Page 12 of Tantalizing the Duke (Wayward Dukes Alliance #22)
CHAPTER TWELVE
D ainsfield left Sutcliffe’s with the doggedness of a man being chased. Through the murky streets, where rain left the cobblestones slick and promises washed away as quickly, he marched. He had too much energy coursing through him to ride to his destination, if he even had one. His mind swirled with Abingdon’s pointed question, every step serving to illuminate an answer that no longer left room for denial. Could Milly ever want him after how he’d been treating her? That, he knew, mattered more than business, more than any damn club. It mattered more than he’d even realized until this moment.
He pressed forward, his thoughts teetering between logic and emotion. The investment at Sutcliffe’s had never been his priority; it was a diversion, a place to funnel both energy and frustrations away from more personal pursuits. But now the distraction seemed to loom like a barrier between him and Milly. Could he really step aside, allow his partners to take control? Was it conceivable to abandon such an endeavor for the sake of the woman who occupied his every waking thought?
With Abingdon’s words echoing like an insistent drumbeat, he acknowledged a simple truth: Milly’s happiness was more important than any ledger or gaming table. She was about to marry Parham, a match he himself had suggested, foolishly thinking it would protect her from scandal. But now, the very thought of her becoming another man’s wife tore at him in ways he hadn’t foreseen. His breath came quicker, fogging the cool afternoon air. If selling his share of Sutcliffe’s would win her, he realized with startling clarity, he would do it without a moment’s regret.
But perhaps such drastic measures were unnecessary. The thought of making changes at the club flitted through his mind. Perhaps a more amiable figure could be the public face of the establishment, leaving Dainsfield to focus his attentions elsewhere.
Yet as the practical solution took shape, his urgency centered back on Milly, on the imminent proposal that seemed to swell like a tide within him. He couldn’t afford the luxury of careful planning or drawn-out courtship. The urgency was palpable. Every tick of the clock carried her closer to Parham. There would be no time for elaborate elopements, nor would conventional announcements serve his needs. A special license—that would suffice, so long as he had her consent.
The need to act quickly drove him, narrowing his focus, sharpening his resolve. A proposal—a genuine declaration, devoid of society’s constraining formalities—must come first. Without it, everything else was meaningless. His footsteps quickened as his plan solidified, leaving the shadowy concerns of business and partnerships behind.
Milly’s apartment was clear in his mind, a beacon in the grey expanse of London’s streets. His thoughts of her were an intoxicating blend of fear and hope. Could he convince her to choose him over a more socially acceptable match? Did she feel even a fraction of what he did? His heart leaped at the thought, urging his feet faster, until his breath became a cadence with the rhythm of his racing mind.
The doubt and hesitation that once filled him gave way to a fiercer determination. With his mind set, he could picture her so clearly. Her sparkling eyes, the warmth of her smile, the way she had looked at him with an openness he had never encountered in any other. The mere memory spurred him onward, driving him with an intensity that outpaced any earlier ambition.
This was not the time for a duke’s careful planning. It was a suitor’s impassioned pursuit. She had to know how he felt, even if it meant risking everything else. The streets blurred past him, a chaos of clattering hooves and shouted vendors. He moved through it all with singular purpose, knowing only that he must reach her, that his next breath might hinge on hearing her answer.
His strides lengthened, direction changing, each movement imbued with a resolve that lit his eyes and transformed his expression from brooding uncertainty to something resolute, something almost hopeful. The decision filled him with an energy he hadn’t expected. The words formed in his mind. He had to ask her, had to know. Could she ever want him? He didn’t know, but he did know he couldn’t face another day without finding out.
By the time Dainsfield reached Milly’s residence, he was disheveled and breathless, his normally impeccable appearance ravaged by a determined pace and London’s grime. The maid blinked at him, clearly uncertain whether such an imposing figure belonged in the hallway.
Milly’s entrance was as sudden as his arrival, her presence filling the room with a warmth that startled him. The loose pinning of her hair suggested an unexpected intimacy, as if she hadn’t thought to receive visitors.
“Milly,” he began, the word a breathless exclamation, barely waiting for her to reach the drawing room.
Her wide-eyed look took in his disarray, her lips parting in a question that never fully formed. “Dainsfield, what?—”
“I had to see you.” His words cut through the air with an urgency that matched his untidy appearance.
The maid hovered awkwardly at the door, and Milly gave a nod, dismissing her with an unspoken command that left them alone. “I wasn’t expecting you,” she said, smoothing her simple day dress with a gesture that only enhanced her charm. Even so casually attired, she seemed more alluring than he could bear.
She seemed about to continue when he interrupted, his pacing halting, only to resume again.
And again, he stopped, facing her directly. His composure crumbled under the weight of emotions too long restrained. “I don’t want you to marry Parham. I don’t want you to marry anyone. Except me.”
Her shock was palpable, her sparkling eyes searching his face for some sign of jest. Finding none, they grew wide with the hope she scarcely dared to acknowledge. “Do you mean it?” she breathed, each word a fragile question.
His chest rose and fell, not from exertion, but from the raw feeling that swelled within him. “Milly, I cannot think, I cannot breathe, I cannot do anything but wish to be near you. If I don’t have you as my wife, I will…” He hesitated, uncharacteristically struggling for words.
The room felt poised on a precipice, his declaration lingering like the sweet ache of music not quite finished. “I would ruin your name,” she whispered, the doubt finally spilling from her in a tumble of fear and insecurity.
“You cannot ruin what has already been trampled by my own hand. I’m a duke who owns a scandalous gaming hell known for lascivious activities in its private rooms. There is nothing about you that would worsen my reputation.”
