Page 26 of Duke of Wickedness (Regency Gods #4)

F rom where the footman stood, he was able to see three bare arses, seven naked breasts (one lady was only half-disrobed), and too many caressing hands and licking tongues to count.

He didn’t bat an eye.

Or, that was, he didn’t bat an eye until David led Ariadne to the very staircase that the footman had been positioned to protect.

“Is everything all right, Your Grace?” the footman asked quietly as they approached.

“Of course,” David said blithely. “We are merely headed upstairs.”

There was only one blink’s worth of pause, but this particular man, Griggs, had been with David for years. A blink from him was tantamount to fainting dead away in shock from someone else.

And then the man fixed his bland, professional mask back in place and stepped aside.

“Of course, Your Grace,” he said.

There was not a hint of censure in his voice, obviously. But that didn’t mean that David couldn’t see the big picture at play here.

He was breaking his rules for Ariadne. He had never, ever taken a guest upstairs during one of his parties. His staff were under extremely strict orders to never let any of the guests wander upstairs under their own power, either.

He might open his home to revelers regularly, but he needed to keep some things for himself.

But the idea of taking Ariadne upstairs, to his personal space? It didn’t feel like a violation or a transgression. It felt right.

He probably should have been rather more worried about this than he was.

Except all he wanted was to get her alone, someplace where he could devour her properly, someplace where nobody else could see any part of her pleasure, not even a glimpse—not even by accident.

“Where are we going?” Ariadne asked, sounding giddy and breathless and joyous—and, God help him, he was so fucking greedy for those sounds.

It was ridiculous, really. He wasn’t touching her anywhere more than where his fingers were laced with hers, and he still felt half drunk with desire.

But only half drunk, thank Christ, as this gave him the presence of mind to drag her toward his study, instead of doing something really bloody stupid, like taking her to his bed.

“Over here,” he said, tugging her along.

She tugged him back, pulling him in to steal a kiss. And that would have been very nice if he weren’t feeling quite so impatient.

But he was feeling as though he might actually perish if he didn’t get her beneath him as quickly as possible—he decided to blame the heady atmosphere of the party; it couldn’t be anything else—so he grabbed her by the waist and threw her over his shoulder.

Her little shriek of surprise was a delight. So was the way she pounded a small fist against him as he strode down the hall. He didn’t think she had intended to strike him on the arse, but given her breathless giggles, it was really anyone’s guess.

He brought her into his study, then hauled her back upright before guiding her down to the settee. It should have been harder. Ariadne was petite, but for all his sins, David didn’t make a habit of hauling women around like sacks of flour.

But perhaps whatever burning energy currently possessed him extended to physical prowess.

He felt so drunk with desire that anything seemed possible. This woman was addling him. He should mind it more.

“Tell me what you want, Ariadne,” he commanded. It felt good to say her name. It felt glorious to know that there was nobody here but him to hear anything he said, to know that he didn’t need to hide—not for her sake nor for his. He reached behind her and undid the straps of her mask.

He liked seeing her face. She’d been beautiful in the mask, but?—

He just liked it. He liked seeing her, all of her, smiling up at him.

He thought, in a flash of madness, that she could have asked him for anything just then, and he would have granted it.

Perhaps for the first time in his life, he understood how a woman could lead a man into perdition.

He’d have gone straight to hell and back for her, just then, and he wouldn’t have uttered a single word of complaint.

But David had more good luck than a man like him deserved, for his little bird took pity on him.

“Show me what he was doing to her,” she said, the most fetching blush crossing her cheeks. “The woman downstairs. With the man. Beneath her skirts.”

Her words stuttered, but the conviction in her eyes didn’t waver.

And this was something David could do without fear that he was compromising more than he could stand to give.

For tonight, he pushed it aside. For tonight, he would be what she needed. Nothing more, nothing less.

He bent down and stole a kiss; she melted beneath his touch—just as she always did, the perfect little thing.

“As my lady commands,” he told her.

Maybe Ariadne should have been alarmed at the efficiency with which David began divesting her of that beautiful gown. But she’d known from the start what this dress was designed for, hadn’t she? She’d been thrilled by it. She’d been waiting for this moment the whole evening.

So instead of feeling anything like a pang of concern that this suggested how very many times he’d done this before, all she felt was a rush of excitement.

Excitement and a bizarre sense of safety. David wouldn’t hurt her. And he would show her what she needed to know.

He hadn’t failed her yet, and she knew that he wouldn’t do so now.

It was like a drug, that certainty.

“How did you get so brave?” he asked her approvingly as he unknotted the tie that held her dress together, then unfolded the layers of fabric like she was the most wonderful gift he’d ever been given. “All the things you saw tonight, and you never blinked, not once.”

She smiled. “Is curiosity the same as bravery?” She knew she was the former; she didn’t think she was the latter.

