Page 15 of The Duke Says I Do (Scoundrels of Mayfair #4)

Granville held Portia’s hand and drew her up the stairs to the lodge’s door. It was full night now. While the sky remained cloudy, the rain had stopped. He inserted the massive iron key that he’d retrieved from its hiding place in the stables into the old-fashioned lock.

As he pushed the heavy, wooden door open, Portia remained quiet. She’d been quiet since that blazing encounter in the stables. He wished to heaven that he knew what she was thinking. She said that she was fine, but he wasn’t so sure. Not being sure drove him to distraction.

She carried a lamp in her free hand. Her other hand curled around his. She didn’t seem averse to touching him, and their kisses had been as ardent and sweet as ever. But he’d always appreciated the ease between them, especially as most people were too aware of his rank to treat him like a fellow human.

Now she wasn’t easy. Not at all. She seemed willing to stay and touch him, but beyond that, he had no idea what went on in her head.

The lamp revealed a dark entry with a corridor leading off it. The house was small and simple, at least in ducal terms. A narrow foyer across the front, with a modest drawing room and dining room off the corridor. Kitchens and storerooms in the basement. A pair of bedroom suites on the next floor. Smaller rooms for visitors above that. Servants’ quarters in the attics beneath the roof, with its pretty terrace and views over surrounding woods and hills.

Plenty of room to entertain a mistress, if the mistress was in a mood for entertainment. “Shall we go down to the kitchens and see what the Johnsons have left us for dinner?” He hated his false heartiness, but her quietness made him edgier than a cat in a dogs’ home.

“Do you know the way?” she asked, as if he’d said that he was about to paint himself purple.

“I usually cater for myself when I’m here. It’s one of the few places I don’t need to keep up the Duke of Granville’s dignity.”

She shook her head, more in puzzlement than denial, he thought. “I really did have you wrong.”

He wanted to ask whether she understood him better now, but to his shame, he was afraid of her answer. Damn it, he’d imagined that becoming her lover would bolster their closeness, but she’d never felt more like a stranger.

She hadn’t felt like a stranger when he was deep inside her, relishing the joy that she took in his possession. Then he’d been convinced that he united with the other half of his soul.

The physical pleasure had surpassed anything in his experience, but it was the emotional union that had astonished him. Tupping Portia Frain turned out to be a gift of the spirit as well as the flesh. He couldn’t wait to do it all again.

Once he’d fathomed what troubled her. The thought of her unhappy tied his gut into tangles. The thought that she could be unhappy because of something he’d done or said made him feel like he’d eaten bad fish.

He released her hand to let her precede him inside. “So dinner?”

She placed the lamp on a demilune table beneath a gold-framed mirror. For a moment, he caught her beauty twofold. The real Portia and her shadowy image in the glass. “I’d like a wash if that’s possible.”

What a dunderhead he was. She’d traveled from London. She’d rubbed down a horse. She’d scrambled his brains with that tumble in the hay. “I’ll take you upstairs and show you your room. Then I’ll fetch some hot water.”

She glanced at him. “My room? Aren’t we sharing?”

That sounded promising. “If you’d like to.”

He picked up a candle from the table and lit it from the lantern. Perhaps if he could see better, he’d have a clearer idea of her mood.

“Yes.”

He waited for more. Nothing came.

Granville headed for the staircase that rose to the upper floors, but stopped when she spoke. “Why don’t I come down to the kitchens with you?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

Bristlingly conscious of Portia following in his wake, he lit a couple of lamps near the base of the stairs. He continued toward the back of the house where a narrow stairwell led down to the kitchens.

“Watch out. It’s steep.” Catching her hand again, he went ahead with the candle held high.

The fire in the range was banked, but it provided heat and shadowy light. Portia leaned back against the scrubbed pine table and glanced around with interest.

It was his first chance since they’d been in the hay to have a good look at her. He took full advantage of the moment.

She looked thoroughly debauched – and more beautiful than ever. When he already thought her the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Her hair tumbled around her in golden waves. Her face was flushed. The dim light lent her blue eyes sensual mystery.

“What is it?” she asked.

He made no attempt to hide the fondness in his smile. “You brought a few souvenirs back from the stables.”

