Page 17 of Promised to the Worst Duke in England (Disreputable Dukes of Club Damnation #2)

What the hell is happening to me?

At some point during their first waltz together that opened his midsummer ball, Alan became aware of an odd feeling, one he hadn’t experienced for a few years, something he thought was long dormant.

Each time he twirled her about, the skirting that reminded him of roses twisted about his legs, and when her body lightly brushed against his within the complicated steps of the Viennese waltz, desire for her flared anew, but now there was something that enhanced those feelings. Each time they came together, he peered into her eyes, almost fell into those stormy depths, and with every brief meeting of hands, with every step that brought her close to him, the sensation of tumbling assailed him.

Surely, I can’t be falling for my wife.

After what happened with Elizabeth and the aftermath therein, he’d promised himself to never let his heart be engaged again. Yet when Imogen came into his life, there was no doubt that she would upend it, but to what extent, he had no idea, and he was still reeling over it.

When she came back to partner him for the last steps of the waltz, she smiled, and he felt that gesture deep into his soul, for that is exactly what she was doing for him—illuminating his dark heart and shining that light all about so that his secrets and demons didn’t seem so frightening.

“You look as if you’ve had a revelation, Averly,” she murmured as her palm brushed his.

“Perhaps I have.” Did he possess enough courage to share what was beginning to be knit upon his heart? Or worse, what if he told her of those feelings prematurely, and then she did something to make him seem the fool like what had happened in the past?

As the notes of the song drew to a close and all the dancers slowed to a halt, he clung to her hand. “You managed the steps splendidly, duchess,” he murmured against the delicate shell of her ear.

“Perhaps it was the confidence I gained from my first partner of the evening.”

Polite clapping filled the air. He led his wife to one side of the room, out of the way of foot traffic.

He offered a grunt. “I don’t know about that.” But the almost giddy feeling about this night, about having her at his side, at what his future might look like, persisted as if he were a green boy just out of university, presented with his first crush. “I think your feet merely remembered the steps and went accordingly.”

Excitement shone in her eyes, leaving them glittering like the finest jewels. “I look forward to our next dance together. It’s odd, but I don’t remember enjoying this exercise quite so much.”

With her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling and those dark pink kissable lips of hers curving in the most gorgeous smile, the sensation of falling once more caught him up, and he knew beyond every doubt what he wanted in this moment.

“Come with me,” he whispered as he grabbed her hand and threaded their fingers together. In the general confusion as couples left the dance floor and more couples took their places to prepare for the next set, he tugged her through the crush until they escaped the ballroom.

“Where are we going?” Her words were breathless and full of the same anticipation coursing through his veins.

“Somewhere I am always safe, so that I can share a dance of a different kind with my wife.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I want you. Now. Want so much to fuck you on this most important of nights. Then we’ll return to the ball. I rather doubt we’ll be missed.”

“It could have waited until after the ball,” she said as she squeezed his fingers. “I would have been keen to couple with you at that time.”

“Yes, but I am a duke, my dear, and when I want something or someone, I’ll have it right then.” Quickly, before he could change his mind, Alan ushered her out of the room, along the corridors, and then up the back servants’ staircase, for that way they had less of a chance of being seen.

He didn’t stop moving until he gained the third level in the newer section of the manor house to his sister’s turret room. Excitement buzzed at the base of his spine, for he wouldn’t leave this room until he’d found a reason to tell her—or show her—how he was beginning to feel… hopefully. Acute need shivered through his shaft. Would she want that too or was he about to make a singular mistake?

Again.

“You are entirely too wicked, I think.”

“Did you think I would be anything less?”

“No, and what is more, I don’t mind, for the bad can’t exist without the good as well as vice versa.” She looked around the turret room where she’d shared her secrets that fateful day that changed everything.

Gently, he closed the door behind them. “This night has been unexpected for me already. I’m not prepared for…” His thoughts were too muddled and jumbled, twisted with his fears and mistakes from his past. There was no time to untangle them, for he was restless and quite frankly, randy as hell. “The damned beautiful gown coupled with the success of this night makes me want to do unspeakable things to you.”

