CHAPTER 3
T he duke’s kiss convinced Esmeralda to prove her enthusiasm for their agreement. She could wait for their first encounter at his country house, but she wished to ensure his commitment to the plan. The man might change his mind. Sylvie could be at risk.
She would seduce him this very night.
What did he like? How did he want her to be? Intimacy was less about her own satisfaction than the pleasure of her partner, in Esmeralda’s trade. She recalled how the duke had claimed her in the cell, how he had commanded her response – and the satisfaction that had emanated from him when she had gained her pleasure. He had been masterful and demanding, while she had responded in kind. She had greeted him there like a wanton, like a woman who desired no one else, an insatiable temptress, and she could do that again.
She did not even have to pretend.
His mouth closed over hers with resolve, summoning her response even as he pulled her into his lap. His caress was hungry and raw, kindling her own desire as surely as if she had initiated the embrace. Her hand was in his hair, his arm locked around her and her breasts crushed against his chest. He had not changed from the theater and she liked her sense that he had come immediately to her, that he had not been able to tolerate a delay.
He was dressed in black, as was his custom, but on this night, he wore a silk waistcoat striped in shades of green. His cravat was snowy white and there was a great emerald stud in it. She moved to straddle him, framing his face in her hands, feeling the rough shadow of stubble on his cheeks beneath her fingers. His dark eyes glinted as he watched her, a hint of a smile playing on his firm lips, then his hands cupped her buttocks through the fabric of her dress. She brushed her lips across his once, then again, letting her tongue slide across his mouth, and felt his head fall back.
It would be quick.
“You came from the theater,” she whispered against his skin, running a line of kisses to his ear and gripping his hair in both hands. “Were you so impatient for me as that, Your Grace?”
“You were angry,” he growled, lifting her closer, his hands holding her securely. His eyes gleamed as he surveyed her. “I feared for your opinion of me.” He said this as if it were a jest, a confession made to please her but she saw his solemnity.
He had not been certain of her.
Esmeralda preferred that to be the case. It was better for a man to be uncertain, to guess at her inclinations, rather than confident of her devotion.
On this night, she would persuade him that her desire was for him alone.
She kissed him slowly, open-mouthed and hungry, her tongue teasing him, her hands holding his head captive. She felt his breathing quicken. His pulse skipped in his throat, his eyes closed and he moaned as her kiss became more demanding. She felt his erection rise against her, hot and heavy, and she rubbed herself against him, knowing he would feel that she was wet already. He caught his breath, deepening his own kiss, gripping her hair to hold her captive to his embrace. Esmeralda feasted upon his mouth, writhing atop him all the while, relentlessly driving him toward his own release. She guessed that her desire was the greatest aphrodisiac for this man, a welcome novelty.
She slid down his chest and over his lap, caressing him as she dropped to her knees on the carpet before him. She was between his knees, her hands upon his thighs, then she caressed him boldly through his breeches. He whispered her name but his eyes were bright, his entire body taut as he studied her.
He was enormous and more than ready for her – which only meant she had to tease him more.
She moved back, pushing his cane away, then urged him to his feet. He towered over her, his expression amused, his hair tousled, and she liked her sense that she commanded him in this moment. She removed his jacket and his waistcoat, casting them aside with an abandon that made him raise a brow.
“My valet would have your head for that,” he mused and she laughed.
“Do not send him to me,” she replied playfully. “I am exclusively bound to a certain duke and will have no time to entertain the likes of a mere valet.”
Her guest smiled with satisfaction at that, and she made to pluck the pin from his cravat, but his hand closed over hers to stop her. “First you,” he rumbled, lifting a dark brow. Then he caught her face in his hands and kissed her – slowly, sweetly, thoroughly – stirring the heat within her to a flame so readily that she might have been the one in need of satisfaction. She scarce caught her breath when he pulled the pins from her hair, pushing his fingers through its length with possessive ease. He spun her around, but she halted him from untying the laces in the back of her dress. “I am too thin as yet to tempt you,” she whispered.
“You underestimate your allure, Esmeralda,” he growled, kissing her to silence before she could think of a reply. He swept her up in his arms again, as if she was his reluctant captive, then returned to the couch, holding her in his lap. He interlaced his fingers with hers, catching her hands in his grip and stretching them over her head, then bending to kiss her again. His kisses trailed to her ear and down her throat, an army of sensations awakened by his teasing caress. She caught her breath when he grazed the top of her breast with his teeth, then gasped aloud when he nudged her bodice aside and captured her nipple in his mouth. Esmeralda arched her back, unable to turn away from the pleasure he granted her, the playful assault of his lips and tongue and teeth. She writhed against him but could not escape, and could not imagine a sweeter thralldom than this.