He plucked a couple of strands of hay from her hair and dropped them to the floor. He’d never had sex in a stable before. It turned out that he’d been missing out.

Her dress was in complete disarray. The pelisse hung loose and open, and one lone button closed her bodice over the crumpled shift. Her magnificent bosom threatened to spill free.

A powerful memory jolted him. Dear God, those breasts were glorious. Full and white and firm. Lavish and round and perfect in his hands. Crowned with the sweetest pink nipples.

His arousal was unexpected. Unexpected, not because he didn’t always want her. He did. But he’d only just lost himself in an orgasm that drained him to the lees.

Granville didn’t live at the mercy of his baser impulses, however thoroughly he’d enjoyed his previous liaisons. But Portia Frain awoke his animal urges. All he could think about right now was having her again.

Which was out of the question, bugger it.

He’d just taken her virginity. He couldn’t start heaving about on top of her again so soon. Clumsily, he set his candle on the plain wrought iron mantelpiece and told himself to settle down.

But when he turned back toward Portia, she regarded him with such blatant longing that he couldn’t stop himself from crossing the flagstones and seizing her in his arms. She tumbled into his embrace as if she, too, couldn’t bear any space between them. From the instant their lips met, the kiss was urgent.

He caught her rump with eager hands and hoisted her onto the table. Lifting her skirts as he advanced, he pushed forward. With a naturalness that set his heart racing, she parted her legs and hooked them around his thighs.

At this angle, kissing her was uncomfortable and superb at the same time. She hung off his shoulders as her lips tormented his. He lashed his arms around her back to continue the contact.

Catching the lower lip in his teeth, he bit down gently. She let out a muffled cry and licked his top lip. Still using his teeth to tease her, he eased her back onto the tabletop. He propped himself above her and broke the kiss. Her lips were red, and pink marks on her cheeks and chest showed where his whiskers had chafed her.

Dismay added an awkward note to his desire. He was about to apologize and step back to help her to sit up, when she reached to undo the single button fastening her dress.

Gulping for air, he sought her gaze. Her blue eyes were languid and shaded by thick dark gold lashes.

“Portia?” He couldn’t tell if the word was protest or plea.

The lush mouth, glistening after his kiss, curled into a smile that possessed all the sensual knowledge in the world. Granville tried to tell himself that she’d been a virgin until an hour ago. That her innocence deserved respect and care.

But that smile invited him to join her in ecstasy. That smile told him that she wanted more of him. That smile belonged to a temptress who knew exactly what she needed.

Her wicked hand brushed the green edges of her dress aside to reveal her shift. He couldn’t help noticing her nipples peaking against the linen. His fingers curled against the worn wooden surface of the table, and his balls tightened into agony.

With one hand, she released the tie at the neck of her shift. His gaze fastened on her breasts. Then very slowly, so slowly that he feared he might explode before she finished, her fingers drifted down to dip into the valley between her breasts, lowering her shift to reveal more and more skin.

Granville swallowed to moisten a mouth as dry as the Sahara.

Her smile widened into catlike satisfaction, before that fiendish hand pushed down the sagging shift to reveal perfect breasts.

“Touch yourself,” he said in a voice like gravel, every drop of blood in his body rushing to his erect prick.

Her hand went still, and she regarded him with faint puzzlement. Then with an action that punched all the breath from his body, she took one nipple and rolled it into a point.

By all that was holy, she’d kill him before she finished. With a guttural groan, he shifted his weight onto one arm as he reached down to rub his cock.

“Like this?” she asked in a throaty voice.

Portia began to tease her other nipple. Her erratic breathing set her creamy flesh rising and falling in a riveting display.

“Yes, like that.” The sight of her slender hand fondling those beaded crests was the most arousing thing that he’d ever seen. His hips rocked against his hand, as he struggled not to lose control.

Frantically, he ripped at the buttons on his breeches. One clicked on the stone floor as it flew off. He gave a great exhalation of relief and closed his hand around the thick shaft.

Still it wasn’t enough. It would only be enough when he was thrusting between those pale thighs.

He swooped to kiss her with a passion that verged on frenzy. She arched up to kiss him back and tightened her legs around his buttocks to bring him closer.