“Oh!” Her eyes darkened to almost sapphire. “Do you truly like it?” She smoothed her gloved hands down the front of the gown. “One of the Roma travelers made it because the village seamstress was too busy.”

“It suits you, and is a living embodiment of midsummer and what you’ve done in the ballroom.” She was a mixture of mystery and secrets that was much a siren’s song. Though he’d wanted to tie her to his bed and tease her for the rest of the night, his need was too great for all that, but there would be plenty of time later in their stay at Averly Hall for that sort of torture. “I, uh…” He shoved a gloved hand through his hair. “Well, there are no words I can summon in this moment.”

“I know, for I feel the same.” Understanding clouded her face as she closed the distance between them and placed her palms on his chest. Truly, she was a light and with her near, he felt safe and secure. Never had he enjoyed that in his life. “I don’t want to communicate with words either.” Then she lifted on her toes and pressed her lips to his. “Do what you will with me; you’ll find no argument.”

Perhaps words weren’t needed on such a night. As he wrapped his arms around her and fit his mouth comfortably over hers, the sensation of coming home came over him bringing with it both relief and welcome.

Heat and desire exploded between them as those kisses built into something exquisite and burned like a match to dry tinder. All too soon, he was as breathless as she. Dear God, she was warm and soft, and her lips cradled his as if made especially for him, and if this was the only way he could tell her what he was too much a coward to say, perhaps the delivery didn’t matter.

Breaking the embrace, he chuckled when she protested, but then he turned her about in his arms merely to nuzzle the crook of her shoulder while cupping her breasts from behind. “I want to see every bit of your body, explore every inch of you tonight, fuck you until you can’t walk properly.”

Until he’d pleaded his case, made his point, pledged himself to her.

“You can tell me that all you want, but I would rather be shown how much you want me.” A low-pitched moan escaped her, and he grinned against her skin. Urgency hardened his member, but he ignored his own need in favor of focusing on her. This night was for her pleasure, to convince her this marriage wasn’t a mistake, and in this way, he wouldn’t be remembered as broken or a murderer as his past suggested.

In short order, he divested her of the striking pink and green gown. It puddled on the floor at their feet with a whisper. A few seconds more saw her stays and under things yielding to his manipulation. They fell, forgotten. “I apologize for the wrinkles your gown will sustain.”

“I rather doubt anyone will notice.” With every word, her lips brushed his.

Damn if she wasn’t the most beautiful woman, a veritable work of art, as if she’d stepped out of the woods and called him to her bed. “Ah, Imogen, I’ll wager you could have been a diamond in society if given the chance.” My diamond. Resting his gloved hands on her shoulders, he dragged his lips along the column of her neck. “Give me a few seconds and then I’ll join you.”

“You’d best hurry or I shall start without you.”

Ah, fuck. Need shot through his hardening shaft. Would she pleasure herself in front of him again as she’d done in the traveling coach that first day?

She watched him from over her shoulder as she toed off her slippers and peeled off her gloves. “In some ways, I wish we had never met,” she admitted in a whisper as she stood there in naught but the damned sparkling jewelry he’d gifted her and the white silk stockings with pink ribboned garters just above the knees.

God, she was his every fantasy with a trace of a haunting nightmare mixed in.

“Why?” His hands shook as he pulled and yanked at his own clothing to be free of the garments, yet his heart lodged in his throat for fear she would leave him. Collar, cuffs, cravat hit the floor. The tailcoat, gold and ivory brocade waistcoat, and fine lawn shirt were next. The cool ambient temperature in the room sent gooseflesh over his skin. “Do you regret that we’ve wed?”

“I don’t, oddly enough. However, I sometimes wonder if we might be too broken together to survive…” Her voice broke and tears were all too obvious in her tones. “Is it stupidity or folly to hope that we might find common ground and…” A half-stifled sob swallowed the remainder of her words.

Oh, God. Nothing reduced him to helplessness more than the sight of her tears. “No. I refuse to entertain that.” He hopped on first one foot then the next as he wrenched off his shoes. The breeches took less time to remove. As soon as he tugged the hosiery from his lower legs, he was finally free. “As you said, it will take time to find peace after acknowledging the demons. We will do that together. You’ll keep mine at bay and I’ll do the same for you.” Seconds later, he’d joined her again, brought her backside flush to his front, and sighed at the delicious, excruciating sensations that washed over him.

