CHAPTER 5
B y the time it grew dark in the garden, Haynesdale Manor was quiet. The night was soft and dark, a promise of rain in the air. Esmeralda had spent the time since her arrival in her own chamber, lingering there even after Sylvie’s departure, preparing for this encounter.
The first payment of her debt.
She stood at the French doors of her chamber, looking over the quiet and shadowed garden. She listened as various members of the household retired to bed, her heart full after such a long discussion with Sylvie. Not only was the young lady gracious and kind, but Esmeralda felt that their time together had been a gift that only the duke could give. She was truly in his debt, more than she already believed, but she would grant him anything he desired in gratitude for Sylvie’s safety.
She had already determined that Tate was now garbed as a footman, albeit one who could invariably be found in the corridor outside her chamber. Pearson loitered in the garden, outside the French doors to her chamber. During the afternoon, she had spotted him tending a garden bed, and just moments before, she had caught a glimpse of him before he vanished into the shadows. The presence of the two men gave her a welcome confidence in her security, as well as that of Sylvie.
She eventually heard the steady thump of the duke’s cane making steady progress down the corridor to his chamber and immediately was concerned for his welfare. Had he exerted himself too much this day or did the pain routinely return in the evenings? She knew the injury was not feigned, for she recalled how it had clearly troubled him in the past. She listened, wondering how she might help.
There was a low rumble of male voices from the adjacent bedroom as the duke’s valet attended him. Esmeralda closed her eyes to imagine the fire being stoked, the bed being turned down, a jacket being hung. The duke’s boots would be taken below stairs to be polished, his linen would be removed to be washed, his choices for the next day might be made in advance. She could hear the two men’s voices at intervals, and she recognized their familiarity with each other and their routine. She liked that the duke had loyal servants – in her experience, that was the sign of a fair master.
Her own heart skipped as she waited, striving to savor her impatience. Within an hour or two, there would be no mystery. There might not linger any attraction or interest. She should enjoy this interval of expectation. Esmeralda was not one to romanticize an assignation, but this one felt special. Portentous. Even magical. She did not even want to consider why that might be, lest she break the spell in trying to understand it.
It had been a long time since she had been so intrigued by a man.
She had turned her chamber into a bower as she seldom adorned her own room in London for an assignation. Perkins had been a willing assistant. There were bowls of roses filling the room with their scent, candles lit, the fire banked low. The light was as golden as honey, an alluring shade for any woman, and the shadows seemed like dark velvet. It was just warm enough, a temperature that invited nudity and display. Her bed was turned down and the drapes at the windows drawn against the darkness. No one would witness whatever happened this night.
Esmeralda wore a sheer chemise brought specifically for this moment: the linen was finer than fine, the embroidery delicate, the effect ethereal and flattering. She had been specific with details, but her dressmaker had outdone herself. The gown was perfection. Her hair was unbound and brushed out, and the only thing she wore other than the chemise was a touch of color on her lips and a dab of a floral perfume.
She was nervous as she had not been in a long time, but then, she reminded herself that she had not welcomed a man for months. The truth of the matter was that she had never welcomed the duke. Esmeralda plucked the petals from one rose and cast them on the linens, a volley of sweetness in hues of pink. Immediately, the scent was released and she inhaled deeply of it.
When Esmeralda heard the valet leave the duke’s chamber, she waited for the sound of his footfalls to fade completely. She then turned the key in the adjoining door. She opened it, not in the least bit surprised to find the duke waiting on the other side, not a step away from her, a welcome heat in his eyes. He, too, wore only a nightshirt and his cane was not to be seen.
“All is as you said,” she whispered.
“And your sister?”
“Protected as every gem should be,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”
“You should not have doubted me, Esmeralda,” he murmured, taking a step closer. His eyes gleamed as his hand rose to her face. “You should never doubt me,” he added with heat, then bent and captured her lips sweetly beneath his own.
No, he was a man who kept his word, who took pride in his promises. In future, she would not question his pledges.
