Page 17 of The Untamed Duke (The Secret Crusaders #3)

CHAPTER 17

T he Private Diary of Sophia Hawkins

How to get an untamed duke out of one’s mind:

Stop fantasizing about seeing him naked.

Stop dreaming about seeing him naked.

Stop wishing you were naked with him.

If all else fails, simply ask to see him naked.

“Claim me,” she said it again, stronger, louder, infusing all the power of feminine might into her voice.

“Sophia–”

“Do not deny me because of the opinions of others. If this is what you want–”

“Of course it’s what I want.” Kenneth ran his hand through his slicked back hair, sending droplets flying through the air. “You are all I want, but we can’t do this. It isn’t right.”

“By whose definition?” she demanded. “The womanizing lords who condemn ladies for the tiniest infraction of their rules? The elites who don’t notice when men abuse the women they’re sworn to protect? The class who would support a debutante’s marriage to an old man, so long as the match is financially beneficial?” She raised her hands. “Are those truly the people who should guide our lives?”

He hesitated.

She blinked up at him. “I have followed the rules, been all that is prim and proper.” At least she appeared that way. “I know what I want. Do you?”

His eyes were a piercing green, burning with raw emotion. He growled lowly, but it was not against her. As certain as she knew anything, he was fighting himself. “If you wish to stop, it takes but a single word. Anytime.”

She nodded, even though it was wholly unnecessary. This was the right path. He was–

He seized her lips.

Whether it was knowing it would reach the ultimate conclusion or another reason altogether, this time was different. No longer could she think, no longer could she analyze. All she could do was feel.

He moved slowly at first, with all the time in the world, and no ending point to elude. Yet unhurried caresses provoked even more excitement, as he traced up and down bare arms, stroked a quivering stomach, peppered kisses down her throat. She explored his body as well, tracing hard curves, molding thick muscles. She gasped as her feet left the ground.

“What are you doing?” She clutched at him.

“Taking you to bed.” He nipped at her neck. “Do not worry, lass. I will always care for you.”

She opened her mouth to respond, yet he stole her words with another kiss. He stepped to the plush emerald grass, before lowering her onto a flower bed . The natural cushion cradled her with its heady scent, yet not nearly as intoxicating as the man who hovered above her, his hands masterfully plying untold sensation from her body. The sensual onslaught came from all directions at once, unbearable and unstoppable. He grasped her shift.

“Yes.” She bit back a gasp of delight, as he lifted and swept off the thin covering. The rest of her clothing was gone in seconds, and his as well, until they were skin to skin, without any barriers. He touched her bare stomach, and she gasped.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded.

She squeezed them tighter.

“Don’t you want to see me?”

Oh. Yes.

She opened them, slowly, deliberately. Her breath hitched.

Breathtaking. He was a masterpiece of human and fantasy, an artist’s rendering in reality. His handsome visage was splendor in the moonlight, as he gazed at her with brilliant eyes. “Do you have any idea of how beautiful you are?”

Her answer was lost as he descended once more. Sensations once muted by cloth now came without obstacle, casting fiery heat, leaving her body aching, wanting, needing. He was a master pianist, and she his instrument. She writhed as he traced a breast, weighing, molding. Then he reached lower, past her abdomen and lower still…

He caressed her there .

Her breaths were a series of gasps, her speech mere moans. When she thought she could take no more, he wrung more delight, more sensation, more perfection. When they truly joined, she was ready. A tiny pinch was the only pain, soon overtaken by unfathomable pleasure.

There was more. So. Much. More. He moved above her, with her and in her, as she endlessly gasped, as the sensations came quicker, higher, stronger and greater.

Until finally, the world burst with the power of a thousand stars.

It was unbelievable and immeasurable, physical sensations of which she never dreamed. Yet something else emerged on that bed of flowers, something far deeper than the physical realm. A connection formed, a bond, borne of emotions she could not name.

And it whispered, unescapable .

He expected a battle.

An argument at least, a protest of why she could not accept his claim. A denial of what was between them.

He never expected her to surrender.

His intentions were clear, her acceptance obvious. She would be his duchess, even if scandal did not force a match.

How else could he interpret her request to claim her?

Sophia stretched on the covers, sighing softly, charcoal lashes fluttering against rosy cheeks. Her hair slipped down her naked back, spreading over tantalizing curves, outlining her feminine gifts. He resisted the urge to explore, instead allowing her to settle back into slumber. There would be time enough later. This enchanting creature was his.

He’d carried her inside after she fell asleep under the blanket of stars, lulled to the realm of dreams by the birds’ soft melodies. She hadn’t stirred as he journeyed back home, nestling into the silky sheets of their bed. He never considered bringing her anywhere but his chambers, where she belonged.

When she first propositioned him, he’d told himself he was a gentleman, then again and again, yet she was as strong as he, and her reasoning broke down barriers as powerfully as any sword. She was right about society and its unfair dictates. Still, he never would have agreed had he not known what it meant. She was agreeing to a match.

How could he say no?

They had not spoken of the future, yet that was to be expected. Sophia was a strong woman, proud and unyielding, and no doubt admitting her surrender would be unpleasant. Her actions revealed what words didn’t.

He considered returning to London immediately, formalizing the union before the entire ton, as instincts urged. Yet Bradenton would be furious, and may even attempt to refuse the match. Kenneth needed time to solidify their bond.