Shaking as if he had a fever, he wrenched back to delve beneath her skirts. A couple of ruthless tugs tore her damp, stained drawers. She gave a muffled squeak, as shreds of white material drifted downward.

Granville paused long enough to survey the feathery dark gold hair protecting her sex. Last time, he hadn’t lingered to enjoy the view.

He was too stirred up to delay. When he shucked his breeches down to his knees, his dick bobbed free in hungry readiness.

Seizing her hips in eager hands, he pulled her toward him. He plunged deep into her body. Heat. Pressure. Welcome. The sweetest welcome in the whole wide world.

She shuddered under his thrust, her hands closing on the naked skin of his hips. Her fingers dug into his flesh, as she convulsed around him. Her swift reaction astonished him. She was the most responsive lover he’d ever known. He loved that his merest touch set her on fire.

He closed his eyes and fought to contain his impulse to spill. As her orgasm went on and on, control became more arduous. His hands formed fists on the wood, as her intimate muscles clenched.

The pleasure was so intense, it was almost violent. The urge to take this extraordinary joining to its natural end rose. Only the last threads of honor reminded him that he’d promised to save her from conceiving.

Damn it to hell, it was agony to pull out.

He gritted his teeth and wrested free, while she quaked against the table. Shaking, he shoved her skirts and petticoats up to uncover her stomach, twitching with contractions.

While hot seed spurted onto her skin, he held his tumescent dick in one hand. Catching her hand, he curved it around him as the mighty release faded. She fumbled for a breathtaking moment before she got the idea. When she squeezed, the pleasure took the edge off the grim practicality of his actions.

Unfocused dark blue eyes surveyed him. She looked dazed and satisfied and exhausted. And lovely enough to steal his heart.

When Granville released the hand that he’d jammed around his dick, she didn’t let him go. Her touch flowed through him like balm on a war wound.

Gently he disengaged her fingers, trying to ignore the shadow of complaint on her face. He straightened to tear his shirt over his head and tug up his breeches.

He wiped the sticky mess from her stomach, then flung the ruined garment to the floor. She stroked him once more, then let her arm drift to her side. He loved that she wasn’t coy. She made no attempt to hide her carnal satisfaction in their couplings.

Granville drew her up for a kiss that he hoped conveyed what a miracle she was. He wanted to tell her that she was marvelous. He wanted to praise and explain and soothe. But his ability to muster a coherent sentence forsook him.

Portia, too, it seemed. She hadn’t spoken since their bodies united.

He’d find words later. This time, he had no doubts that she was happy.

When he lifted her off the table, she was floppy with weariness and satiation. She sagged against him, as if all her bones had disintegrated in that titanic wave of pleasure. He caught her lush arse, and she curled her legs around his hips. Her arms circled his neck, and she buried her face in his chest.

A couple of tottery steps before he collapsed into a cushioned armchair beside the fire. It took little effort to arrange her on his lap. Which was lucky, because he wasn’t in much better form than she was. Her head rested on his shoulder and her lovely legs splayed loose across his knees.

Granville put his arms around Portia and held her close as ecstasy receded. It was a long time later before he said, “Next time, I’m taking you to bed.”

***

It was cold and rainy outside. Here beside the banked fire in the lodge’s kitchens, Portia was beautifully warm. The man she loved held her safe in his arms.

She stirred from sleep to squint at the plain slate clock on the mantel. Nearly an hour had passed since that thrilling encounter on the table. She must have dropped off straightaway. Hardly surprising after she’d been so on edge all week, afraid of what might happen once she and Alaric were alone. Even more afraid that something would stop her going away with him.

Not to mention the overwhelming emotional reaction to losing her virginity and discovering what pleasure awaited in a lover’s arms. This lover anyway.

She glanced up at Alaric, the movement setting off a volley of unfamiliar pangs and twinges in her body. He slept, too.

His musky scent filled her nostrils. Sandalwood and Alaric, the perfume of paradise. With a little bit of horse included. Her lips twitched, as she pictured his self-deprecating smile if she shared that thought with him.

Heavens, she must be crushing him. She should move, although it was the last thing she wanted to do.