“Is that all we will need?” She glanced at him from over her shoulder with eyes luminous with moisture. “Will society accept either of us after what we’ve done?”

“Society can go hang. The only person’s acceptance I need is yours.” Emotion crowded his throat, and again he had no words. Instead, he took her breasts in his hands, palmed them until her nipples tightened into aroused buds. When she whimpered and stretched an arm above her head to hook it at his nape and pull his head close, the breath shuddered from him.

“I feel largely the same, but I didn’t want to be the one keeping you from respectability.”

A snort escaped him. “I’ve done my share of falling from that, and I’ve found it doesn’t matter. The beau monde can accept us as we are or not at all. It won’t have any bearing on our life together.” Perhaps if he said it enough, he’d believe it.

Wanting to quickly bring her to the edge, he strummed his fingertips over those hardened tips, again and again. The soft sounds she made at the back of her throat urged him onward, and as he pressed his lips to the side of her neck, he rolled those buds from the root to the tip then began the process of teasing her breasts all over again.

Suddenly, that wasn’t enough. He wanted all of her, to claim every inch of her body, and to give her all that he was as well. To lay bare his soul in the only way he knew how. As his hardened length pressed with insistence against the curve of her arse, he slid one hand down her torso, past the soft swell of her belly to furrow his fingers through the thatch of strawberry blonde curls at the apex of her thighs.

“I wanted to restrain you tonight after the ball, but I couldn’t wait to claim you until then.”

A shiver went through her body. “Then that is something to look forward to.” Her words ended on a gasp. She wriggled against him. “Please…”

“Let me show you how much I…”

Love you.

God, was that true?

“I need to feel you, want your dominance. Make me surrender to only you.” She took his free hand and held it to her breast while he urged her legs apart with a knee, and when he fondled her flesh, opened her so he could tease that swelling bud at her center, she moaned her approval.

Those sounds would soon be his downfall. Alan plucked and rolled her nipple while manipulating the slippery little button at her center with varying degrees of fiction. It took next to no time until she moved her hips in such a way that the urgency pulsing through his length increased. His ministrations increased; her breathing labored. A flush stained her cheeks while her responses grew more erratic.

As he nibbled the skin beneath her jaw, Imogen’s body stiffened. She threw back her head and a sharp, satisfying cry left her throat. Trembles shook her form, and damn but he wished he’d already penetrated her to feel those contractions around his shaft. When she slumped as if her knees could no longer support her weight, he scooped her up, carried her to the four-poster bed, and easily tossed her onto the mattress.

Damn but she looked like sin lying tousled amidst the blue counterpane with satiation and need in her eyes, and she was very much a fairy enchantress as she peered up at him with a slight smile. In a thrice, Alan joined her, and keeping his weight on his knees and elbows over her, he claimed her lips, deepened the kiss into something searing and heated, but the second she danced her fingers along his chest, he dragged his lips beneath her jaw, nibbled a path along the column of her throat, licking and nipping as he went.

“Let me touch you.” Already, she slid a hand down his chest, circled one of his nipples with a fingertip, and he nearly lost control.

“Soon.”

“That’s not fair.” When her lips curved into a pout, he wished those two pieces of flesh were around his shaft.

“Make your peace with that, duchess.” He smirked moments before he took one of her puckered nipples into his mouth.

She moaned, arched her back, and wrapped a hand about his upper arm. “I want to do wicked things to you in return,” she managed to whisper around a gasp.

“After the ball, surely.” There was nothing he wanted more than to spend hours in bed with her, bringing her pleasure, sending her flying again and again until he was seared upon her memory, until he was so deeply lost in her that he couldn’t find his way out.

“Spoilsport.”

“Let us see if you feel that way in a bit.” He edged down her body, kissing and licking as he went, and all the while he manipulated her nipples, keeping her on that shimmering edge, and farther south he went. Meeting her gaze, he winked, knelt between her legs, lifted her hips upward, and then buried his face between her damp thighs to devour her without prejudice, playing where he’d just sent her flying with his fingers.

