Page 23 of Hazardous to a Duke’s Heart (Lords of Hazard #1)

J on watched as Tory cried softly, but messily, blotting her eyes, blowing her nose, and in the process, driving nails through his heart. He’d known that telling her the truth would lead to this, which is why he’d put it off for so long, but it was even worse to watch it now that he knew how much he cared for her.

She hadn’t seemed too angry over the dowry business, so he’d allowed himself to think things might be all right after all. Clearly, he’d been wrong.

After a while, her tears seemed to abate enough for her to manage speech. “Forgive me,” she shocked him by saying. “I feel like every time we’re alone together, I . . . I turn into a babbling fountain. I’m really not the sort to cry over every little thing.”

“Every little—” He choked down a manic laugh. “Good God, sweetheart, you have nothing to apologize for. This was certainly not a ‘little thing.’ ” He swallowed his pain, knowing he’d never make it through this speech if he didn’t. “I am so very sorry about what happened to your father. I’ve felt the guilt of it every day since the escape. Indeed, that’s why I know I don’t deserve you. Thanks to me, your father suffered greatly in his last three years. Thanks to me, he didn’t make it home. If I knew any way to make it up to you, I would, but—”

“Wait a minute,” she interrupted, her eyes widening. “You . . . you truly blame yourself for what happened to him?”

Her incredulous tone took him aback. How could she not see this was his fault? “Of course, I blame myself! I pushed him to escape when he didn’t wish to. I misjudged the height of the wall we had to come down, and thus we lacked enough rope to tackle it. He would never have fractured his leg if not for those two things. And our unsuccessful escape meant he was dragged through France, then put into a dungeon cell with no chance of recovering the use of—”

“None of that was your fault.” She laid her hand on his knee. “Did he blame you?”

Feeling as if he was choking on his pain, Jon hesitated before answering. “He said he didn’t. But if I’d been in his place, I would have.”

“I doubt that. You have too keen a sense of right and wrong to do so.”

Her tone held so much sincerity that it fairly slayed him. He wasn’t quite sure he could place his faith in it.

She rubbed his knee. “Do Scovell and Heathbrook blame you for what happened?”

“No. But neither of them suffered permanent injury. Whereas your father—”

“—took a risk, just as the rest of you did.” She moved to his side of the carriage to seize his hand, and when he tried to pull it free, she refused to release it. “I don’t blame you for what happened, my darling.”

She called him “darling”? And said she didn’t blame him? How could that be?

“I mourn that I lost my papa,” she added, “but he could have died a thousand ways over there—from disease or injury or apoplexy or heart attack. And you know it. You told me of others who died for no more reason than they were being held in difficult circumstances. You and your friends did your best to shield him from harm. What else could you have done?”

“Not tried to escape?” he said hoarsely. That was the crux of it. If they hadn’t attempted the escape, Morris might have come home.

“You may see now that your attempt was doomed to failure, that the war was to end in three more years, but you couldn’t see it then. You were young, and you couldn’t wait forever. You had to try to get away. Didn’t you say there were countless attempts by others to escape? Why should you have been any different? And if Papa didn’t blame you, why should I . . . and why should you blame yourself ?”

He gaped at her. Did she realize she spoke the unfathomable? “You . . . you really don’t blame me for his death, hate me for what happened?”

“No! I’m shocked you four got as far as you did. I’m sure plenty of escapees didn’t.”

“You don’t understand—”

“Believe me, I do. In your mind, your ‘crime’ lies in the fact that you convinced Papa to escape, and you misjudged the height of a wall. Regarding the former, you forget Papa had a mind of his own. He decided to go with you three because he had his reasons, missing home probably being one of them. Trust me, I remember enough about my father to know that no one ever persuaded him to do something he didn’t wish to do.”

She squeezed his hand. “As for the second part of your ‘crime,’ I’m not shocked you misjudged the height of a wall without being able to measure it; I’d have been more shocked if you had judged it correctly. Lord knows I never could have. So if you’re seeking absolution for what happened with Papa, I give it to you freely.”

She couldn’t know how much that meant to him. He’d been carrying around the guilt over Morris’s death the same way they’d dragged those chains through Verdun. After spending years blaming himself for Morris’s torment, hearing that she, at least, didn’t blame him was almost more happiness than he could stand.

Then her expression clouded over, and she stared down at his hand. “But I think it only fair I point out that if your wanting to marry me is just about making up for some perceived injury you inflicted on my family, you needn’t sacrifice yourself for that. I don’t want you to.”

“Sacrifice!” He folded her hand in both of his, his heart thumping wildly. “Until last night, I resisted even the thought of marrying you because I knew I was unworthy of you.”

“You are not unworthy of anyone,” she said hotly. “Honestly, before you can be entirely free of the guilt that has you in its grip, you have to learn to forgive yourself for what happened with Papa.”

That was easier said than done. “I’ll try. But my point is, I wanted you from the moment I saw you, from the moment you informed me that I did indeed need a governess to teach me, but that you couldn’t because you were busy with my sister.”

“You remember that?”

“I remember every conversation you and I have ever had,” he said, and kissed her hand.

“You can see how poorly my vow not to teach you turned out,” she teased. “I daresay I’ve spent more time instructing you than Chloe in these past two weeks.”

“Only because of our bargain,” he pointed out. “And I’ve enjoyed every moment.”

