Page 10 of My Demanding Duke (Forbidden Love #2)

CHAPTER NINE

HUGH BARELY SPARED a glance at the stage as Sheridan’s The Rivals unfolded—his attention fixed instead on his wife beside him. She sat still, hands folded in her lap, her posture poised yet betraying a quiet tension.

Perhaps, Hugh thought—or rather, hoped—she was as affected by their closeness in the intimate confines of their box as he was.

From his seat, he had an unimpeded view of the audience below—London society in all its chaotic splendor. The pit churned with the restless energy of drunken gentlemen jostling for space, while fruit sellers wove between them, shouting their wares. Above the fray, the elite preened like peacocks, their jewels catching in the candlelight as they turned to see and be seen.

Yet, throughout the performance, it was not the stage that held the audience’s attention but Anna. The flicker of quizzing glasses aimed in their direction had been relentless all night long.

Her debut as Duchess of Falconbridge would be dissected in the papers the next morning with greater scrutiny than the performance on-stage could hope for. Even if Shakespeare himself had risen from the grave to present a new work, he would have been ignored in favor of her .

Hugh reached out, resting his hand atop hers—partly to offer support, but mostly to satisfy the desire to touch her that had consumed him all night. Her fingers curled slightly in response, and he waited to see if she would pull away.

Much to his relief—for his ego was only so resilient—she did not pull away. Instead, she turned to him, her expression anxious.

“It feels as though everyone is watching us and not the play,” she whispered. “I might as well be sitting here naked for how they’re staring.”

Hugh went utterly still. Her words were innocent—yet his traitorous mind seized upon them with unholy enthusiasm. A grown man of two-and-thirty, and yet, with nothing more than an offhand remark, she had reduced him to a randy schoolboy, his body betraying him with embarrassing swiftness.

"If you were sitting there naked, my dear, the performance on stage would be entirely forgotten—for I’d be putting on quite the show myself."

Hugh couldn’t resist indulging his urge to tease her—and was rewarded with a charming blush and a rosebud mouth curved into a moue of amusement laced with censure.

“You’re incorrigible,” she retorted, a definite smile now playing on her luscious lips.

“Yes, we decided that earlier,” Hugh agreed.

He squeezed her hand and allowed her return her attention to the play. Meanwhile, he was forced to focus his attention away from his manhood, which was now straining painfully against his breeches.

He turned his gaze to the audience, paying particular attention to the sweaty, spot-ridden faces of the louts in the pit. Nothing was more certain to take the wind out of a man’s sails than the sight of another, slovenly drunk man.

A face amongst the heaving crowd caught Hugh’s attention—Gravesend. The boy’s features looked remarkably intact for a lad who had been caught wronging Daniel Shatter. As though sensing Hugh’s gaze upon him, the young man turned and lifted his head to stare up at Hugh. Though far away, there was no mistaking the look of pure malice on Gravesend’s face.

Hugh felt a stir of disquiet in the pit of his stomach, as he recalled Bartie’s warning that he had made an enemy on his wedding night. He shrugged off the feeling with an irritable shake; Gravesend was a penniless baron, what harm could he do to the holder of one of England’s most powerful titles?

Hugh lifted his chin haughtily and returned his gaze to the stage. The Rivals' witty dialogue washed over him unheard, his mind consumed by the venomous glare he'd received. His fingers tightened around his wife's delicate hand, a protective instinct rising within him despite his earlier dismissal.

He suddenly realized the source of his disquiet: Anna. His life had always been his own, his actions bearing consequences only for himself. Now that Anna was his, he was responsible for protecting her. Judging by the stirring passion he felt at the very idea that Gravesend might harm his new bride, Hugh realised with startling clarity that he’d be quite capable of killing any man who sought to hurt her.

The strength of his feelings shocked him somewhat. He had allowed no one to penetrate the thick walls of indifference he'd built around his heart after Jack's death. And yet, in just a few days, Anna had not merely found the cracks—she'd slipped through them.

On stage, the play came to a final, chaotic end. The audience bellowed in approval, loudly applauding the actors as they took their bows.

“What fun,” Anna cried, turning to Hugh with a smile.

“Quite,” Hugh agreed, hoping that she would not press him for his opinion on the play—for he could not recall even one scene.

The audience below began to move as one undulating mass toward the doors. Hugh and Anna remained seated in the comfort of their box, until the worst of the crush had left. Anna filled the time with excited chatter about the play—the actors, the writing, the staging.

“You are a lover of the theatre?” Hugh guessed, suppressing a grin at her gaiety. Her enthusiasm was charming, especially when contrasted to the jaded cynicism of most ladies of the ton.