“Not always,” he allowed. “But for you?” He kissed her lips. “Yes.” Her cheek. “Yes.” The notch of her collarbone. “Yes, absolutely.”

And just like that, he had reduced her to a pile of pure wanting . Perhaps the atmosphere of the party could have taken some of the credit, but here, her senses filled with his touch, his warm, woodsy scent? She couldn’t think of anything but David.

He kissed across the neckline of her dress as he finished pulling at the ties. When they were loose, the gown unwrapped in a fluid line, leaving her entirely open to his gaze.

He stopped, looked at her, then reached up and tore off his mask like he needed an unobstructed view just to stare at her.

When he ran a hand absently over his mouth, his eyes never once leaving her body, she felt like the most beautiful, most powerful woman alive.

“Fuck,” he said, and his profanity delighted her. “You are…incredible.”

This time, not even the quietest, most doubtful voice in the back of her mind put up an argument. How could she argue with that look in his eyes, after all?

Maybe, then, she could trust his comment about bravery, too.

So she gathered her courage, raised her chin, and said, “Then show me.”

Never let it be said that the Duke of Wilds was too high in the instep to follow orders. He fell upon her, all gentle kisses and caressing hands.

“Who should I be, then?” he asked. “Of the lady’s two admirers, which would you like me to play? The stern commander, or the worshipful acolyte?”

She shuddered beneath him at the reference to the worshipper. He chuckled before she could speak.

“Ah, well, then. That’s my answer, isn’t it?” He dropped to his knees on the floor, and Ariadne practically wrenched her head off her neck as she craned it to look at him. He grinned wickedly up from his place, and her breath left her in a shaky whoosh .

“Let me see how well I can please you, then, Lady Ariadne,” he said.

And then he reached up to her knees and spread them apart.

Ariadne let out a little cry as he stared, entirely brazen, at her center, his hands grounding her enough that she didn’t snap her legs closed again on bashful instinct alone.

“No, no,” he said softly, one hand shifting to trace patterns on her thigh with an idle finger, making it clear that she could pull away if she wanted to.

She did not want to.

“Let me look,” he went on quietly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to the inside of her knee, light as the flap of a butterfly’s wing. “Let me admire you. You’re so pretty like this, don’t you understand? So pretty and perfect that I can hardly stand it.”

Another kiss, this one halfway up her thigh. Ariadne’s neck gave up; she could no longer look at him, no matter how appealing an image he made. She could only feel.

There was so very much to feel.

“Did you see how many eyes were on you tonight, my beautiful little bird?” he asked, kissing an inch higher, then another, then delivering a smarting little nip, not enough to truly hurt, but enough to make sensations light up along her skin.

“How many of them, do you think, are still thinking of you? How many are wishing that they were between your legs?”

Very, very distantly, Ariadne noticed that the same strange bit of anger that she’d noticed before threaded through his tone now, but he distracted her by tracing his tongue over the place where he had nipped, and the contrast drove everything else from her brain.

“I didn’t see them,” she panted—which was mostly true, but it was also mostly nonsense, which was why she was shocked at the impact it had.

David abandoned his teasing in favor of pressing his mouth directly on her center.

“Oh,” Ariadne said, and it seemed almost silly how small the utterance was given how enormous the feeling inside her was from the very first instant he touched her there.

“Do you like that?” he asked, his tone breathless, each word punctuated with a kiss or a lick or a caress. “Do you like knowing how good you can feel? How good I can make you feel?”

One of her hands traveled down to his hair before she snatched it back, afraid that this was too much, too far.

David reached up, grabbed her hand, and forced her fingers back into his locks, all without losing the tempo of his ministrations. Thus encouraged, she gave in to the impulse to press her closer against her, felt the increased pressure of his caresses.

“David,” she moaned. She couldn’t find thoughts beyond that. What thoughts even existed beyond that?

“Yes, sweet girl,” he crooned, his fingers coming up to join his mouth, one digit slipping inside her and making her moan. “Yes. Show me everything you have. Please, Ariadne, you can do it.”

And she could. It was easy, really, given all the way he was touching her, given the way she’d been wound tight all evening—all week, maybe. She’d practically lived on the precipice from the moment she’d first started this whole mess with her wonderful, absurd—and yes, marvelously messy—duke.

She let herself tumble into oblivion, forgetting everything that had ever happened except for the feel of David against her.

He didn’t release her until her shuddering had stopped, until her fingers dropped from his hair because the effort of holding up even her hand was too much. She went limp, entirely limp.

“David,” she murmured.

“I’m here, little bird,” he said—and there was that strange note in his tone once more.

But Ariadne’s body was sluggish, slow to respond. And by the time she gathered the strength to look at him, he had turned away, had busied himself folding back up the lengths of her dress, had made himself entirely impossible to read.