Page 25 of His Stolen Duchess (Stolen by the Duke #7)

Chapter Twenty

L ysander walked through his townhouse garden, still acclimating to the changes Georgina had made.

He didn’t care so much that she had made them; it was only that they had been made.

He could live with the new additions and old subtractions, but he didn’t enjoy feeling like a stranger in his own space.

“Good morning!”

Lysander turned around to return the greeting, but saw no one. It took him a moment to realize that the words had come from within the converted folly, and when he did, he knew exactly who had spoken.

He moved closer and brought his face near the intertwined wire. Mr. Squawksby sat on a perch inside.

“Good morning,” the bird repeated.

“Yes, yes, good morning,” Lysander replied, feeling like a fool for engaging in conversation with the chaos causer.

“Yes, yes, good morning. Good morning,” it chirped.

“You are far better behaved when you are where you’re supposed to be.”

“Best behavior. Best behavior. A treat? A treat?”

“For what?” Lysander asked. “For acting as you should?” He looked around before muttering, “Am I arguing with a bird? I have truly gone insane.”

Lysander noticed a small bowl attached to the side of the cage that was filled with walnuts and candied fruits.

“You can have this,” he said, picking up one of the walnuts. “If you promise to remain on your best behavior.”

“Best behavior,” the parrot repeated.

Lysander poked the nut through the cage, and the parrot worked its way across the perch and leaned over to take the nut from his hand. Lysander watched as the parrot manipulated it with its beak and one foot, shelling the walnut before consuming it.

“See?” he asked. “If you do as you are told, we won’t have any problems.”

He was feeling particularly generous and took a piece of the candied orange and passed it through the wire.

The parrot took it and guzzled it down.

“If we can keep this understanding, we won’t have any further problems, and you will continue to get treats. Do you understand?”

Mr. Squawksby didn’t respond. He sat on his perch and tilted his head to one side as though trying his best to understand the Duke’s words.

“Good morning.” The sound came from close to the house this time. “Are you talking with someone?”

Lysander turned to see Georgina standing by the door.

“No, I was taking a walk.”

“Were you talking to Mr. Squawksby?” she asked, slapping her hands over her chest. “Are you finally bonding with him?”

“No, I wasn’t speaking with him at all. Now, let’s have breakfast. We have a swimming lesson this morning.”

“Oh. Are we returning home?”

“No. I have another residence here in London, which has a lake that will be perfect for us.”

“Oh, yes,” Georgina said.

“Best behavior!” the parrot squawked from behind Lysander.

“I was worried about the neighbors seeing, but this place is shielded on all sides,” Georgina said.

“Yes.” Lysander looked around at the tall trees separating the residence from the neighboring ones, then back to his wife.

She was in her bathing suit, appropriately covered, and all he could think about was what he had done to her in the coach the previous night. He could still taste her honey sweetness on his lips and feel her trembling body on his fingertips.

This is not the time or place for that. She must be taught how to… behave!

“Let’s begin,” he said. “There is still much to be done.”

“Yes, yes,” she replied. She stepped off the lake’s shoreline and headed into the water.

It had been some time since the last lesson, and he had not expected the sureness in her walk as she entered the water with barely a flinch. He hurried to catch up with her in case she ran into any problems.

“You have gained some confidence,” he noted as the water worked its way up his legs.

“I know that I’m safe when I’m with you,” she said. “Perhaps I was too harsh with my words last night in the carriage. I understood that you had to put Lady Eastbeck in her place. She really did mean to strike me. I could see it in her eyes.”

He stood toe to toe with her, the water now up to their waists. The way she looked at him now was the same way she had looked at him in the coach, right before he had opened her legs and pleasured her. He licked his lips a little at the thought of doing so again.

“I… am thankful for last night,” Georgina whispered. “I have never felt that way before. And I… I liked it. Very much.”

Lysander felt himself stiffen despite the chilly water. He wanted to run his hands over her body, to feel her wetness again, to elicit forbidden moans from her.

“Into the water,” he ordered. “No time to be wasted. You must learn to swim.”

Georgina looked him in the eye. “As you wish, Your Grace. Whatever you need me to do, I am under your command.”

That only riled him up some more. He was glad the water was up over his waist to hide his arousal.

“I command you to go deeper,” he said.

“Your wish is my command,” she said.

Georgina turned to the middle of the lake and walked out into it, her body sinking into the water as she walked.

Suddenly, she was gone. She’d slipped under the surface in one swift motion and disappeared.

Lysander leaped into action. He ran a few steps, then dove into the water, swimming furiously to where she last was. His hand found her, clasped onto her body, and hoisted her to the surface.

“I have you,” he said, holding onto her as he kicked his legs to keep them afloat.

“I don’t know what… one minute I was fine, and the next, I thought I might die.”

“You are used to our lake,” Lysander said. “You didn’t know the ground dropped away so suddenly. It’s fine, I have you now.”

Her face was an inch from his as she clung on for dear life, and he could feel her warm breath on his lips. He wanted to lean in and calm her, but he couldn’t get caught up like that again.

The previous night was enough. If they continued with that, as pleasurable as it was, it would only complicate matters.

“When you fall off a horse, you get right back on,” Lysander said. “I can feel your fear, but I am right here with you, and now that we know how deep the water is, I can make sure this doesn’t happen again. I’m going to let you go, and you will kick your legs to keep yourself afloat, all right?”

“No, please,” she begged, her fingers digging into his skin. “Please don’t let me go.”

He knew that the longer she left it, the more scared she would be to try again.

“Try it for me, and I will reward you,” he said.

“Reward me? What sort of reward?”

“You will have to wait and see, but I promise you it will be worth it.”