Fuck, yes, this was what he’d wanted to do to her all night, and the taste of her was like ambrosia on his palate.

“Oh, damn you, Averly! I wasn’t ready!” Imogen squirmed, which put her more firmly in his care. “I can’t hold on. It’s too soon after that last release.”

“Then lose that control. Give it to me.” And he continued to worry that nubbin with his lips and tongue as if his life depended upon it. Making her shatter was his consuming goal. “Let yourself fall.”

Perhaps he should heed his own advice, dig deep to find the bravery he needed to tell her what she was coming to mean to him, even if she would think him a nodcock.

After a few flicks from his tongue, a bout of suckling at the button, a couple of fingers moving deep into her slick passage sent her over, and damn she was exquisite as release swamped her yet again. A faint flush colored her cheeks and upper chest. Her body trembled as her eyes shuttered closed, and her fingers fisted the bedclothes. The flutters in her core greedily gripped his fingers—all the encouragement he needed to finally join with her.

While she remained locked in the last vestiges of bliss, Alan lowered her hips to the bed and then flipped her over onto her belly. “Averly, no…”

“Shh.” He reassured her by pressing a line of kisses into her spine, following that pathway down to her arse cheeks. Damn but he couldn’t wait to use the diletto on her again. Nearly obsessed with her, he kissed one of her buttocks and then gave it a light nip with his teeth.

“Alan!” Her squeal of surprise went straight to his stones, magnifying his need.

He chuckled. With a low growl, he gave one of those delectable cheeks a light slap. “You are mine, Imogen. Do you understand?” After everything they’d been through together this past week, he was certain of that.

“Yes.” Her fingers curled into the bedclothes while she looked at him from over her shoulder. “And I—”

“—no. Now is not the time for thinking about anything except this moment.” And it was perfection. Alan encouraged Imogen onto her knees with her arse in the air, then he urged her legs apart, fit his tip to her opening, and holding onto her hips, he flexed his, penetrating her as deep as he could go.

Immediately, he was lost yet he was oddly found. None of it made sense.

Their moans blended together, and for a few seconds, he paused merely to savor the sensations of feeling at one with her—at peace.

Because of her.

Already, she panted from exertion. “You will kill me, but I adore coupling in this position.” A cry of pure enjoyment swallowed the last words when he moved within her passage.

“So do I.” Would she also enjoy the fantastic joy found in being restrained and beset with torturous pleasure?

Knowing this coupling would end all too quickly, he continued spearing into her honeyed heat, and as he watched his shaft disappear into and come out of her body, the more his desire grew. His thrusts were more determined, went deeper until sharp urgency raced up his shaft and his stones tingled with warning. He would shatter soon if he wasn’t careful, and when he did, he damn well wanted to see her face.

The second he pulled out, Imogen uttered a protest, and though it stoked his ego, it also tugged at his heart. “I need more from you than this.” With gentle hands, he encouraged her onto her back, then he came over her and joined their bodies once more, going as deep as he could. “Ah, Imogen…”

She looped her arms about his shoulders, held him close as she matched his rhythm, received each stroke of his hips as perfectly as if they’d been doing this all their lives. Had it truly only been a damned week?

He took her hands, threaded their fingers together on the mattress and peered into her eyes where desire and something deeper glimmered in those blue pools. Did he have the strength to try and analyze what that was? In the end, he didn’t. When she squeezed his fingers, his attention reoriented back to her. Over and over again he thrust into her, claimed her, told her without words that he was coming to adore her, that he admired her, that nothing else mattered except them working together to find that peace she always spoke about.

As tears welled in her eyes, his own emotion nearly choked him. Never in his life had he found such a connection with another person; it was both amazing and terrifying at the same time. What if he mucked it up? What if, in the end, she decided she couldn’t be with him after all?

Urgency throbbing through his shaft compelled him to quicken his pacing. Deeper and deeper, he went. Faster and faster, he speared into her softness. Harder and harder he worked to send her flying once more. She tried to pull her hands from his hold, but he refused to release her.

“Oddly, it is so much better without the use of my fingers,” she whispered with surprise on her face.