His kiss was light and altogether too short. His fingers moved in her hair as he straightened and looked down at her, a smile playing over his lips. How had she ever thought him stern and uncompromising? Though she knew he could be grim, in this moment, he appeared more than amiable.
Amorous. Intent. Patient – even though a heat simmered in his eyes. He held back for her, letting her set the pace, and nothing could have pleased her more.
Esmeralda shivered with delight and entangled her fingers with his, tugging him into her chamber. He moved slowly, as if he would prolong the moment, and she could appreciate that impulse. He had pleased her twice, against her own expectation, and she knew that he must be satisfied on this night.
His gaze was steady, seeming to penetrate to her very soul, but it was not his perceptiveness that snared her attention so well. He never flinched from her truths, no matter how unsavory they might be.
In his presence, she was safe, and that was a gift beyond all others.
She suspected she could be honest with him, and if that was true, it was a rare marvel.
“No,” she acknowledged softly. “I should not have, for you have never lied to me.”
“And I never will.”
Esmeralda said a silent prayer that might be true. There was always a chance that rules and expectations would change once he had possessed her. She smiled and he lifted her hand to kiss it, holding her gaze so ardently that she could scarce take a breath. Then he turned her hand in his, the warmth of his cradling hers, and planted a kiss upon her palm, closing her fingers over it as if to hold it fast forever.
She found her throat tight with a potent emotion she would not name. Esmeralda knew better than to surrender more than what was purchased. She knew better than to promise more than she could give. She knew better than to believe in pretty promises, particularly those made in pursuit of pleasure – but this man tempted her to forget all she had ever learned.
Therein was the peril of his company.
And yet, she could not turn away, much less deny him. She could only hope that she managed to keep her heart shielded, for there could be no future to their match.
It would be an interval, a debt paid, no more and no less. She would enjoy it. She might revel in it. But she would not be so foolish as to expect more.
She would not be so foolish as to care .
“Esmeralda,” he murmured and she tried to keep from hearing a hundred promises in the single word.
She reminded herself that however marvelous this might be, it would not last. While she was at Haynesdale Manor, she could forget the world and its demands – but then she would return to London and the life she knew so very well and this time would be only a memory.
He would have her sole attention, as agreed. She would guarantee that he found her debt paid in full. He would have no regrets, though Esmeralda already feared that she would have one.
If she did, the duke would never know.
It had taken every bit of resolve within Damien to linger over cards with his mother on this night of nights. He had listened to her comments about Mrs. Oliver’s absence from dinner and reminded her that their guest had been ill. Sylvie had slipped and revealed that she had attended Mrs. Oliver earlier, prompting the suspicions of the dowager duchess. Were they already acquainted? But no. Did she not have a maid to attend her? Damien’s mother had been certain her own maid had confided as much. Mais oui , Sylvie supplied cheerfully, earning a stare worthy of a basilisk. She had flushed and stammered, and finally confessed that she was intrigued by a lady so very elderly.
Damien knew his mother’s curiosity had not been appeased. To his relief, Sylvie had retired then and his mother had professed a desire to consider once again the layout of the rose garden. He had deferred his own review until the morning and made what felt like a close escape.
In his own chamber, he could fairly feel Esmeralda’s presence. He was certain he could smell roses and there was a golden glow of light beneath the adjoining door, which he gave every appearance of ignoring. He took his time, chatting with his valet, Townsend, as was his custom. They discussed a mark upon the sleeve of his jacket and Townsend reiterated that another pair of boots in brown would be a timely addition to his wardrobe. He yawned and stretched and fetched a book to his bedside, giving every indication that he would be asleep within moments.
When Townsend finally left, Damien was on his feet immediately. He waited before the adjoining door, acknowledging the magnitude of his desire, reminding himself to ensure that Esmeralda was pleased. It might kill him to see her satisfied first, if it meant denying himself again, but he knew it would be worth any effort to see her eyes light with surprise and wonder.
He wanted this to be different for her.
He did not wish to simply be her next conquest, indistinguishable from the others.