She could almost forget the transaction to be fulfilled when she felt so cherished. She had to reclaim control of the encounter, but she would indulge in this forbidden delight for a moment longer. He was irresistible.
His other hand then moved beneath her skirts with surety, the warm weight of his palm sliding up her leg. His hand eased between her thighs so surely that she could not have evaded his caress – and truly, once his fingers began to move against her, she had no desire for him to stop.
“Mine,” he whispered, kissing her mouth roughly again, staking his claim even as her body demanded more of his touch. Esmeralda felt the tide rise within her with startling speed. She whispered a plea but he only chuckled and continued his amorous assault, her body responding to his touch as if it would acknowledge no other man.
“Tell me,” he urged when the white heat of need had made her nearly incoherent. She shook her head then gasped as he eased a finger inside her, his thumb sliding across her clitoris with dizzying and persuasive force. Esmeralda shook her head, unable to summon a word to her lips and he kissed her again, his passionate demand such that it might consume them both.
This was delicious and she could only surrender.
Esmeralda moaned, hearing the sound as if it came from someone else, a desperate plea torn from deep within her. She never moaned. She never begged. She never lost command of the encounter, but with the duke, she was awash in sensation and could not wish to be otherwise. She was powerless – and more remarkably, she loved it.
He eased another finger inside her, holding her captive to his marauding thumb. Esmeralda arched against him but there was no escape. And in a way, there was a freedom in that, in the conviction that she would remain securely in his lap, at the mercy of his caress, no matter what she did. She let loose, abandoning herself to her need, and she saw his smile of triumph flash as she cried out.
He watched her, his eyes dark, his satisfaction palpable, and Esmeralda ensured he had a sight to feast upon. She stretched so that her breasts slipped free of the dress, and she knew her nipples were taut. He surveyed them, then bent to suckle them, his embrace prompting her to moan again. She knew her hair was tangled and cast across his arm. She drove her buttocks against him, hoping to tempt him to take even more. Her legs were bare, the skirts of her gown already having fallen back and she watched him smile.
“Tell me, Esmeralda,” he demanded, his expression intent and his thumb relentless.
“What shall I tell you, Your Grace?” Even her words were breathless.
“That you are mine,” he said with heat.
“I am not yours,” she said and he chuckled darkly. “I will be no man’s possession.”
“Not even for a night?” His brow arched high, making him look wicked and utterly glorious. “Not even for this?” And his thumb drove against her in that moment, casting her into the abyss of pleasure as her release coursed through her body with power. She cried out as she came, and he granted her no respite, his thumb ensuring that her climax lasted longer than had ever been her experience before.
She was striving to catch her breath and slow her pulse when he stood with her in his arms still. He smiled down at her, then bent and touched his lips gently to hers. “And so we begin, Esmeralda,” he said, his voice a low rumble in his chest. She was certain she knew what would happen next but, to her astonishment, he set her carefully on the sofa. He drew her skirts down over her legs, then pushed a strand of hair back from her cheek, before he retreated a step. She knew she was flushed and she guessed that her eyes were glittering with satisfaction. He smiled down at her and she tugged her bodice over her nipples again before meeting his gaze.
“A most glorious beginning,” he murmured, cupping her cheek and kissing her with a sweet heat.
She was certain he would take her then, but he stepped away, reaching for his discarded waistcoat. She might have unlaced his breeches, but he evaded her hands, watching her as he donned his jacket. “I will see you at Haynesdale Manor as soon as you are able,” he said crisply. “All will be as we agreed.”
“I could journey with you now.”
“No. You are weakened yet by your ordeal, Esmeralda.” Something flashed in his eyes, something that make her heart leap. “I would have you hale.”
“You could linger here tonight.”
“No.” He bent and kissed her again, a little more roughly, enough to make her pulse leap. Then he broke the kiss, lifting his head only slightly, his gaze boring into her own. His eyes were so dark, so fathomless that she might have sunk into them and been lost forever. “No man of merit takes advantage of a lady in such circumstance,” he said with conviction.
Esmeralda found herself smiling. “Then you are such a man?”
“Can you doubt it?” he retorted, but he was smiling, which proved he was not insulted.
“No,” she admitted softly. “I cannot.”
Once again, their gazes clung and the temperature seemed to rise. Did the flames on the hearth leap higher, coaxed to burn hotter by the need between them? The room appeared to be smaller with the Duke of Haynesdale within it, though Esmeralda could find no fault with his commanding presence.
