Page 19 of Hazardous to a Duke’s Heart (Lords of Hazard #1)

T ory couldn’t believe it. Jon was here. But how? No one in the Falconridge household knew where she lived. She’d taken great steps to make sure of that, mostly because she hadn’t wanted his half brothers here.

But she didn’t want him here for different reasons. Fortunately, she’d already put Cyril to bed. Unfortunately, she’d hurried out here so fast that she’d forgotten she was wearing only her nightgown and her wrapper. Together they covered her respectably, but if any of her neighbors saw her . . .

Well, as long as they were back here in the woods, nobody would.

Jon rose from the log to look her over in a rather thorough manner, so she did the same, only to swallow hard at the sight of him in a sinfully black tailcoat, trousers, and even waistcoat. Only the white of his cravat shone brightly in the forest.

Oh, Lord, why must he always look so delicious in evening attire? Not that it mattered, devil take it. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m watching over you.”

She couldn’t let herself react to the sweetness of that. Or to the thrilling way he was making her aware of her unbound hair and her state of undress. “I don’t need watching over,” she said firmly.

He stared at her, eyes gleaming in dusk’s waning light. “I’m afraid you do. I was leaving to go to my club when I saw a man—or possibly a woman—follow you.”

That sounded alarming, but still... “It was probably just someone from my neighborhood coming home the same way I was.”

“Wearing a hooded cloak during the hottest season of the year? He’d been watching for you to come out of Falcon House.”

She crossed her arms over her waist to hide the shiver that gave her. “How could you be sure?”

Jon steadied his grim gaze on her. “He followed you all the way from the park across our street, where he’d been waiting until you came along.”

Good Lord. “Well . . . well, I can’t imagine why.” She really couldn’t.

“Neither could I, so I followed him covertly. Unfortunately, he spotted me when I was a quarter mile from your cottage, and he darted off down a side street. That’s when I lost him. So I followed you the rest of the way home to make sure he didn’t circle back to attack you.”

It finally dawned on her that she’d been home quite a while. “And you’ve been sitting out here all this time?”

“Long enough to see your Mrs. Gully leave, and to know you were now alone.” He scowled. “You lied to me about her. You said she stayed with you all night.”

“She does sometimes,” she lied.

He didn’t look as if he believed her, either. “The point is, I wasn’t about to leave you unprotected. The scoundrel was clearly up to no good. I’m still not sure he won’t return in the wee hours of the morning when you’re asleep.”

She swallowed her rising fear. “I-I’ll lock the door as I always do.”

“Yes, it’s so hard for someone to punch through a window,” he said sarcastically. “What about when you’re not here? Someone could break in and lie in wait for you.”

Then Mrs. Gully would bash the scoundrel over the head with her frying pan and set up a hue and cry. Sadly, she couldn’t tell him that , not when she’d already said no one was here during the day . “You’re being absurd.” She sincerely hoped he was.

“All the same, from now on, when you come to the cottage, you must at least take a footman with you. Or, if you prefer, a groom or I will drive you here in the phaeton. But you must be accompanied. Especially through that forested area.”

Alarm made her tense up. “I must, Your Grace?” She strode up to him and lowered her voice. “What we did at the ball did not give you the right to dictate terms to me!”

“Damn it, Tory, I’m trying to keep you safe!”

“For pity’s sake, keep your voice down,” she hissed. “I don’t want the neighbors to hear.”

He dragged a hand through his hair. “What could it hurt for you to be accompanied home?” he asked, his voice thankfully lower.

The footman or groom might discover Cyril playing, or someone from the neighborhood who greets me might mention Cyril, or... anything could happen. And once the cat is out of the bag, so to speak, I could never put him back in.

She could say none of that, nor could she tamp down the panic rising in her chest. “There’s no need for it, that’s all. Besides, if you start showing that sort of interest in me, your servants will notice and so will my neighbors. It won’t be long before they’re assuming I’m your mistress, and my reputation will be ruined. So go home!”

Turning for the door, she hoped he’d take the hint, but of course he didn’t. He marched right behind her, following her into the cottage. “I’m not leaving tonight, I tell you! You’re in danger! Can’t you get that through your thick head?”

“My reputation is in more danger with you being here.”