Then she opened the door. It swung toward him slowly, revealing her waiting for him. His heart leapt at the sight. Her hair was loose, hanging in dark waves over her shoulders and her skin was as fair as parchment. The scent of roses was stronger in her chamber, and he glanced past her to note the arrangements of flowers responsible. Her room was lit softly, but enough that the light shone through her sheer garment. It was a chemise but the finest one he had ever seen, both revealing her smooth flesh and hiding her curves behind intriguing shadows. Her lips were ruddy, as they often were, though he did not know if she wore any other paint. He did not care. She was glorious.
He caught a handful of her hair in his hand, amazed by both its softness and the way it fell over his skin, tendrils twining around his fingers as if she would see him snared fast by her side. If that was her wish, Damien would be a willing captive. They spoke briefly, and he kissed her lightly, loving the way she rose to her toes to meet him, welcoming the light weight of her hand upon his shoulder, the promise in her eyes as she led him into her chamber.
He murmured her name and saw the corner of her mouth lift in the beginning of a smile. And that was all the temptation he needed to draw her into his arms and claim her mouth in a kiss. Her hands framed his face then slid into his hair: his eyes were closed as his arms filled with Esmeralda. He lifted her from the ground and deepened his kiss, glad that he did not have to be cautious. He let his embrace turn passionate and she followed his lead, her own kiss becoming hungry. The way she echoed his passion filled him with a fiery desire, one that pushed all else from his thoughts save Esmeralda.
He carried her to the bed, never breaking his kiss until she was beneath him, her nipples pushing against the cloth of her chemise as if they would demand his attention. Damien lifted his head, then cupped one breast in his hand, running his thumb across the taut peak and teasing it yet more. Esmeralda gasped, then arched her back, her lips parting and her eyes turning drowsy with pleasure. Damien had never seen a more alluring sight in his life. Was her reaction genuine or feigned? He would ensure that her response was real, somehow.
He bent and kissed that nipple, grazing it with his teeth so that she gasped again, then suckled it fiercely. Her moan of satisfaction sent fire through his veins. He slipped his hands beneath the hem of the garment and pushed it over her head, only halting his caress to see the cloth free, then locking his hands around her waist and taking that nipple in his mouth again. She moaned beneath him, writhing like a siren who would seize his soul, and he found her irresistible.
Better yet, he could smell the dampness of her reaction. This was not feigned. He laved that nipple and teased it until it was a hard rosy peak, then turned his attention upon the other, alternating between them as the scent of her arousal tormented him. She whispered his name and struggled against his grip, but he held fast, determined to ensure her satisfaction first – and knowing he could not last long. He trailed kisses down her torso and across her belly, his hands surrounding her waist, then bent and tasted the nectar of her pleasure.
She was sweet and hot and utterly aroused, a discovery that sent a jolt of need through him. Esmeralda strove to reach for him, but Damien would not be deterred – and when his mouth closed over her with purpose, she capitulated with a sigh, spreading her thighs and inviting him onward.
He did not hesitate to accept. The scent of her inundated him, the slick heat of her nigh drove him wild, but he forced himself to feast upon her slowly. He felt the tumult rise within her and drove it onward. She was moving beneath him, whispering his name, in such a delicious state of agitation that he wished he could see her. That would have to wait. For the moment, he continued his amorous assault, his hands upon her hips, until he felt her shudder, then heard her moan. She was close to her satisfaction, her skin flushed, her heart leaping, and Damien did not cease. He drove her onward until she clawed at his shoulders, until her hips bucked of their own accord, until she cried with the power of her own release.
That could not have been feigned.
Satisfaction filled him as he drew himself over her, moving upward in steady increments, his gaze locked upon hers. Her hair was tangled, her cheeks flushed. Her eyes glittered and her smile was incandescent.
“Fiend,” she whispered playfully and Damien grinned. She tapped his shoulder with a fingertip. “It is your pleasure that is to be gained this night.”
“Perhaps I find pleasure in witnessing yours,” he murmured, then wiped his mouth on the linens. He kissed her, liking the taste of her upon his tongue, and she moved beneath him, so sinuous and welcoming that he could only be more aroused. He speared his fingers into her hair and kissed her leisurely, even as her hands ran from his shoulders down to his hips.