Her cheeks flushed a lovely hue, a blend of embarrassment and tentative relief. “I thought—I thought you wanted?—”
“I want you,” he interjected, each word fervent and insistent. “Milly, will you be my duchess?”
For a heartbeat, the room was as silent as the moment before a storm breaks. Her face was a portrait of warring emotions, disbelief slowly melting into unrestrained joy. “Oh, Dainsfield!” she exclaimed, his name escaping her lips as she rushed toward him.
He pulled her into an embrace that banished any lingering doubts, the two of them wrapped in a tenderness that seemed to defy the world outside.
“Yes,” she murmured, the word as soft as the tears that glistened in her eyes. “Yes, I will marry you.”
His hands cupped her face, his thumb brushing a tear that dared escape. “You love me, then?” he asked, still astonished at his own audacity, and more so at her reply.
“I always have,” she admitted.
The moments that followed were a symphony of shared laughter and whispered promises. Her disbelief faded entirely, replaced by a newfound confidence that their love would endure. Dainsfield’s hand lingered in her hair, savoring the intimacy of the loose strands. He marveled at how their friendship had transformed into something so much deeper and more profound.
As they drew apart, just enough to meet each other’s eyes, there was no doubt left between them. The proposal was a mere formality now, the special license just a piece of paper. What mattered was the truth they’d found in one another, the promise of a future neither had dared to dream of.
His heart felt as if it might soar from his chest, filled with an elation he’d never thought possible.
Milly looked at him, her own happiness mirrored in his gaze. “You can’t change your mind now.”
“And miss the chance to marry the most extraordinary woman in London?” he returned, his lips claiming hers in a kiss that sealed their fate and left them breathless for the future to come.
She took his hand, leading him to her bedchamber with an eagerness that matched the reckless pounding of their hearts. By the time they reached the bedroom, desire was no longer a polite murmur but a symphony that filled the air, urgent and wild.
He pulled her into an embrace that banished all distance, his lips meeting hers with a fervor that had been years in the making. They barely paused to breathe as they stripped away every barrier between them, clothes falling like whispered promises until skin met skin, burning and alive.
Her day dress slipped from her shoulders, the fabric tumbling in soft whispers to the floor. Dainsfield’s breath caught as he drank in the sight of her, and his own garments joined hers in a tangle of haste and hunger. There was an almost desperate urgency in the way he held her, lifting her effortlessly to the bed and cradling her as though she might vanish with the next heartbeat.
The first touch of her skin against his was electric, a release that shattered the careful restraint he’d worn for so long. He pressed her into the softness beneath them, fingers trailing over her with a reverence that made her gasp and cling to him. Where once he had been the picture of self-control, now he worshipped her with an abandon that defied years of practiced decorum. His lips followed the path of his hands, marking every inch of her with a heat that threatened to consume them both.
Milly’s fingers tangled in his dark hair, pulling him closer as if to assure herself that this was real, that the years of waiting and wanting had finally brought them here. Her voice was breathless and trembling, half-laughter, half-moan, urging him on. She responded with a fervor that matched his own, exploring the contours of his body, marveling at the strength and power that seemed to pulse beneath her touch.
His kisses moved lower, across the delicate curve of her collarbone, the hollow of her throat. Her reactions spurred him further, the way she arched against him, the soft cries that punctuated the air. Every gasp was a testament to their desire, every sigh a declaration of the love that had grown between them, unfettered by the shackles of doubt or propriety.
The joining of their bodies was both tender and fierce, a symphony of movements that ranged from languid and sensual to almost frenzied in their intensity. They whispered endearments, words long kept silent, as they rode the crest of their passion, giving voice to the yearning that had been too long denied.
He paused only to gaze at her, the look in his eyes one of pure adoration. His large hands moved with both urgency and tenderness, finding the places that made her shiver, focusing intently on the sensitive spots until she was trembling beneath him. Her own touch grew bolder, more assured, drawing from him the groans and gasps that betrayed how deeply he was affected.
They lost themselves in each other, surrendering entirely to the moment, to the shared connection that bound them as surely as the promises they’d made downstairs. The crescendo built inexorably, leaving them both breathless as they finally tumbled into a release that left them clinging to each other, limbs entwined, pulses slowly calming from a wild symphony to a shared, contented rhythm.
In the quiet aftermath, the world beyond the bedroom felt like a distant memory. His hand lay possessively across her bare stomach, a silent promise of more to come, while her head rested against his chest, the warmth of their shared skin sealing the bond they had created.
Dainsfield marveled at how their friendship had transformed, how years of restraint and longing had culminated in this perfect moment. Milly’s breath was a soft lullaby against his skin, her contentment as palpable as his own. He had never imagined that love could feel so complete, so freeing, as if every other part of his life had merely been a prelude to this.
Her fingers traced idle patterns across his chest, and he tightened his hold on her, unwilling to let even an inch of distance grow between them. “Are you certain you want this?” he asked, though the question was filled more with wonder than doubt.
“More certain than I’ve ever been of anything,” she replied, her voice a sweet echo of their shared fulfillment.
They lay in silence, each lost in the enormity of what they’d discovered in one another. It was a silence filled not with hesitation, but with a deep, unspoken certainty that the future was theirs, that the past had led them exactly where they were meant to be.
The enormity of it left them both breathless, clinging together as if they might otherwise drift apart. They spent the entire day together, never fully dressing, finding what they could to eat enough to fuel their lovemaking.
As they drifted toward sleep, still wrapped in each other’s arms, they knew that this was only the beginning, that the promises they’d whispered in passion would carry them into a lifetime of shared joys and laughter, and the reckless, boundless love that had finally set them free.