“You’d rather protect your reputation than your life?”

“Of course not,” she said. “But . . .” He was liable to wake Cyril and learn the truth. She couldn’t bear to see his shocked expression—or worst, his recoiling reaction—when he met Cyril. Nor could she deal with whatever came after.

But he clearly wasn’t going to leave until they settled this, preferably somewhere it wouldn’t rouse Cyril.

The kitchen they stood in presently wasn’t ideal for the former. She couldn’t talk to him in the parlor, for it faced the street, and the curtains were paper-thin. The whole neighborhood would see she had a man in here. But her workroom was next to Cyril’s bedroom, and that was too close for her comfort. Which left only one good room—her bedchamber, which faced the back of the house.

“Fine. Come with me. Since you insist on continuing this conversation, it must be somewhere it won’t attract the attention of my neighbors.”

When she walked into her bedroom, he followed her as far as the doorway, then gave a start. Only then did she realize what he must think of her choice of rooms. Swiftly, she lit the lamps and turned them up. She didn’t want to give him any ideas.

He stood there scanning her bedroom, then glanced back at the kitchen and over to the parlor. “This seems a very comfortable abode. And where do you do your sculpting, anyway? This cottage can’t have more than a few rooms at most.”

“My workroom is next to this one. And before you say anything, it’s too packed with materials for two people to move around in.” That seemed as good an excuse as any.

“I see.” He strolled in and narrowed his gaze on her. “Are you sure you’re not planning to keep leasing this cottage? You seem to have it set up very cozily for somewhere you only use once a week.”

“Well, when I am here, I do have to sleep, you know. Might as well keep the place the way it was when Mama was alive. But no, I can’t continue to lease it. It costs too much.”

“I can see why it would. In fact . . .” He frowned. “Your solicitor tells me that even if you could afford it, you wouldn’t be allowed to lease it again. A group of investors is buying all this land for development, and the owners have already agreed to sell their leases. Which means you and your neighbors will soon have to move anyway.”

Her heart sank. “We’ve heard the rumors, but I didn’t realize it was so . . . imminent. I was hoping to get a few months’ grace to get everything together.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but London isn’t the same as when you and I grew up here. It’s expanding daily. Tavistock Square, Brunswick Square, Russell Square . . . they didn’t even exist when I left. Vauxhall Bridge was built while I was away. Before then, we had to take a boat across to the pleasure gardens.”

“What are you saying?”

“You cannot stop time. It will march on, with or without you, and you must do your best not to be trampled in the process.”

She was about to retort when a noise sounded from down the hall. It was Cyril getting up to use the chamber pot, no doubt. She and Mrs. Gully had only recently succeeded in teaching him how to manage it on his own.

But the sound put Jon on high alert. “Someone’s in the house,” he whispered. “Stay here.”

She grabbed his arm. “It’s my cat. Pay him no mind.” Walking over to her bedroom door, she closed it. When Jon arched an eyebrow, she added, “Just to keep him out of here.” And make it less likely that Cyril heard them.

He gazed at her suspiciously. “You have a pet?”

“Yes. What of it?”

“Who feeds it while you’re gone for six days? Who cleans up after it?”

“Mrs. Gully, of course. She lives close by and has a key. She’s been with our family for years.” That was mostly true, at any rate.

“What’s your cat’s name?” he asked, obviously still wary of her explanation.

“Fluffy.”

“Odd name for a tomcat.”

“He’s an odd tomcat,” she said.

He cocked his head. “Don’t you miss your pet during the days you’re not here?”

“Not really. He was Mama’s cat and is getting old and blind. That’s why he runs into things and makes noise. But he’s still good at catching mice.”

“Your blind cat is good at catching mice,” he said skeptically. When she was at a loss for how to answer that, he added, “Well, if you want to bring him to Falcon House, I’m sure Mother and Chloe wouldn’t mind. Chloe has always wanted a pet.”

“Thank you. I’ll consider it, but he’s more comfortable in a place he knows.” Clearly, she had to get Jon to leave, or he would keep asking questions. “Now, you must go before someone in the neighborhood figures out you’re here.”

“How would they? Besides, I can’t leave until we settle the matter of your coming and going with an escort.”

“Ah, but we have. I don’t need one.”