“I am now,” she answered, “This was my first play.”

“First of many,” Hugh rushed to assure. Her enthusiasm was not just charming now but touching. A woman of Anna’s social rank would usually have had many opportunities to visit the theatre, but Anna’s circumstances had not been usual. He wondered what else she had been deprived of, living at the mercy of her father’s profligate ways.

The crush now ended, Hugh stood to assist his wife from her seat. He offered her his arm, which she took without hesitation, then led the way to the bustling foyer.

There, a crowd lingered, glittering and loud under the chandeliers. Uninterested in entertaining anyone, Hugh adopted his haughtiest, most ducal expression as he pushed through the mass of bodies.

Unfortunately for Hugh, there was one man immune to his forbidding visage: Lord Beaufort.

“Falconbridge,” Bartie hailed as they passed. “How exciting to see you with your new bride. Your Grace, my congratulations on your marriage. You might be pleased to know that the whole theatre was praising your elegance and beauty.”

This last part was directed to Anna, who looked rather alarmed by the news.

“Anna, may I introduce you to Lord Beaufort,” Hugh said through gritted teeth before turning to his friend. “Bartie, this is Anna, Duchess of Falconbridge. Tell me this, my friend, are you ever at home? Everywhere I go, there you are.”

"There’s plenty of time to stay home when the season is over,” Bartie replied, his jolly nature still bouyant despite Hugh’s questioning. “As to my being everywhere you go, I like to think that the fates themselves have divined that our paths should cross—after all, you might not be married if it wasn’t for me."

He winked at Anna, who in turn glanced at Hugh with confusion.

“It was like seeing Cupid’s bow strike,” Bartie continued, addressing her in a stage whisper loud enough for Hugh’s benefit. “He prowled the periphery of the Morland’s ballroom like a wounded beast, until I took pity on him and told him your name.”

“That’s quite enough of that tale, Bartie,” Hugh interrupted, with a quelling glare.

“Now that you are married, and his heart is not so wounded, his pride has returned,” Bartie finished, with a mischievous wink to Anna—who looked rather too pleased for Hugh’s liking at Bartie’s ribbing.

“I will endeavour to keep him on his toes, Lord Beaufort,” Anna replied, her own smile playful. “For as they say, pride comes before the fall.”

“It’s too late for that I fear, your Grace; your husband has fallen so deeply for you that there’s no hope left for him at all. Oh, I do love a good love story!”

Brimming with bonhomie, Bartie took Anna’s hand and placed a kiss upon the back of it, before bidding Hugh goodbye and disappearing—mercifully—back into the crowd.

“What a delight Lord Beaufort is,” Anna commented as she watched Bartie mingle. “Have you known each other long?”

“Too long,” Hugh muttered as he ushered her toward the exit.

He felt somewhat awkward at Bartie having brought up the “L” word; love was not part of Hugh’s usual lexicon. Was that what he felt toward Anna? Desire: certainly. Protectiveness: without a doubt. But, romantic love? Surely that was a mere idea, invented by reprobate poets with drinking problems and debt.

“Well, I do hope our paths will cross again,” Anna said firmly, tilting her chin in that defiant way that set Hugh’s pulse racing.

He felt a stab of jealousy toward Lord Beaufort; what would it be like to approach the world with his same gentle ease? To make everyone feel instantly comfortable in your presence, instead of awed and a little afeared?

Hugh did not dwell on this too long. A life adjacent to power rather than as the holder of it had been open to him once, but that door had slammed shut the day Jack died. He did not like to ruminate on what ifs.

Outside was chilly, the warmth of the Spring day long disappeared. Hugh hailed their carriage, which was waiting a bit away, then turned to Anna to make certain she was comfortable. He frowned as he pulled her cloak tighter around her, unhappy to think she might catch a cold.

“I should have told you to wait inside,” he said apologetically.

“I have never been so warm in my life,” she assured him with a smile, taking a gloved hand to the sliver-fur collar and stroking it fondly.

Something about that action stoked desire in Hugh’s belly. He felt his manhood stir at the idea of her naked beneath the cape, the soft fur caressing her silky skin.

Mercifully, the carriage arrived before all the blood in Hugh’s body rushed to his cock. What a scandal that would have been if he had been sighted at full mast in public. Being married to Anna truly was like reliving his teenage years, he thought ruefully.

Hurriedly, he assisted his wife to alight—allowing his hands to linger on her waist—before following her inside.

The footman clicked the door shut and Hugh turned to Anna, intent on solicitously covering her knees with a blanket. But as she turned her face toward him, her ethereal beauty caused something inside Hugh to snap.