“Take a fortnight,” he said crisply. “Take longer if you have need of it, though you might have mercy upon me and come sooner. But see yourself restored first, Esmeralda.” He kissed her fingertips, then looked deeply into her eyes. This time, his eyes glinted with humor. “I may be demanding or even intemperate.” He raised a brow, which make him look wicked.
“Sir, you astonish me,” she said, unable to stop her smile.
“Not so readily as that, I hope,” he said lightly then retrieved his cane, striding for the door with purpose.
“Perhaps less than a fortnight,” she said when he opened the door.
He paused and looked back at her. “I shall count the moments, Esmeralda,” he vowed softly and she could only smile at him.
She dared not admit aloud that she would do the same.
Esmeralda heard the duke speak to Latimer, and the clatter of the horses’ hooves as his coachman stirred them to action again. She did not rise from where she sat, but simply stared into the fire, thinking.
She had meant to ensure the duke’s pleasure (and thus his commitment to their agreement), but instead, he had seen to hers, proving that he was different from all other men who came to her door.
Truly, had there been any doubt?
She stared into the flames, savoring the sense that she had a champion. It was not so burdensome as she might have anticipated, not when the protector in question was the Duke of Haynesdale. How long would it take him to tire of her charms? Perhaps her time at Haynesdale Manor would be the sum of it. Perhaps he would dismiss her after a few days there. Either way, Esmeralda intended to keep her part of the bargain. She would build her strength and ensure that the duke had no regrets over this wager.
Then Sylvie would be safe forever.
Though Sylvie’s future was not the only reason Esmeralda would go to Nottingham. She smiled that it might not even be the main one.
There was a secret she would share with no one.
Two weeks and three days.
Seventeen days, Damien had waited with considerable impatience, fifteen since he had arrived at Haynesdale Manor, and on this morning, the anticipated letter finally greeted him at breakfast.
Esmeralda would arrive today. The news was enough to put a whistle on his lips.
Actually, it would be Mrs. Oliver who crossed the threshold, but tonight, Esmeralda would be in his bedchamber.
Damien could not wait.
To his surprise, his mother appeared before he had read his newspapers, as if she sensed that something was due to occur. He tucked Esmeralda’s letter out of view, feigning indifference to his mother’s uncharacteristic appearance at breakfast. She usually had a tray in her room. She was in her dressing gown, her hair not yet arranged for the day, and her expression was one of concern.
He could guess what troubled her and supposed it was better to have this conversation behind them before Esmeralda arrived.
Indeed, the dowager duchess had held her tongue far longer than he might have anticipated.
“Good morning, Maman.”
His mother came to sit in the nearest chair, not taking so much as a cup of tea. “I suppose you mean to marry her,” she said without preamble and he was glad they were alone.
“No.”
She caught her breath and straightened.
“You do mean Mlle. LaFleur,” he said, fearing he had misunderstood.
His mother was impatient. “Who else would I mean? Are there other eligible young ladies hidden in the house?”
“I will find her a husband when the moment comes. For now, she is simply under my protection.”
“Who is she?”
Damien smiled. “An innocent and my ward.”
“But by what relation?”
“By one I choose not to share.” He snapped his newspaper. “All will be well, Maman. Trust me upon this.”
His mother frowned, as discontent with his reply as he had expected. She tapped her fingers on the table, her gaze drawn to the open door to the garden. He hoped for release, as the roses in view were her passion, but instead she fixed a look upon him, a question clearly on her lips.
“I anticipate another guest’s arrival today,” he said before she could ask anything else. “Her name is Mrs. Oliver, and she is the elderly friend of an acquaintance.”
“You mentioned that name before,” his mother said with a frown. “Indeed, I expected her to arrive with you.”
“She has been ill and is in need of a respite in the country. I invited her to indulge in that here. I also thought she might travel with us, but she was not yet sufficiently recovered. I have informed Higgins to give her the dark blue chamber.”
His mother’s eyes narrowed. “The one beside your own.”
“The one most suitably furnished for a lady reliant upon a cane. I have deeply appreciated the situation of my own chamber on the ground floor in recent years.”
“I had the mauve chamber prepared for her two weeks ago. It has a lovely view.”
“And yet, she will stay in the dark blue one.”
His mother regarded him warily. “Who is this woman?”
“The elderly aunt of the Earl of Rockmorton. I met her last Christmas.”
The silence stretched long between them, even as Damien ignored the weight of his mother’s gaze.
“Why are you so suddenly burdened with a charitable nature?” she asked finally, exasperation in her tone. “I have never known you to invite virtual strangers to Haynesdale Manor, no matter how desperately they might need a respite in the country. You have always insisted that your privacy and respite was of the greatest concern.”