“To tell the truth, so have I,” she said shyly.

“I tried every way I could think of to talk myself out of wanting you, needing you. Yet I never fully succeeded. So, know this, Victoria Morris,” he said, fiercely eager to convince her to marry him now that he knew it was possible. “It would be no sacrifice for me to marry you. It would be the greatest privilege of my life, and one I still don’t think I deserve.”

“I don’t deserve a duke for a husband,” she shot back, “so we’ll simply have to get over our mutual lack of deserving if we are to marry.”

“If?” he asked, his eyes boring into hers.

“I still have questions that need answering, some of which—”

He cut her off with a long kiss, unable to bear another moment without tasting her again. He didn’t want any more of her questions, because they might change the hope sparking within him. Her words said she didn’t blame him, but he trusted actions more than words, and how she reacted to his touch would tell him how she truly felt.

Fortunately, she reacted by throwing her arms about his neck and returning his kiss with great enthusiasm. In that instant, his need for her roared to life again. Not that it ever had fully gone away since their private moments at the ball had stoked it to unendurable heights—it had merely been in abeyance after each new encounter.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, determined to give her more pleasure than he’d managed last night when his desire to be inside her had made him take her far too hastily.

She grabbed his shoulders. “Wh-what are you up to now?”

“Bear with me, sweetheart. I’m about to behave recklessly again.” He felt positively giddy now that he knew she didn’t hate him for her father’s death. “I intend to remind you of the advantages you might find in sharing my marital bed.”

“I am fully aware of—”

He lifted her skirts enough to spread her knees apart.

“Jon!” she cried as he shoved her skirts up to her waist and looked her over. “What the devil are you doing?”

“Surveying the ground I mean to cover for the day when I sculpt you unclothed. I’m very glad you haven’t yet embraced the new fashion of wearing drawers.”

She blushed deeply, and he chuckled. Beneath her skirts, she was naked as a Venus statue, and every bit as lovely. He took his time looking at her, which he hadn’t had much chance to do last night, as eager as he was to take her. Her blond hair was a shade darker here than on her head, but it glistened in the dim light of the curtained carriage, making him exult in having aroused her.

“What if your coachman opens the panel?” she hissed.

“He won’t. He knows better.”

“Well . . . what if he hears us?”

“I don’t care.” Jon parted those curls to expose her sweet cleft, damp with her arousal, and his cock hardened to stone.

“But if he thinks we are . . . doing something we shouldn’t . . .”

“It won’t matter once we’re married.” He placed his mouth right there, where he wanted to swive her with his tongue.

“Good Lord,” she whispered, “you’re very wicked, aren’t you?”

He licked her a few times before answering. “I told you I had a misspent youth.” Then he sucked her pearl, and she nearly came off the seat.

After that, she said nothing more, just gripped his head in an unconscious bid for him to keep going. Which, of course, he did. He reveled in the musky scent of her arousal, the twitching of her mons, the low moans she made as he increased his sucking. He loved the feel of her silky thighs beneath his fingers, and hoped he wasn’t gripping them too hard.

Most of all, he prayed he could keep from coming off in his trousers before she came against his mouth. Because Tory in full arousal was a glorious sight. He wished he could see her bared breasts, too, and her curvy bottom, but that would have to wait until he could get her in a bedroom again, preferably his own.

Then she pushed against his mouth, and he felt her release just as she whispered, “Jon! Good Lord!”

He didn’t know whether to be glad she could restrain her cries to a whisper or to wish she couldn’t. Either way, he would leave “making her scream her pleasure” for a future encounter, one that really would have to take place in his bedchamber, after they were married.

At last, she gave a soft whimper and relaxed beneath his mouth. Only then did he pull away. He rose up on his knees, intending to sit next to her, and she murmured, “Where do you think you are going?”

He paused to kiss her thigh. “What do you mean?”

“You know how I feel about you giving me pleasure but taking none of your own,” she whispered. “I hope you weren’t meaning that to be some sort of . . . penance for the past.”

“No. I merely thought that after last night . . . I mean, surely you’re sore from—”

“A little. But I want to feel you inside me.” She caressed his cheek. “You can do that here, too, can’t you? Kneeling where you are?”

His cock sprang to full attention. “I have a better idea.” He unfastened his trousers and drawers and pulled them down before pushing himself up onto the carriage seat opposite her. Then he hauled her over on top of him until she was kneeling on the seat, straddling his thighs.

“Well!” she said, looking down to where his cock was nicely cradled between her thighs. “That’s certainly . . . interesting.”

“It will get even more interesting in a moment. Because now it’s your turn to seduce me. ”

She grabbed his shoulders as the carriage made a turn. “I don’t understand.”

He caught her by the waist to urge her up. “Please, dearling. Rise up and come down on my . . . er . . .”

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I-I think I understand now.”

It took her some maneuvering to get all her skirts out of the way again, and then position herself properly, but when at last she slid down on him, it was sheer heaven.

“Ohh, yes ,” he half spoke, half groaned. “Yes, like that . God in heaven, you’re . . . a wonder, a veritable wonder, Tory.”

She squirmed a bit on top of him as if trying to get comfortable, and that made him insane. “Now what?” she whispered.

He would have laughed if he hadn’t been so bloody aroused and frustrated at the same time. “Now, my sweet angel, you must move .”