He could not stand the torture of being so close to her without touching her a second longer. With a groan of desire and defeat, he reached out and pulled her into his lap.

“What are you doing?” she squeaked, wriggling her bottom in protest.

As said bottom was placed directly on top of Hugh’s aching cock, this did not help her protest.

“Kissing my wife,” he said throatily, as he placed a hand on the back of her head to draw her down into a searing kiss.

He was relieved when she responded eagerly to the embrace, her arms wrapping around his neck.

He was gentle at first, softly worshiping her lips, but impatience and desire soon overtook him. He pulled her closer, so that her breasts were pressed against his chest, pillaging her mouth with his tongue.

She did not pull back from his assault. Instead, she responded with a sigh of longing that set Hugh on fire.

“I need you facing me,” he whispered, as he pulled away from her for a moment.

With strong arms, he lifted her bodily so that she was straddling him, a leg on either side. His hands found her skirts, hitching them up so that he could pull her down properly atop his hardness.

Had she not been wearing drawers and he trousers, Hugh was certain that he would have plunged his cock deep inside her, so fierce was his need. Restricted by circumstance, he kept one hand on her hip, urging her to grind against him, as his other hand pushed open her cape.

Her straddled position meant that her breasts were level with Hugh’s face—much to his delight. The bodice of her dress low enough to allow Hugh to press his mouth against the swell of her bosom, but even that was not enough to sate him.

“I will buy you a new one,” he promised his slightly confused—but thoroughly aroused—wife, before taking his other hand from her hip and using both hands to rip the bodice apart.

“What are you—?” Anna said, but she was unable to finish her question for she moaned with longing as her breasts spilled forth and Hugh caught one pert nipple in his mouth.

He suckled it greedily, lightly fondling her other hard bud with his free hand. He bucked his hips, urging her to press herself against his hardness, painfully aware that he was on the verge of spilling his seed in his breeches.

She whimpered with need, her naked desire threatening to send Hugh completely over the edge.

Mercifully—for her virginity at least—the carriage drew to a halt. They were home.

“Oh dear, look at me,” Anna whispered, as she looked down at her breasts, completely exposed in her ripped gown.

“I should have instructed Madame Delacroix to design all your dresses that way,” Hugh grinned, allowing himself one more caress of her swollen white orbs.

The sound of the footman jumping to the ground outside, set Hugh into swift action. He lifted Anna from his lap, tucked the cape firmly around her so that her modesty was covered, and smiled assuringly.

“Hold it tightly closed,” he instructed, as the door opened.

He disembarked first, blocking the door so that only he could see her as she clambered out. The gas lamps on the square were dim enough to hide her slightly disheveled state from prying eyes.

Hugh placed an arm around her shoulder and ushered Anna inside, where he quickly bundled her up the stairs.

He would not hesitate this time and allow her to dismiss him.

Once they reached her chambers, she turned to him, her mouth parted, her eyes a question.

Her beauty and innocence in that moment, left Hugh with a startling certainty; she would be his undoing.

He groaned with longing, as he pulled her against his body, allowing his hardness press against her soft stomach.

Never before had he felt such an aching need to take a woman, to claim her as his own, to spill his seed inside her…

Steady, a voice urged him, as his hands roved Anna’s gentle curves beneath the soft fur cape. Had he not decided that it would be caddish to pluck her virginity in one fell swoop? Especially when she had already given so much of herself to him.

She had given him her hand. Despite her doubts, a part of her trusted him, and despite his strongest urges, Hugh could not bring himself to shatter that trust. He bit back a groan as he realised that his conscience would not allow his aching member its release—at least, not this night. Curses but this new found conscious of his becoming a bother!

With great effort, Hugh focused his attention away from the bulge in his breeches, to the woman in his arms.

"Lets get this off you," he murmured against her ear, pushing her cape to the floor. He then slipped behind her, his fingers finding the buttons at the back of her gown. With deliberate slowness, he undid the first button, then the second.

Hugh allowed his lips trace each piece of newly exposed skin as his hands continued their task, unfastening each button until the garment—at last—hung open. With a sense of triumph, he eased the silk from her shoulders, letting it slide down her arms to the floor. She wore no stays and a swift tug had her drawers and petticoats spilling to the floor with a sigh.

His promise that he would take things slowly met a quick stumbling-block as Anna turned and was revealed to him entirely, trembling and bare in the soft candlelight. He allowed himself a moment to drink in her beauty, before he captured her lips again. Without breaking their kiss, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, where he lay her down gently.

“Please,” she whimpered, as he momentarily drew away from her to remove his coat and slippers.