“For God’s sake, Tory—”

“You worry too much, Jon.” She walked up to lay her hand on his cheek. “I don’t know why that fellow was following me, but clearly he’s gone now. I’m sure you scared him off for good.”

“I doubt it.”

Another noise sounded from Cyril’s room—her brother could be very loud when using the chamber pot—and Jon gave a start. “That’s the biggest cat I’ve ever heard.” He started to leave her, and she pulled him close. “Don’t go,” she said in what she hoped was a seductive voice. “I’ve missed you.”

Then she stretched up to kiss him square on the mouth.

At first, he resisted her, but when no more noises sounded from outside the bedroom, he pulled her to him and began kissing her back with great enthusiasm. And as always, the moment his lips took hers, her heart started hammering and her blood thundered in her ears. He not only looked good tonight, but he smelled of freshly starched linen and tasted of heaven.

All the foolish parts of her clamoring for him these past two days sat up and took notice. It wasn’t fair.

“Jon,” she whispered, “what are we doing?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care.” He slowly backed her toward the bed, kissing her cheek and neck as he went. “I’ve thought of nothing but you these past two days. I need to feel you come apart in my arms again.”

“Not this time,” she said firmly.

“Why not?” he asked in a low rasp.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, then whispered in his ear, “Because I want to see you come apart in my arms.” Then she laid her hand on the fall of his trousers and exulted to find a prominent bulge already there.

She told herself she was only doing this to distract him, to keep his focus off of what might be happening down the hall.

But that was a lie.

There was something so . . . breathtaking about being able to do this to him, rouse this in him. And his answering groan as she rubbed him only added to her eagerness. She no longer cared that it was wicked, that she was veering dangerously close to losing her maidenhood.

He was here, he wanted her, and she, curse it all, wanted him. What could one time together hurt? Her courses were due any day, so she was unlikely to conceive, and it wasn’t as if she could ever marry anyone else after Jon. She wanted to know what she might be missing. She didn’t want to spend her life a maiden. Not when Jon was around wanting her as much as she wanted him.

She would simply have to make sure it was only the one time.

“But you’ll have to show me what to do to please you,” she continued, working loose the buttons of his fall with one hand while she stroked him with the other.

“What you’re doing now is pleasing me,” he growled, and pushed himself into her hand. “If you pleased me any more, I might die from a surfeit of pleasure.”

“That pleases me ,” she whispered with a coy smile. She finally got his trousers undone enough so she could get her hand inside, only to find another set of buttons to work loose. His drawers, most likely.

That was when he got impatient and brushed her hand aside so he could undo them for her. Then he placed her hand on his . . . “stiffened penis,” as Mama had referred to it, and she was taken aback.

“I see what you mean about not learning male anatomy from statues,” she murmured. “This is . . . rather unexpected.” It was larger, harder, thicker . . . and more responsive to touch than she’d thought it would be. Indeed, the moment she stroked it, it leapt in her hand, as if it had a life of its own.

“Oh, God,” he gasped. “Please . . . Tory . . . hold it tight.”

Curious, she did as he asked, and it stiffened even more.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Now . . . pull on it.”

Hmm. When she did so, the skin moved. She let go. “Oh! Did I hurt you?”

“Only if you count . . . making me insane with . . . pleasure.” Taking her hand, he placed it on his aroused member, then closed her fingers around it. “Like . . . this.”

He guided her hand in caressing him, and she found it fascinating. Nothing her mother had told her, or the statues had shown her, had prepared her for this. His eyes slid closed, a look of such pure enjoyment spreading over his face that she couldn’t help but revel in it.

“Ah . . . Tory . . . sweetheart . . . You have . . . no idea what it’s . . . like to have your hand . . . on me.”

“I hope it feels the same as when you had your hand on me. ”

He hardened even more in response to that. After only a few strokes, he took her hand off. “If you keep doing that,” he choked out, “you might get something else unexpected.”

“I like the unexpected,” she whispered.

“I know you do. But I want to be inside you when I give you that. And that’s not . . . I know I can’t . . .”

“You can,” she said softly. “I want you to.”

His eyes shot open, and he searched her face. “I don’t want to take your innocence.”

