Page 26 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)
“Such as?” Winifred tilted her head.
“Companionship and conversation.” He ticked off two fingers.
“Many marriages result in the husband and wife descending into silence and separate lives.”
“Financial stability,” he said, adding a third.
“Nora is engaged to a duke.” Winifred waved her arm, dismissing the concern. “And you confirmed your willingness to assist him until the threat of Mr. Curtis is vanquished.”
“Physical pleasure.”
She gestured around them. “Is that not the very reason we’re currently in your chamber?”
“You wouldn’t need to conceal that relationship.”
“Your Grace,” Winifred folded her hands, setting them on her lap, “I’m confused as to why someone who placed a wager to avoid marriage is encouraging me toward that deplorable outcome. Would it not be simpler to refuse the Duke of Roxburghe’s request to house my mother and me until my wedding day?”
He shoved off the floor, marched over to the desk, and slammed the page down on top of the stack. “I have no issue assisting Roxburghe or you and your mother indefinitely.”
“Thankfully, you won’t need to. I don’t intend to stay in Wiltshire after my sister marries.”
“How do you intend to support yourself?” he asked, his back to her.
“I’ll look for a position as a governess.” She slowly climbed to her feet, uncertain of the Duke of Beaufort’s mind. “It’s you who deserves credit for the idea.”
“Me?” He whipped around. “I’ll take no credit for such an inane scheme. Both your sister and Roxburghe will be furious if I cause your disappearance.”
“I have no intention of placing any blame upon you.” She hesitated, then took a step toward the Duke of Beaufort. “However, I ask that you keep this information secret.”
“You’re going to leave town without speaking to your sister?” He grimaced, dragging a hand through his hair. “She’ll be distraught.”
“Once I’m settled at my new residence, I’ll send Nora a missive to ease her mind.”
And one day, she’ll forgive me for running off.
“What of Mr. Curtis?” The Duke of Beaufort glided closer, meeting Winifred in the center of the chamber. “He continues to be a viable threat.”
“I cannot reside with you for an unknown period of time, without drawing scandal, until he is captured.” She glanced down as the Duke of Beaufort took her hands in his. “Surely, you realize the rumors that would come from that arrangement.”
“I’ll propose.” He drew her closer. “Juliette would be overcome with delight.”
“A forced marriage, even one done for protection, isn’t what I want, Your Grace,” she said, trying to ignore the tendrils of warmth creeping up her arms as the Duke of Beaufort rubbed his thumbs across the back of her hands. “And neither do you. It will lead to resentment.”
“Then what, precisely,” he rumbled, removing the chaste distance between them, “do you desire?”
“To be free of the whispered judgments that plague my every move.” Her voice catching, she twisted away and stared at the fireplace.
Hooking his finger under her chin, he drew her face back. “There are no critics in my bedchamber.”
“Your solution is that I hide in here?”
A wolfish grin appeared on his face. “I’m not averse to the suggestion.”
“I—”
“Swear that you won’t make any arrangements until after your sister’s vows are completed,” he said, brushing his thumb along her lower lip. “And I swear to assist you with securing a governess position in whatever part of the country you choose.”
Winifred shivered, unable to break free of the spell cast by his mesmeric green eyes.
“I’ll agree to your terms,” she whispered, “if you also swear not to share one whit of what I’ve revealed this evening.”
“A second term?” he murmured, cupping her face and leaning in until his mouth was less than a millimeter from hers. “How do you propose to balance this additional demand?”
“I swear not to share the magnitude of your musical talent with your friends.”
“Done.” His mouth captured hers, cutting off her next sentence, and his arms embraced her, molding her body against his.
His fingers slid up the back of her muslin dress, grasped hold of one of the ties, and slowly pulled the string, loosening Winifred’s bodice. Reaching down, his hands curled around the delicate material, and he drew the garment over her head, breaking their kiss.
“Physical contact isn’t part of our agreement,” he murmured, his lips trailing over her collarbone. “You may stop this at any time, Miss Fernsby-Webb.”
“Winifred,” she gasped as he nipped at the sensitive skin. “If we’re going to continue in this manner, you should at least know my name.”
“Do you know mine?” he asked as his mouth moved across her throat.
Her mind blissfully blank, she tilted back her head and moaned.
“That wasn’t a word.” The vibrations of his voice tickled her skin.
“You’re distracting me,” she panted.
He pressed his lips against her ear, the distinctive combination of carnation and cinnamon swirling around her. “My name is Silas.”
Winifred grabbed onto his arms as her knees gave way.
“Hmm, I’ve never had that effect on a woman before.” His tongue darted out, tracing the shell of her ear.