She lifted a brow when he broke his kiss. “You are overdressed, Your Grace,” she said, then tugged up the hem of his chemise. She caressed him, her hands flat and her palms smooth, as she pushed it up over his shoulders. She flung the linen triumphantly across the room, then rolled him to his back with purpose. Her skin was as pale as pearls; her eyes shone like faceted gems. He watched with amusement as she surveyed him, her hand sliding through the thatch of hair on his chest then ever downward. Her audacity was more than welcome and he wished she would touch him everywhere.
“How can you be tanned in this season?” she demanded, bending to kiss his own nipple. Her hair fell over her shoulder in an ebony cascade to pool on his chest like silk. Her dark lashes lowered, hiding her eyes, and he watched her tongue with fascination as she flicked it against him. So small, so pink, so quick. He shuddered to his toes.
“It never completely fades, not as it used to in winter,” he admitted, his voice as taut as the rest of him. “Not since Spain.”
Her gaze met his. “You do not like it,” she whispered, as if surprised.
“I think it looks common,” he said quietly, studying his forearm with a frown. “As if I labor each day in the fields.”
She made a dismissive sound, her breath tickling him. “I think it looks virile,” she replied, her words husky.
“The hue of a man’s skin?”
She made a purr of approval and held his gaze, even as she lowered herself to kiss the other nipple. This time her eyes danced and she watched him as her tongue flicked. Damien did not know whether he was enraptured by the sight or the sensation.
Either way, he neither moved nor protested. He watched as she teased the nipple to a point, doing so much more slowly than he had teased hers, then bared her teeth to graze the peak gently. He thought he might spill his seed at that, but she reached down with one hand and closed her grip around him so that he caught his breath. “Only with permission,” she whispered, her words sending white heat through him.
She stroked him even as she turned her attention upon the other one, coaxing him to become larger and harder than ever before. Her hair slid across his skin as she caressed him, a light sensation that made his skin tingle with awareness. He could feel her hip near his erection, brushing close at intervals, but not quite touching him, teasing him with possibilities and nigh driving him as mad as her tongue. The brush of her teeth sent a frisson through him and he caught his breath, making her chuckle darkly.
Before he could reach for her, she rolled to one side and braced herself on her elbow to survey him. To his mingled disappointment and relief, she relinquished her grip upon him, sliding a fingertip down his thigh instead. His muscles tightened. His erection grew larger and she rubbed the softness of her hip against it so that he moaned. “I would never know your leg had been wounded,” she said, her tone as light as if they sat at tea.
“It has improved with the exercise recommended by a wise woman.”
She laughed. “You are the first to call me wise, Your Grace, though I have been called many things.”
“Damien,” he said through gritted teeth. “You were to call me Damien.”
She leaned closer, brushing her mouth across his. “It feels too audacious.”
“Because we are not intimate in this moment?”
Her smile flashed, her hand closing around him with a surety that made him catch his breath. As he watched, she bent over him, touching her lips to his belly, running her tongue ever lower, then kissing the tip of his erection. “Damien,” she echoed, the word a very breath against his skin. Whatever reply he might have made was lost, for she closed her mouth around him, both gently and with resolve, a perfect combination that compelled him to close his eyes against his raging need. He opened them to watch her, entranced by her persuasive touch.
He could have watched her until he found his pleasure, for the sight of her mouth locked around him was profoundly arousing. She closed one hand gently around his balls and he gritted his teeth at the pleasure she was so determined to grant.
“Not this way,” he managed to say but she did not immediately relent. “Not this time.” Her slow caress increased the fire in his blood to an inferno, driving every thought from his mind save his need for Esmeralda.
“How?” she whispered, her breath a sweet torment. He could not even imagine a debate of the possibilities, not now, not here, not in this exquisite moment. Then her lips closed around him again, a sweet kiss of divine torment.
“Esmeralda!”