Gingerly she eased herself up from where she curled in his lap. Not gingerly enough. Hazy green eyes opened, and he gave her a smile of such heart-stopping sweetness that she wanted to cry. For most of their acquaintance, those eyes had been remote and watchful. Joy filled her, now that he removed the barriers between them.

His arms tightened. “Where the devil do you think you’re going, madam?”

“I’m squashing you.” Sleep weighted her voice.

His lips quirked. “It’s a lovely way to die.”

Love crammed her heart, as she aimed a playful punch at his arm. “Ungallant, sir.”

Laughing, he folded her back against him. “Your pardon, my lady.”

He caught her chin and brushed his lips across hers. Not a kiss of passion but one of such tenderness, her heart tilted.

Portia glanced down and noticed that her breasts were bare. She tugged her shift into place but didn’t bother buttoning her dress.

She rested her head on his shoulder. If she could summon the energy, she’d be scared out of her wits at the revelation that she wanted to cuddle up to Alaric until the crack of doom. She’d arrived determined to remain levelheaded. Yet already on their first night, she fell victim to impossible daydreams.

She’d slipped into another doze when he spoke. “Tell me why you seduced me in the stables.”

He sounded interested, not resentful, she was relieved to hear. The hand that she pressed over his heart curled in a caress. It was bliss to touch his naked skin. “Stables have been rather lucky for us, don’t you think?”

His chest expanded on a soft laugh. “Undoubtedly.”

She placed a kiss on his pectoral.

“Why are you giggling?” he asked idly, his hand playing with her tangle of hair.

“The hair on your chest tickles my nose.” She loved the evidence of how his masculine body differed from hers. Places he was hard and she was soft.

With gentle insistence, he tugged on her hair to raise her face to his. This time, his lips lingered. “Better?”

Portia wrinkled her nose. “It’s certainly nice.” She laid her hand flat on his cheek. “You’ve got hair here, too.”

“I should have shaved. I would have.”

If she’d waited. She owed him an explanation. But how to put it into words? She stared at his chest, as she thought how to phrase this. “You’re such a gentleman, Alaric.”

He gave a self-derisive grunt. “After today, I’m not sure that’s true.”

She smiled at his rueful tone. “No, you’re still a gentleman.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

He sounded confused and a little hurt, which was what she’d feared before launching this awkward confession. “Of course it is. I love that I trust you to protect me. I love that your word is sacrosanct. I love that you treat me with such respect.”

I love you.

She couldn’t say that. Not now. Perhaps never. A rift split her heart. A rift that would only widen over time.

“Why do I feel there’s a ‘but’ coming?”

Because there was. “I’ve been as jumpy as a flea all week.”

“It’s natural to be nervous.”

“It is. But I felt like I’d swallowed a volcano.”

His laugh was short and sharp. “That sounds frightfully unpleasant.”

“Not altogether. It was exciting, too. But when we arrived, I realized that you meant to ease me into your bed. Dinner. Conversation. Everything elegant and measured.”

“It seemed the civilized choice. I’ve never been a woman’s first lover. I didn’t want to frighten you.”

She sent Alaric a direct look. “I wasn’t afraid. I was desperate. This last week of seeing you in snatches left me feeling like I starved to death within reach of the world’s most lavish banquet.”

“Portia…” Heat flared in his eyes. This kiss held a promise of passion. “I felt like that, too.”

Reassured, she continued with more confidence. “I didn’t want you treating me like spun glass. I didn’t want you undressing me piece by piece. I didn’t want you waiting and waiting and waiting. I didn’t want to wait either, getting fidgety about what was coming.”

Humor turned his lips down. With his rumpled golden hair and wry amusement, he looked so charming, she wanted to melt. “Instead you shoved me into a haystack?”

After this evening, she’d imagined that she’d lost the ability to blush. It turned out that she was wrong. “Did you mind terribly?”

His smile deepened. “It was the most glorious thing that’s ever happened to me.” He paused. “With perhaps the exception of having you on the kitchen table. By now, it should be clear that I can’t resist you.”

She stretched up to kiss him, taking her time. “I can’t resist you either, which makes us a good match.” Oh, no, did that imply marriage? She rushed on. “I look forward to joining you in a bed.”