Then she sucked in a breath and her body went taut. Her eyes rolled slightly back into her head. A low, keening cry full of pleasure rent the air as release claimed her. Contractions moved through her core, pulling at him, and they took him with her on that powerful tide. With a guttural shout, he stroked into her one last time, and when he shattered, it was a soul-binding moment. The waves breaking over him were staggering; his shaft pulsed and jerked as he ground into her in a useless attempt to prolong their joining. In this woman, he’d found his match as well as everything he’d been searching for, but could he keep her? Was he enough?

Will I disappoint her?

Collasping to the mattress on his side, he pulled her close, tucked her against his body and held her tight. Only then did he allow his emotions to reign unchecked, and he stifled a sob, but there was both fear and joy crashing into him. With Imogen, he didn’t feel like a failure or too broken; his demons weren’t as frightening because she would help him keep them at bay, like he would do for her.

Would she let him? Never had he wanted something so much in his life.

An hour later, he and his wife were once more properly dressed and back in the ballroom. If anyone noticed a few wrinkles in her gown or the fact that his cravat knot wasn’t as straight as it could be or that his hair was a bit mussed, they didn’t comment about it. Instead, there was a jovial air in the space, and laughter filled the air.

She danced with the Dukes of Eggleton and Udolpho while Blackhawke observed the scene from the sidelines with an inscrutable expression. Alan led his aunt onto the floor for another waltz before he was once more at the side of the room with Imogen. He’d procured a couple of flutes of champagne, and he quietly toasted her before they sipped the bubbly wine.

In the midst of laughing at something she said about one of the guests, he realized that he was genuinely… happy. How long had it been since he could say that?

“Imogen?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you meet me on the terrace in a quarter of an hour?” Finally, he’d found his courage again, and he meant to take advantage of that. “I want to talk to you beneath the stars, for there is something I wish to say.”

Surprise reflected in her eyes, but she nodded. “I would enjoy that very much.”

“Good.” He couldn’t help his grin as he sipped champagne. “Aunt Dorcas is across the room, signaling for your attention. You’d best attend her.”

A trill of laughter left her throat. “I shall see you soon.” With a wink, she made her way to his aunt’s side while he went through the crush of people in the room then slipped onto the terrace through one set of open double doors.

After wandering to the stone railing, Alan peered down into the night-shadowed gardens, and he took a sip of champagne. Had everything looked so sharp around the edges? Had the flowers that bloomed in the night smelled so sweet? To that end, had he ever truly noticed anything around him before, or had it taken Imogen’s influence in his life to make him see… everything? It was extraordinary, feeling like this. And he rather welcomed it.

Bang!

The sound of a pistol’s report echoed off the flagstone terrace. Seconds later, burning pain went through his left shoulder. The force of the shot sent him falling to the stones of the terrace floor. The champagne flute was knocked from his hand and shattered upon impact. From the gauge of the pain radiating through his shoulder, and a bit of exploration with his opposite hand, Alan realized the shot had gone through, but that didn’t make it bleed less.

What the hell?

Then someone joined him on the terrace, an as he untied his cravat, he gazed up at the man. “Who are you?”

“I am Imogen’s cousin, Philip Rhoades.”

Alan wrenched the length of silk from about his neck and then pressed the wadded-up fabric to the front of his gunshot wound that hurt like the devil’s own grip. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Your death, and my next shot won’t miss.” The other man kicked Alan in the ribs, leaving another explosion of pain behind. “Leave Imogen alone, or at least give her freedom so she can choose a better man.”

He grunted. When the shooter remained silent, he said, “She is my wife, and she belongs to me.” Never would he give her up, for she was beginning to be the key to a new life for him.

Them.

“At least I can make her happy, take care of her, understand her.” The other man spat upon his chest. “She belongs with me.”

Hot anger built in Alan’s chest. “Like hell she does.”

“Let her go, Averly. This is my final warning.” Then Mr. Rhoades left the terrace, running lightly down the stone steps to disappear into the gardens.

This ends now.

As best he could, Alan struggled to his feet. The cravat fell to the ground, forgotten, for he ran down the steps, intent on catching the intruder. Mr. Rhoades would pay for shooting him as well as for trying to steal Imogen away from him.

And if the other man ended the night with a ball to his chest, so be it, but first he needed a pistol.