Page 14 of The Duke's List
He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. After all, she’d had the presence of mind to have one of the footmen accompany her to avoid the inevitable gossip that surely would have followed Jane meeting the actor alone in the garden, regardless of how harmless their actions might have been.
She was in his kitchen, by God. He’d corner her there and make sure she followed him to his study in the library so they could have it out over her damnable list once and for all.
Jane debatedwhether or not to have one or two soup courses for the supper for the actors’ troupe that night and was about to consult Cook when she spied Sidmouth walking purposefully through the kitchen, in her direction. Lord. Now what?
“Your Grace.” His booming voice made the short statement both a question and a command all in one.
“Your Grace?” She modulated her voice and made an effort to gaze directly into his normally hazy blue eyes. Right now they were a dark sapphire with nearly black pupils. The only thing that compared to his current predatory glint was the intent stare of a caged lion at the Tower she’d seen as a child on an outing with her mother.
“We have important business to discuss.” He turned in the direction of the long, dark hallway leading back to the main part of the house and directed her to lead the way.
“Where are we going?”
“To my study,” he said, easing her along with his hand at the small of her back.
“But…”
“Do not argue with me in front of the staff.” His warning was spoken in a tone so low, she wasn’t sure she’d heard it.
“Then perhaps you should lead the way.” Her awkward statement came out barely above a whisper.
His glower softened a bit. “Of course. You’re still unfamiliar with the hallways of Bocollyn. But…we’re going to take care of that.”
Chapter Eleven
Sidmouth leanedagainst the front of his desk and watched his duchess fidget. She still wore the “Beatrice” costume she’d had on when practicing her lines with Hawley. He stared at the laced bodice which, even with a fichu at the low neckline, left little to the imagination. He wondered if it had had the same effect on Hawley as it had on him.
He slowly retrieved her crumpled list from where he’d tucked it inside his waistcoat. And prayed to the God of Eros to not let him ruin this chance to make her see sense. And of course, if Eros could be so kind as allow him to do so without an embarrassing bulge in his riding buckskins, he would be grateful.
She’d taken a seat in the only comfortable chair in his study, and he imagined she squirmed a bit when he produced her “list.”
“This list of yours…” He tried for a businesslike tone. “I don’t understand how you mean for me to go about completing each of your requirements.”
In a flash, she stood and seized the crumpled paper from his hands before he could stop her and stuffed it into her bodice. She returned to her chair in a sedate manner and gazed up at him with an impudent tilt to her chin.
“I say, that was rude. Here I’m trying to be reasonable and meet you halfway on this nonsense and you…”
She interrupted his stilted speech by shaking her head and bolting for the door.
He stopped her by grabbing a trailing sleeve on her costume and dropping to his knees on the floor. “You’ve turned me into a groveling schoolboy. What else do you want? Can’t you at least stay long enough to hear me out?” He pulled her close and she stumbled into his arms. When he gathered her close, his hands locked around her knees, he buried his nose at the apex of her thighs and breathed deeply.
Although he was reluctantly trying to show her how he could comply with the first directive on her list, the warm scent of woman nearly undid him. Eros must be standing somewhere laughing since his cockstand was thriving with a mind of its own. He didn’t care.
His face and nose buried in her skirts, he pleaded his case with actions alone. He would, by Zeus, fulfill her requirements. Although Jane had yet to say a word, she moaned slightly. Sidmouth grinned, his face still buried in her skirts.
With a muffled voice, he launched into a speech he’d prepared, stringing together many of the lewd, naughty phrases he’d longed to say as a boy at Eton. “Your quim must drip with the nectar of peaches, the smell is so sweet. I want to lick your sex and suck up all the juices. And then I’m going to jut into you and Roger you with my prick until you beg me to stop.”
Jane sucked in a sharp breath and plucked at his sleeves to lever him to his feet. When he complied without a word, she dragged him to the front of his desk and silently lifted her skirts.
“But…why?” She stopped his questions with a light finger to his lips. He was dumfounded. Was this all it took to bring a stubborn duchess to heel? He did not need any further urging. In one movement he lifted her to the desktop and freed himself from his falls.
He parted her soft folds already wet with need and plunged within her. She sighed and wrapped her legs around him, prodding at his buttocks with her heels. He withdrew and swept the tip of his cock back and forth at her entrance. “You’re a very bad girl who needs to be taught a lesson. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t scream anymore. And even if anyone hears you beg me to stop, they won’t save you, because…you see, I’m a duke.”
With that warning, he filled her again and rocked her against the desk top until she lay back flat with her hands above her head and her feet braced against the mahogany surface. Papers, the ink pot, and books crashed to the floor.
The creamy globes of her breasts broke free from the flimsy bodice laces of her costume and the more he watched them move in time with his thrusts, the harder he became.
When she moaned and tears streamed down her cheeks, he stopped and pulled her up, pressing her to his chest. “Am I hurting you?” He whispered into her ear. “We have to stop this mad game of yours if I’m hurting you.” He tasted the tart salt of her tears when she kissed him soundly and uttered, “No, please, don’t stop.”