Liquid fire blazed through Winifred’s body. Her grip on him tightened, her fingers digging into his sleeve as her legs failed her a second time.
In the whole of her short relationship with Mr. Hollingsworth, she’d never had this type of reaction to his physical touch. Winifred swallowed. If the Duke of Beaufort could fell her with a kiss, what would happen…
“You’re trembling.” He pulled away, his eyes searching hers.
“Did you not request that I seduce you?” she asked, attempting to calm her racing heart.
His mouth twitched. “I recall daring you to do so.”
“Then, we should begin with your coat.” Taking his hand, she led him around the wing chair beside the fireplace.
“Not my trousers?”
“Seduction takes time, Your Grace.”
“Silas,” he rumbled as her fingers rose to the fastenings on his black tailcoat.
“Silas,” she repeated, peeling the garment from his shoulders and draping the jacket over her dress on the back of the chair.
His waistcoat quickly followed, but she struggled with the cravat and growled at the knot when it refused to loosen. He reached up to assist her, and she pushed his hands away, clucking her tongue.
“You’re not allowed to touch,” she said, untying the cravat and pulling the cloth from his neck.
“We’ll see how long I can hold to that restriction,” he replied, tucking his hands behind his back.
She’d never undressed a man before. Mr. Hollingsworth had preferred to leave as much of his clothing on when they had relations. The Duke of Beaufort’s willingness to allow her to do so only served to increase his character in her mind.
Tugging the white muslin shirt free of his trousers, Winifred’s fingertips brushed along the waistband, caressing the Duke of Beaufort’s exposed skin. He inhaled a sharp breath and grabbed her hands.
“I fold,” he ground out, dropping into the wingback chair and pulling Winifred onto his lap, her legs straddling his.
“I haven’t finished,” she gasped as he ground his hard length against her center.
“You’ve succeeded at your task,” he replied, his fingers nimbly opening the front closure of her corset.
He yanked the corset over her head, flung the garment to the side, and removed his shirt, which he tossed in the same direction as her corset. Then he slammed his mouth against hers, his tongue dipping past her parted lips and entangling with hers.
As she wrapped her arms around his neck, he ripped his suspenders off his shoulders, then his hands dropped to his trousers. In one quick move, he unfastened and shoved his pants down, exposing himself.
She rose on her knees, and he gathered her petticoat into a fist, bunching the material around her waist. Then, he guided her back down onto his lap, his hard length stretching her as he slid into her warmth.
Once he was fully sheathed, he exhaled a low groan, pausing for several seconds before his fingers tightened around her hips. He tugged her pelvis forward, thrusting deep, and sharp pain sliced through Winifred. She cried out, her eyes flying open.
The Duke of Beaufort froze, the color draining from his face. “I thought you were experienced.”
“I am,” she panted, her body relaxing as the discomfort faded. “You’re a bit larger than he was.”
“Am I?” A wicked grin split the Duke of Beaufort’s face. “Allow me to show you the benefits.”
He directed her hips forward again, adopting a slow rocking motion which encouraged the tendrils of warmth pooling in her abdomen to spiral outward and ignite her blood.
Fingers curling around his shoulders, Winifred moved in rhythm with him, a soft gasp escaping each time her hips rolled forward.
This felt nothing like relations with Mr. Hollingsworth.
Where he had been selfish and uncaring of her experience, the Duke of Beaufort seemed to draw pleasure in every moan he wrung from her body.
A groan rumbling in his chest, he dug his hands into her skin and increased their pace, driving himself deep into her center. His mouth recaptured hers, muting the cries falling from her lips as he thrust harder.
Her nails carving half-moons into his back through his muslin shirt, she ground herself against him. “Please…”
“Silas,” he murmured against her mouth.
“Silas,” she gasped, her head tilting back as the fire blazing across her skin intensified. “Don’t stop.”
“I have no intention to,” he panted, his voice straining, and he slid forward in the chair, altering his angle and plunging deeper.
She cried out, clinging to him as wave after wave of desire scorched her skin. Nothing she’d experienced prior prepared her for the blinding pleasure spreading through her limbs.
The trembling began in her abdomen and expanded outward until her body, screaming for release, vibrated with need. Her stomach clenched, and she climaxed, screaming out his name as the orgasm tore through her.
He followed her over the edge, his own cry of release drowning out her voice. He drew her against his chest, his rapid breathing entwining with hers.
A soft tapping came at the door, and they both whipped their heads toward the chamber’s entrance. The handle depressed, but the locked door did not open.
Winifred’s heart stopped. If they were discovered in this position, a forced wedding would be the only solution.
Miss Juliette’s quiet voice crept under the door. “Miss Fernsby-Webb?”