But in order to expand it, I need money. The silent partner I recently took on is enough to keep us afloat—although I hate the fact I had to turn to someone else—but I need more.”

“Hence the marriage?” he guessed.

To his surprise, she snorted softly, staring down at the glass in her hand. “The opposite. Upon my birthday next month, I will receive a substantial inheritance, set aside by my maternal grandfather. I hope to be able to buy out my partner, as soon as I can learn his name, and the rest will be more than enough to build the business into what I want it to be.”

Cam hadn’t expected to be enjoying this discussion quite so much, especially when he was distracted by the feel of her in his arms. But he was; she was an intriguing young woman. “You sound as if you have it all figured out,” he murmured, as he stroked up one side of her spine.

“I did, except…” She blew out a breath, then took an extra-large sip of the brandy. “There is a man—a lord—who needs money. I do not wish to marry him, but he believes marrying me, before I come of age to gain my inheritance, will grant him control over it. And my business. He is…quite the nuisance.”

She hadn’t looked at Cam during the recitation; was in fact pretending great interest in her drink. Cam found himself not only interested in her story, but affected by the defeat he heard in her voice. He stretched to place his half-consumed glass on the table beside them, freeing both his hands to touch her.

Which he did.

“Will it?” he murmured, resting one hand gently on her thigh. “Give him control of yer business?”

Her eyes flashed toward him once. “Yes. I don’t like the idea of anyone having control, besides me, even if he weren’t a spoiled lordling who plans to destroy all my father and I have built, for his own gain.”

“Ah.” Cam tried a charming grin. “An heiress..”

She seemed to bristle, her spine straightening once more, her chin coming up as she met his eyes. “I brought you your payment.” She reached for a pocket at her waist, fumbling with a man’s wallet, as if to remind them she was the paying client here, while he was just a courtesan.

He stilled her hand, then took it, twining his fingers through hers, as his thumb traced small circles on her hip. “Time enough for that later, lass,” he murmured. He was beginning to think it would be a crime to accept payment for the pleasure he was about to experience with this woman. “Tell me more about what ye need.”

She watched him for a moment longer, and he saw her eyes lighten to a gray which seemed to contain shades of blues and even greens. Changeable eyes, as mysterious as their owner.

But then she exhaled and looked back to her drink. “My guardian—well, the man who oversees my inheritance—has decided I am to be married, despite my protests. He believes—and I suspect I agree, although I would never admit that to him—that the lord I mentioned before will attempt to force my hand before my birthday.”

The way his gut clenched at the thought of this woman being forced into marriage by an entitled arse was entirely unreasonable. He didn’t know her; he shouldn’t have any opinion on her future!

Her gaze was still on her drink, and her tone speculative—and somehow defeated—when she explained, “In order to keep me safe from that lord, my uncle has decided to proactively marry me to someone of his choosing. A relative of his I’ve never met, but heard nothing good about.”

Cam hummed. “And ye dinnae trust yer guardian to choose someone more suitable?”

“I trust him to manage my inheritance up until my birthday,” she said curtly, then lifted her glass to down the rest of her brandy in one swallow. “But not in this. I will fight him on it. I do not want to be forced to marry, either to a spoiled lordling who wants me only for my father’s empire, nor to a lazy layabout who’ll not challenge me.”

“Ah,” he drawled, using his hold on her hip to tug her closer to him. When she—almost reluctantly—settled against him, he smiled. “I begin to understand. Ye are a self-made, self-assured, self-confident woman.”

She stilled, then shrugged one shoulder. “I can’t tell if you are mocking me, but yes. I’ll accept those terms as compliments. If you have a problem with me…?”

“On the contrary, lass,” he murmured, turning her hand in his so he could stroke her palm. “I am impressed by yer passion. Just the fact ye sought me out tells me ye’re the kind of woman who kens what she wants.”

Her face was inches from his, and her eyes flashed back and forth as she studied him, as if searching for some hint of untruth.

Hoping to convince her of his sincerity, Cam spread his large hand across her side, then her back, stroking through her simple silk blouse and corset. He dropped her hand and splayed his across her belly, the edges of his fingers brushing the undersides of her breasts.

She shivered, and he didn’t let her see him smile.

“Ye dinnae want to be married?” he prompted in a murmur. “So ye came to me.”

Her nod was jerky, and he noticed her breathing had quickened. “I…” She swallowed, still holding his gaze. “I want this to be on my terms. I want to be the one to decide who takes my virginity. Not a man who uses his power and social standing to bully me into marriage, not some cousin I’ve never met…but me.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, her eyes still on his. “I want to feel pleasure once, in case I never feel it again.”

“Impossible,” he whispered in return, ignoring the way his chest ached from holding back the rage at this woman casually mentioning her sale to another man.

Tonight she’s yers. Just for tonight. Make it count.

“Impossible?” she repeated.

Trying to understand, himself, even as he explained to her, Cam allowed his hand to creep up her belly to her chest. Bypassing her small breasts—for a change—he settled his palm over her heart, his fingers splayed wide.

“Impossible, because after tonight, lass, ye’ll ken pleasure.” He swallowed, wondering if he was making any sense. “I’ll make certain of it. In the future, nae matter what, ye’ll have this kenning, and can call on it.”

She licked her lips. “Call on it?” she breathed.

He nodded firmly, his fingertips pressing into her chest, trying to make his certainty her own. “Tonight, I’ll teach ye to love yerself, Treasure, and nae one can ever take that away from ye.”

“That is…” She blinked, then exhaled. “That is exactly what I want.”

Then that is exactly what she’d get.

Smiling crookedly, Cam relaxed, his fingers shifting slightly, until they found her prim buttons. “Then shall we begin?”