She lay naked against the pillows, her blonde hair cascading across the white linen, her breasts swollen, nipples pink and taut. Hugh’s gaze skimmed down the softness of her stomach and the gentle swell of her hip, to the soft mound of curls which covered her sex.

He bit back a curse at his stupidity, for the swell of his cock, pressing painfully against his breeches, was in danger of overriding any ounce of self-control he had left.

"Hugh?"

His name, called in a gentle whisper, brought Hugh's attention back to his wife.

Her eyes were wide, as desire clashed with uncertainty. Her mouth, a perfect rosebud, was slightly parted, begging to be covered with his own.

With a groan of regret, Hugh lay down alongside her, drawing her into a deep searing kiss.

He plundered her mouth with his tongue, trying to assuage his pressing desire. When that served only to make him more aroused, he reluctantly drew his lips from hers, and trailed a line of hot kisses down her neck to her collarbone, to the glory of her breasts.

Hugh circled his tongue around one pink areola, before flicking the nub of her nipple with his tongue. Anna gasped in response, her hips bucking upward in an invitation he desperately wished to accept.

Anna's soft moans filled the chamber as he worshiped at the altar of her swollen breasts, her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to her. The sweet sounds of her pleasure threatened to undo his resolve entirely. Hugh knew he must redirect his attention if he was to keep his promise not to claim her fully.

With exquisite slowness, he trailed his hand down the curve of her waist, over the slight swell of her stomach, until his fingers brushed against the soft curls at the apex of her thighs. Anna tensed momentarily, then relaxed as he returned to kiss her lips, gentle and reassuring.

"Trust me," he whispered against her mouth. "I promised you pleasure and I never renege on a promise."

The trust in her eyes nearly undid him as she nodded, her breath coming in short whimpers of need.

His fingers traced delicate patterns along her inner thighs, gradually moving higher with each caress. Once she was suitably relaxed, he placed himself between her legs, and trailed hot kisses along the soft skin of her upper thigh. Anna's breath quickened as he continued his journey, his destination becoming clear.

"Wait", she called, a note of uncertainty in her voice.

“Trust me,” he assured her again.

Her eyes widened slightly, but she nodded, her curiosity evident in the flush spreading across her skin.

With that, Hugh continued with his mission. He pressed more reverent kisses to the soft skin of her inner thigh, moving ever closer to her centre. Anna tensed momentarily when his mouth finally touched her slick crease.

“Relax," he murmured against her skin. "Just feel.”

With exquisite gentleness, Hugh's tongue traced the wet seam of her womanhood, tasting her arousal for the first time. Anna gave a startled gasp as his lips touched her sex, her fingers clutching at the bedsheets. Encouraged by her response, Hugh continued his gentle exploration, moving upward to the pearl of her pleasure and circling it with his tongue.

Anna's shock quickly gave way to pleasure as Hugh worshipped her clit with his mouth, alternating between gentle friction and delicate flicks of his tongue. Her hips began to move of their own accord, seeking more—and threatening to send Hugh’s resolve completely over the edge.

To distract himself, Hugh slid his hands beneath her, cupping her bottom and lifting her slightly to grant him better access. His tongue delved deeper, tasting her essence as her passion mounted. The sounds of her pleasure—soft whimpers and breathless moans—were more intoxicating than the finest wine.

When he could stand the torture no more, Hugh returned to her clitoris, where his tongue found the perfect rhythm to drive her to the brink. Carefully, he brought his hand to her wet lips and slid two fingers inside, as deep as he dared. Her muscles gripped around his fingers and Hugh continued his sensual assault of her clit, until she was slick with sweat and writhing with pleasure.

“Please,” she gasped, her hands tugging at his hair, as though she wished to him to stop.

But Hugh persisted and a moment later, Anna gave one final gasp before she found her release. He grinned with self-satisfaction as he felt her muscles lap against his fingers, while her body writhed in ecstasy—he always delivered on his promises.

Hugh waited for her pleasure to abate, for her breath to return to an even keel, before bringing himself up the bed to lie beside her. He pulled her into his arms, surprised by his sudden need for a different kind of intimacy—tenderness.

“You’re sleepy,” he commented, for her eyes were heavy, her breathing slow.

“I’m not,” she protested, defiant to the last.

He smiled as he placed a kiss on the top of her head. Within moments, she was dozing softly, her naked body pressed against his.

I’ll just wait a few moments then return to my own bed, Hugh thought, as he felt her breathing turn slow and rhythmic. He had never spent a full night with a woman, for he had never felt the need. But, as the minutes stretched on he grew more and more reluctant to leave the warmth of her body cradled in his arms. It felt so right to be holding her; it felt like home.

Just a few more minutes, he promised himself again, before he too drifted into a peaceful slumber.