Georgina looked into his eyes and smiled—her grip on him became a little looser. “I’m scared,” she said.

“I know, but that is only temporary. Be scared for a little while, and I will make sure you don’t feel scared after that.”

Georgina became serious and nodded. Lysander lowered one hand to her waist, and she moved hers to his shoulders. He thought about kissing her at that moment, but if he did, they might become distracted by other things when it was of the utmost importance that she learned this vital skill.

She slowly let go of him, and he waited until she started kicking her legs below the surface. When he felt that she could safely stay buoyant under her own power, he let go of her waist and began kicking his legs to remain close to her.

“I’m doing it,” she squealed. “I’m swimming.”

“Well, yes, but not fully. Don’t worry, we’re progressing toward it. For now, you know how to kick your legs to keep your head above water. Keep practicing so you can build up your strength.”

Georgina nodded, a look of determination gleaming in her eyes.

Lysander remained close for the rest of the lesson, though he had no further need to play the hero. Georgina did not sink beneath the surface again. When her strength waned, she allowed herself to rest in his arms, her head tucked beneath his chin, the water lapping gently around them.

There was something disarming, quiet, and unguarded in that closeness. The kind of nearness one earned rather than demanded.

By the time they returned to shore, the sun was brushing the edge of the trees, setting the lake aglow with golden light. Grass clung to their wet feet as they walked up the bank, arms brushing, breaths uneven.

They collapsed together onto the warm earth, the scent of water and grass rising around them. Lysander stretched out on his back, his hands behind his head, his skin tingling from the sun and exertion.

How long had it been since he’d allowed himself this degree of idleness? A day without obligation, free from titles and expectations. He exhaled slowly, feeling more like a man than a duke.

Beside him, Georgina let out a soft sigh and rolled onto her side. He turned his head, and there she was. Flushed and damp and smiling faintly.

Her hair, drying in wild curls, was spread around her like a dark halo. Her cheeks were pink from the sun and exertion, and her lips slightly parted. She looked undone in the best way—relaxed, unpolished, and utterly bewitching.

His eyes dipped lower to the damp linen clinging to her form. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath, the outline of them clear beneath the fabric.

A bolt of heat shot through him. He looked quickly back up at her face.

But she was watching him.

She said nothing, only held his gaze. There was no coyness in it, no artifice. Only openness. Curiosity. Trust.

He rolled onto his side to face her fully, propping himself up on one elbow.

“A promise is a promise.”

A soft smile tugged at her mouth. “You are a man of your word.”

“And you,” he said slowly, “are a woman I find myself utterly undone by.”

Color bloomed high in her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she lifted her hand—tentative, trembling slightly—and placed it against his chest.

“I should like to know,” she said quietly, “how to touch you. Properly.”

He stilled.

Her fingers spread lightly against his skin, her gaze flickering to his lips, then to his eyes again. “If you would let me.”

Lysander took her hand and guided it downward, beneath the band of his damp trousers. His breath caught as her fingertips grazed him.

She froze.

“Oh,” she whispered.

“It’s all right,” he said gently. “Here.”

He guided her hand, showing her the rhythm, the pressure.

She followed his movements with trembling curiosity, her brows drawn in concentration. Her touch was cautious at first, but soon grew more confident.

Lysander closed his eyes, letting the electric sensation roll through him. His body was taut with restraint.

Her other hand moved to his shoulder, steadying herself. “Does that feel good?” she asked, voice barely above a breath.

“Too good,” he murmured, opening his eyes to find her face inches from his. “You make me come undone, Georgina.”

Their mouths met in a slow, searing kiss.

His hand slid around her waist, drawing her closer. He kissed her again, deeper this time, savoring the softness of her lips, the tentative flicker of her tongue against his.

He wanted to touch her too—he needed to. His hand skimmed down over her breast, lingering there for a moment before slipping beneath the hem of her bathing dress.

She gasped into his mouth as his fingers found her slick and waiting.

“Let me,” he said brusquely, and she nodded, burying her face in his shoulder as he began to stroke her.

Her fingers faltered on him, then resumed with a fervent grip that made his hips twitch.

“Slowly,” he murmured, “we do not need to hurry.”

She made a helpless sound as he circled her most sensitive place. Georgina’s body moved against his hand instinctively, shifting her legs to allow him better access. Her free hand clutched at his arm, her nails digging into his skin.

“Lysander—” she gasped.

He kissed her again, trying to drown himself in her sounds, her scent, the slick heat of her wrapped around his fingers. He slid two fingers inside her, marveling at the way she clenched around him.

Her strokes on him became bolder, more erratic.

He drew his lips along her jaw. “You feel incredible.”

“I… think I’m?—”

“Yes,” he whispered, pressing his thumb to her throbbing nub as his fingers moved faster.

She cried out, her body tensing, thighs trembling. Her entire form seized in his arms as she reached her climax, soft cries spilling from her lips. He held her through it, murmuring her name, kissing her temple.

She didn’t stop moving her hand. Her grip on him tightened with renewed determination, and he groaned, his body bucking into her touch.

“Georgina—”

She glanced up, her cheeks still flushed, and something flickered in her eyes—boldness, perhaps, or possession.

He erupted with a shuddering breath, clutching her waist as his release overtook him. It felt like something had broken open inside of him—raw, consuming, wholly hers.

For a long time, neither of them moved.

They lay sprawled in the grass, flushed and trembling, side by side like two beings flung from the same wild force.

Above them, the sun had begun sinking below the surrounding townhouses, and the sky was painted in warm amber.

Lysander reached out and took her hand.

No words passed between them. They simply lay there, letting silence say what they could not yet name.