“Perhaps I have finally listened to you, Maman, and your concern about my becoming a curmudgeonly recluse.”
“I find that unlikely,” his mother murmured, adding a snort to emphasize her doubts.
“Then I wagered I should make a change before such an inclination becomes unshakable.”
“That is not half of the truth and do not imagine that I am convinced of your tale,” she said sternly.
“You need not be convinced for the success of my plan.”
“Aha! There is a scheme. I knew it and I demand to hear all of the details.”
“I ask only, Maman, that you ensure that Mlle. Lafleur is suitably entertained while she is our guest. She might have some introductions here, in anticipation of her debut in London in several years.”
“A season? Do you intend to finance that?”
“I might. She must find a husband, after all, and as her guardian, I should facilitate that arrangement. Perhaps you might take charge of it for me. You are so much better with such matters than I might ever be.”
“You have already retained a dance instructor and an English tutor.”
“She will need both to make her debut.”
“Where did she come from? Where has she been all her life?”
“Entrusted to a nunnery.”
“No wonder she cannot dance,” his mother said. “You arranged the match of Baron Trevelaine. Is matchmaking to become your new occupation?”
“That match was very close to dissolution after a year. No, no, Maman, I surrender any interest in the promotion of marital matches. It is not my forte.”
“I have never heard you admit that any skill was beyond you,” his mother said tartly. “Usually, you vow to conquer it instead.”
“And yet not this time. Will you seek a suitable husband for my ward, please?”
“She might have wed the Viscount of Addersley, if I had known of her existence sooner. I strove to throw them together, but he was already smitten with Miss Emerson.”
“What is done is done, Maman. We shall have to seek a match for Mlle. LaFleur elsewhere.” His mother made a sound of discontent and Damien peered over his newspaper at her. “Surely you do not wish that Addersley’s match might be an unhappy one?”
“The viscount is welcome to that chit, to my thinking. She had her eye upon you, and I could not have borne having both her and Fanny underfoot forever. Does your ward have an older relation?”
“I am unaware of one,” Damien said, hating that he told a falsehood. The dowager duchess, though, would not have been happy to learn that the most famous courtesan in London was his ward’s older sister. He wagered that was a secret he might keep for the moment.
“How unfortunate. Even the least illustrious of relations might have been of some use in a quest for a spouse.”
Damien resolutely remained silent.
His mother leaned closer, pushing aside his newspaper to peer into his eyes. “ Why is she your ward? Tell me, Damien.” Her voice dropped so low that he could barely hear her words. “Is she your child?”
“No,” he said with finality and such a fierce glare that even his mother knew to abandon her questions.
She sat back and pursed her lips, considering what she had been told and doubtless speculating upon what she had not been told. “She learns to dance very quickly,” she ceded. “There is an appealing grace about her.”
“And she will have need of a wardrobe,” Damien added. “I am certain that Mrs. Jameson would oblige and that you will enjoy the selection.”
He watched his mother try and fail to hide her smile. “Have you a budget for this endeavor?”
“Not I. She should be clothed as you see fit, please, Maman.” He made a vague gesture. “She did choose some cloth in London, at my insistence.”
A predictable gleam lit his mother’s eyes and she perched on the edge of her chair. “Tell me.”
“She chose a muslin printed with pink flowers and several widths of ribbon in various hues of pink that complemented it well. I insisted upon white silk, as I knew you favor that for young ladies, with a little silver embroidery. There is some navy wool, which I was assured would make a suitable coat, some velvet in dark pink and also in black. And there was a length of embroidered silk with beading, a blue-green that favored her well, I thought.”
“You know that she will need petticoats and purses, slippers and bonnets.”
“I could not begin to navigate such waters, which leaves me to beg your aid again, Maman.”
His mother straightened with newfound purpose. “Must I greet this Mrs. Oliver today?”
“Of course not. It would be unfitting for me to burden you with an additional task when you have a visit to the dressmaker to plan.”
“Then who will greet our guest?”
“I will.”
His mother stopped in the act of leaving the room and turned back to consider him. “You have not greeted an arriving guest in years, perhaps decades.”
“All the more reason to ensure such bad manners do not become habits. I will reform myself beginning today.”
His mother harrumphed with gusto, but she left the drawing room in a much better mood than she had entered it. Doubtless she would be making lists over her own breakfast. Damien knew she would not be distracted for long, but he would savor the peaceful interlude.
Truly, he wanted nothing to interfere with his anticipation of Esmeralda’s arrival.