“So do I. I want to undress you at my leisure, if you can bear the delay. I can’t believe we’re still in our clothes.”

“Almost.” She raked her nails through the soft fur on his chest. His skin twitched beneath her fingers.

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “Let me be a gentleman now and allow you to wash and have something to eat.” A wicked light flared in his eyes, turned them richest emerald. “After all, you’ll need your strength.”

Anticipation made her shiver. “Oh?”

His smile turned wicked, too. “Later.”

***

“I’m so glad I found that haystack.” Over her raised wineglass, Portia cast Alaric a teasing glance. “I wouldn’t have been able to eat a thing otherwise. Which would be a pity, when Mrs. Johnson cooked us that delicious dinner.”

He responded with an amused grunt and surveyed the ruins of their meal spread across the mahogany table. The dining room was small enough to feel cozy, even with only two occupants. Heavy green velvet curtains kept out the night air. A fire in the hearth added its flickering light to the candles. “I’d hate you to miss that chicken and leek pie.”

“And the cheese savories and deviled eggs,” she said after a sip of wine.

“My sacrifice paid dividends.” His solemn tone made her choke on her wine.

The meal had been surprisingly lighthearted. Conversation had flowed. Alaric was at ease here in a way that she’d never seen before. Or perhaps like her, he found that satisfying their sexual appetites allayed their tension.

“I salute your heroism, Your Grace.” She suited action to words.

Setting down her glass, she studied her companion. He wore another beautifully tailored coat. The unadorned black emphasized his magnificent form.

After they left the capacious armchair in the kitchen, he’d brought their bags in. She’d had a wash and changed into a clean gown, and Alaric had put on a fresh shirt. The shirt that he’d worn earlier had ended up in the fire.

Now he relaxed in his chair, eyes slumbrous. With casual grace, he dangled his half-empty wine glass from one hand. He had beautiful hands, long-fingered and elegant. The light glinted off the heavy gold signet ring and turned the wine ruby. Portia couldn’t help remembering those hands on her skin, trailing heat wherever they touched. The images stirred a lazy ripple of arousal.

Portia wanted Alaric so much, she was nearly sick with it.

With a decisive gesture, he set his glass down. “What would you like to do now? I’ve got some books in the drawing room, or we could play cards. There’s a piano, too, if you fancy some music.”

“I’m not very accomplished on the piano.”

“Do you sing?”

“Like a crow with a sore throat.”

That made him laugh. She loved his appreciation for her odd sense of humor. She loved the way that every time he laughed, he become less the formidable Duke of Granville and more charming, endearing Alaric Dempster. “God help us.”

“The comparison is unfair to the crow.” She put down her glass and shot him a direct look. “Do you really want to stay down here, doing the pretty as if we’re polite strangers? Or are you being a gentleman again?”

His answering look was equally frank. “I don’t want you thinking that the only thing I value about you is that beguiling body.”

Gratification flooded her. “You haven’t seen much of the beguiling body yet. Aren’t you curious?”

His strangled response combined a groan and another laugh. “What do you think?”

Portia sucked in a shaky breath. Her breasts swelled against her bodice as if they strained toward his touch. “I think we’ve got three days to enjoy each other. We can play cards in London.”

Without raising an eyebrow, his gaze dropped to her bosom, revealed to advantage under a scooped décolletage that she usually covered with a scarf for modesty’s sake. Not tonight. Modesty remained behind in London. She loved how he ogled her cleavage.

Heat spread from her brimming heart to her extremities. She shifted on the chair to ease the erotic weight. For pity’s sake, she was in a bad way. He just had to look at her, and she melted with female need.

Smile lines deepened beside his eyes as he watched her squirm, although his lips retained a serious line. She had no doubt that he knew how he affected her. “Are you saying it’s time we both retired upstairs?”

“You promised me a bed, I believe.”

He rose and proffered his hand. “Then, my darling, let’s go.”

Portia didn’t move straightaway. She couldn’t. It was that blasted “my darling.” It always turned her wobbly.

Scolding herself for being a sappy lackwit, she stood and took his hand. “Excellent plan, Your Grace.”