Page 33 of My Secret Duke

S he was sleeping. Ivo had been asleep himself, briefly, but he didn’t want to waste a moment of this time. They were lying on the bed, his body spooned around hers, with her back to his chest. He lifted his head and leaned over to kiss her gently on the temple, tucking her hair aside so that he could see her face. The pleasure had been beyond his wildest dreams, but he suspected that was because, for the first time, his heart was enmeshed, as well as his body.

He wondered how she could think they would only have this one night. It wasn’t enough. He would fight for more, for her, with everything he had. It was either that or live with a broken heart.

“Ivo?”

He looked down. Her eyes were still closed, long, dark lashes resting against her pale cheek. “Yes, sweetheart?”

She smiled, the corners of her lips turning up. “I like it when you call me that,” she whispered. “I’ve never been anybody’s sweetheart.”

That gave him a sharp pain in his heart, to think she had not been valued as she ought. He remembered how she had spoken about her childhood, the awfulness of it, and he swore to himself that if he won her, he would do everything in his power to make her life with him better.

“I will call you sweetheart forever now,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.

Her smile dropped away, and he felt her body stiffen. Her eyes snapped open. She lifted her head and looked at him over her shoulder.

“I should get back,” she said. “It must be late.”

“Soon,” he soothed. “We have a little longer.”

She hesitated, and just when he thought she was going to insist, she snuggled down against him again.

Ivo pressed his lips to her nape, lifting aside her dark hair. She shivered, and he did it again, reaching around to cup her breast, gently squeezing the lush flesh. He moved his thumb over her nipple, feeling it peak. She was his perfect woman, he decided. His pocket Venus.

“Feels nice,” she murmured, wriggling back against him, and he groaned at the sensation of her bottom pressing to his groin. “Can we do it again?” she added breathlessly. “Once more before we go?”

“God yes,” he said. When he slipped his fingers between her thighs, he could feel the moist heat there, the beginnings of her arousal and the residue of their earlier lovemaking. His cock was so hard, he ached as he carefully pushed inside her, and then reached around to tease her. She was already gasping, arching back into him, and as he began to move, she did too.

He could wake up to this every morning for the rest of his life, and it would never be enough. Her soft curves against his hard muscle, the feminine scent of her on his fingers, in his nostrils, the sound of her cries as she drew nearer to her climax.

“Ivo,” she gasped, her body trembling, her muscles tightening around his cock, sending them both into ecstasy.

They lay for a time, replete, but she was right. It was late.

Ivo rose and found the water and a cloth left by the servant. It was barely warm now, but it would have to do, he thought as he cleaned her lovingly. Olivia watched him through her lashes, but she did not protest. She seemed to enjoy his intimate attentions, and he remembered again her desolate childhood. He looked up at her. “You may be a little sore. I’m sorry if that’s the case.”

She bit her lip. “I am a little sore. But it was worth it, Ivo.” They smiled at each other until her gaze slipped away. Then, as if pushing aside sentiment, she said briskly, “You won the dare. Congratulations.”

He didn’t want to think these heavenly moments had been part of a challenge. He suspected she had reminded him to try to distance herself, and he didn’t like it. “Thank you,” he said politely. “I will have to think of one for you.”

She laughed uncomfortably. “No hurry. I expect my mother’s wedding will keep me busy.”

In mutual silence, they began to dress, Olivia turning to him only when she needed her gown refastened. He might have held her, kissed her, but she stepped away and reached for her cloak, quickly tying it before tucking her hair into the hood. The last thing was her mask, and when she had covered her face once more, Ivo went to open the door.

“Olivia,” he said, “do you think—”

“I hope Roberta hasn’t done anything disgraceful,” she said quickly, interrupting him.

He let his words go. What was he going to say anyway? I love you, please marry me? She would only say no again. He had promised he would fight for her, but he needed some distance to regroup, to plan. This was not the moment to declare himself.

The scene in the ballroom was even more dissipated than before. Debauchery was everywhere. He hurried Olivia through, stepping over a single stocking tangled with a cravat, and asked for their coach to be brought to the door. Roberta was sent for and arrived, eyeing them curiously. As if disliking the silence that seemed to stretch between them, she broke into a monologue about the Longhurst girl and her collection of dolls.

“Next time, I will bring Edwina,” she said. “She would enjoy a visit. For me, it was rather tedious. I am used to more exciting things.”

Ivo was glad to hand them into the coach. For a moment, Olivia turned to him, but he couldn’t read her expression behind the mask, and in the end, he bowed and let them go. The vehicle rumbled away over the cobbles, and behind him he could hear laughter from the Longhursts’, but it was much more subdued than earlier.

He needed to go home. He needed to think. He suspected Olivia believed she had said goodbye to him, and that she was preparing to be friends again. She was foolish if she thought that. After tonight, “friends” could never be enough. Their lovemaking had crossed a line that they could never go back from.

From now on, for Ivo, it was either all or nothing.