She ignored him, teasing and touching him until he was certain he could endure no more. Then just in the moment that he felt on the verge of climax, she relinquished her grip upon him, trailing kisses up his chest and running her hand over his skin. He murmured a protest, but she kissed him to silence, her bold touch making the heat rise again.
She straddled him then and he felt the softness of her thighs on the outside of his own, the contrast giving him as much satisfaction as the sight of her rearing above him, her high pale breasts and pert rosy nipples, her narrow waist and long dark hair flowing over her shoulders. Her eyes shone, her smile both knowing and seductive, then she lowered herself over him, taking him inside her with a smooth move that nearly destroyed him.
It certainly left him gasping.
She was slick and hot, so tight and perfect, that again, Damien had to close his eyes for strength. His hands fitted around her waist again and she leaned over him, moving slowly and captivating him completely. The tide was gathering with fearsome speed, and when he looked up at her, he knew he would not be able to hold back.
He gripped her buttocks in silent demand, making her move more quickly against him. Far from being troubled by his impatience, Esmeralda smiled down at him, a glorious temptress, and rocked her hips so that he caught his breath again. Their gazes locked and held as she rode him, her hands on his shoulders, her fingers digging into his skin, his blood thundering as she drove him toward the summit.
But no, he would not be served. He would not be next. He would take her with him, if it was the last deed he did.
Damien moved to ensure that his erection rubbed against her and watched her inhale sharply as she drew away from him. He saw her eyes darken, the flutter of her pulse at her throat, the flush rising over her skin as he held on, determined they should find satisfaction as one. He moved his hand between them, caressing her with his thumb so that she shook her head incoherently. He watched her bare her teeth. He watched the flush rise from her breasts, noting how taut her nipples became, felt the tide rising within her even as the tumult grew within him.
Suddenly she erupted before him, her climax tearing through her with savage force that had her tightening around him with a welcome power. He felt the vibrations within her and could not hold back. He moved more quickly even as she fell upon him and kissed him with a ferocity that felt honest and potent. He kissed her back with the same passion, loving how she gripped his shoulders. He rolled her to her back and she locked her legs around him, pulling him closer. He only drove home one last time before he was lost in his own release.
He shook. He roared. Her felt as if he exploded from within. And there was only Esmeralda, her fingers in his hair, her lips on his temple, her soft heat beneath him and wrapped around him.
“Esmeralda,” he murmured, his breath ragged and he felt her smile.
They lay entangled for long moments, breath fast, skin slick. Damien bent and kissed her slowly, hungrily, his mouth open so their tongues could frolic. She locked her hands into his hair and kissed him back, her fervor so honest that it felt like a gift. He drew back to look into her eyes, knowing his contentment could not be disguised.
Nor could something else.
She gasped, then smiled, flicking a glance downward before meeting his gaze again. Her eyes were filled with stars, dancing with delight, and he watched her smile broaden. “You are a man of surprises, Your Grace,” she murmured.
“Welcome ones, I hope.”
“Indeed.” Her smile left no doubt of her approval.
“It has been a while,” he admitted, bending to run his nose across her shoulder, to inhale deeply of the sweet scent of her. “Twice in fairly rapid succession should temper my response.”
“Well, then,” she said, looking untroubled. “Twice it shall be, Your Grace. And then?”
“A nap perhaps. A glass of wine. A discussion, even.” He rolled to his back, staring at the canopy as he considered the possibilities. He was still uncommonly aroused. She might have been a sorceress who snared him in a spell of desire. The notion made his smile broaden. “And then undoubtedly a third time.” He turned to look at Esmeralda, who was studying him with amusement. “If you are so inclined.”
She eased closer, walking her fingertips across his hip, then sliding one down the length of him. His body responded immediately to her touch, which made her smile again. “I find myself very inclined, Your Grace,” she confessed, her eyes dancing and her tone playful.
“Damien,” he growled again, and she laughed lightly.
“Damien,” she said, then her hand closed around him and coherent thought was banished from his mind.
He had time to wonder whether even thrice would suffice and then there was only Esmeralda’s beguiling touch.