“You’re not taking it.” She untied her wrapper and dropped it on the floor. “I’m giving it.”

He was staring at her breasts as if he could already see them naked through her nightdress. When she reached up to unbutton the placket until it gaped open nearly down to her waist, he sucked in a sharp breath.

That pleased her inordinately. “Didn’t you say the other night that you wanted to see me displayed in all my naked glory? Now you can.”

His trousers and drawers were still open, so she could tell from his thrusting member that he liked that quite well. With his breath quickening, he used his teeth to tug off each glove and tossed them on the floor. Then he pushed aside the placket to bare her breast. Tracing the shape of it with one finger, he paused at the nipple to tease it to a hard point.

How could such a delicate touch make her crazed for more? But it did, so she pressed his hand fully against her breast.

His eyes glinted in the lamplight. “I never guessed you were a seductress, sweetheart.”

“I’m trying the role on for size.”

“God help me,” he rasped, pulling her to him for an all-consuming kiss as he fondled her breast a few moments, sending frissons of pleasure from her breast to her loins. Then he slowly dragged her nightgown off her, baring her completely to his gaze.

“God help us both.” He swallowed hard. “ Finally , I get to see you in all your naked glory, with your golden hair hanging down about your lush body.” He took a lock of her hair in his hands, then kissed it before laying it over the front of her. “You’re the loveliest woman I’ve ever beheld. Do you realize that?” He skimmed both hands from her shoulders to her hips. “But then I knew you would be. I imagined you like this so many times in my bed at night . . .”

“You did?” she said, taken by surprise. “Then why were you so determined to marry me to someone else?”

“Because you deserve better.” He smoothed his hands over her hips. “But I’m beginning to think I don’t care. That’s how much I want you. And I’m tired of not having you.”

“You needn’t be tired of it anymore,” she said, thrilled by his words. “You can have me now.”

“Can I?” he choked out, then pushed her back until she fell on her bottom on the bed. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t. But I can learn.”

A laugh sputtered out of him. “You’re nothing like any woman I’ve met.”

“Is that good?”

“Very good,” he murmured as he nudged her knees apart to stare down at her mons.

Suddenly eager to see how he compared to all those statues she’d studied, she reached up to tug at his tailcoat until he shrugged it off impatiently. Then she watched as he feverishly unbuttoned his waistcoat and shrugged that off, too.

“Now the shirt,” she whispered. “Please. I’ve so wanted to see your bare chest.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Looking for models for your sculpting, are you?”

“Always.”

With a chuckle, he undid his cravat and tossed it aside, then pulled his shirt off over his head.

My, oh my. He had a chest worthy of being sculpted by Michelangelo, all finely wrought muscle and sinew, with only a smattering of dark hair around his nipples and in a line leading down to his navel and then lower. She followed the line with her thumbs until it reached his rather impressive privates, if she were to judge from statues. Then she pushed his trousers off his hips and down.

Quickly, he kicked off his trousers and bent toward her, a sudden clear intent in his expression. She scooted back onto the bed, not sure whether she was trying to escape or to accommodate him. But when he crawled onto the bed to kneel between her legs, she knew it was the latter.

When she lay back, he reached down to cup her between her legs, where she’d felt the same warm wetness from two nights before. Then he rasped, “I see you’re ready for me.” He caressed her so expertly there, that he had her gasping within moments. “Are you still sure you want me to—”

“Yes, please,” she whispered, and widened her legs.

“It might hurt.”

“I’ll manage.” She stared up at him, her hands clutching his surprisingly muscled arms. “Besides, I’d rather it be you than anyone else.”

His expression showed pleasure, then uncertainty. “I ought to take my time with you, arouse you more.”

“If you aroused me any more, I’d die of a surfeit of pleasure,” she murmured, echoing his previous sentiment.

“I’d argue with you if I didn’t want to be inside you so badly,” he said hoarsely.

“Take me, my darling Jon.”

That was all she had to say to have him entering her.

She’d expected pain, but this was . . . more awkward than anything. When he stopped, apparently fully seated in her, she waited for him to do something else. She knew there had to be more. How could there not be more to this?

“Are you all right?” he bent to mutter in her ear.

She nodded and thought, All right, but not exactly enjoying it.

Then he began to move, and everything changed.