Their bond. Tension rose within him, before he forced it away. She was his perfect companion, smart and strong and benevolent. They would have a productive and amicable marriage. If something lurked deeper – feelings, emotions, wants – they would be ignored. He’d seen the pain such sentiments wrought.

Time to commence a campaign, an onslaught even, the most important of his life. He would share his true self, and learn about the magnificent woman he claimed. He would overcome her resistance, show her the life he could provide, while keeping her safe, of course. And when it was all over, he would have his bride, and his revenge.

What could be better?

Home.

It was her first thought as awareness came, as sunshine bathed her in brilliance and warmth. Peace surrounded her, the all-encompassing feeling that all was right with the world. She fluttered heavy eyelids, allowing a sliver of illumination, then opened her eyes wide. She was not in her bedroom in the family townhome, or even in the room Kenneth provided. She was in his room, in his bed.

Somehow it felt like home.

She was still naked, the cover her only consolation to modesty. Her body was sated and sore in the most delicious way possible, yet longing still simmered, hidden underneath the surface. She closed her eyes and relaxed back into the covers. “I wonder how often one does that,” she sighed.

A hand splayed possessively over her stomach. “I think thrice a day an appropriate number.”

She gasped and opened her eyes.

“It’s only me, lass.” Kenneth’s voice warmed her like hot chocolate on a cold winter day, smooth, sweet and delicious. Their physical connection sparked, accompanied by other sensations: comfort, kinship, something deeper.

She frowned. It was unacceptable. Their joining was about attraction and physical need. It was not – could not – be more.

For the tiniest sliver of time, something whispered, Why not?

It was impossible. Kenneth had kidnapped her, cast her as a pawn of revenge. Even if she desired the match, Edmund was unlikely to allow it. And while she prided herself on living as she wished, her brother wielded his own power, which he flexed quite often. If he was truly against a match, triumphing against his wishes would be a daunting task.

Yet she would fight, if that were the only obstacle. Yet something far greater stood in their way….

Kenneth didn’t love her.

It may be the realm of romantic novels, yet she desired a love match. Someone who loved her beyond compare, someone who cared beyond position and wealth. Someone who felt as she did.

She tightened sore muscles. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, think of the tangle of emotions her captor left in his wake. The untamed duke did not believe in love matches. She would accept no less.

Of course, that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy herself while she was here. So long as she kept her heart safe behind a stone wall, she could explore new delights. The sunlight brightened, and she shielded her eyes, regarding the man who introduced those delights. “Have you been here all night?”

“Of course, lass.” His smile was soft, genuine. “I enjoy watching you sleep.”

Heat crept up her neck, even as the unease deepened. Why was she acting the blushing debutante? She lifted her chin. “I shall like a turn to watch you sleep.”

“Would you now?” He moved forward, and the cover slipped down, revealing his broad chest, a well-defined stomach and, well, my goodness . “Sophia?”

“Yes?” Swiftly, she looked up. “Did you say something?”

His eyes lit in amusement. “Is something distracting you?”

“Nothing at all.”

“Are you certain?”

“Indeed.”

“Are you lying?”

“Indeed.”

He chuckled, pulling her back into him, nestling her in the cocoon of his strength. She shivered as muscular arms wrapped tight around her. “You can watch me sleep later.”

“Actually, I’d much rather do something later.” She cringed, closing her eyes. One fantastic joining, and she craved it already.

“Can I assume you are pleased with last night?” He hesitated. “Have you any regrets?”

Her emotions were a knot of contradictions, yet regret was not among them. “No,” she said honestly. “Do you?”

“Need you ask, lass?” His eyes crinkled at the corners, amusement clear and present, amidst rarer emotions: satisfaction, contentment, happiness. “I just want to make sure you accept the consequences of our actions.”

“Of course.” She no longer had the burden of her maidenhood, or the heavy anticipation of the relations between man and woman. “You are exceptionally skilled.” Heat burned the nape of her neck. “Can we pretend I didn’t say that?”

He placed a hand over his heart. “Are you saying I’m not skilled?”

A thousand memories of a thousand touches blazed. And the temperature increased a thousand degrees. “Of course you are skilled, yet dukes have enough to fill their heads.”

She winced. Why had she mentioned the title he abhorred, the source of inevitable pain? Yet the peace in his eyes never wavered. “I am glad you agree with the path we shall now take.”

Did she agree they should make love so many times it would make a rake blush?

Yes.

Certainly.

Surely.

Positively.

Definitely.

Undoubtedly.

Unquestionably.

She waved her hand mildly. “I suppose I could be persuaded.”

Of course, any and all relations would remain solely about physical satisfaction. Clearly he agreed, since he brought up nothing of the future. A wisp of a not entirely pleasant emotion rose.

“I’m glad you think so.” His expression betrayed a flash of surprise. “I wasn’t sure you would. Now we can be honest with each other.”

She paused. “I thought you’ve been honest with me.”

“I have, lass.” No subterfuge lurked in his eyes. He released her, and she shifted to face him. “If you recall, I even revealed my plans to kidnap you.”

Yes, he had. Which made his success all the more frustrating. “Yet you are not forthcoming.”

“I do not always grant information that compromises my control,” he admitted. He rubbed his forearms. “Yet we both now know our path.”

Their path? Was that what he called last night? “I am most… pleased with our path.”

Something akin to relief lit his eyes. “When I mentioned honesty–” His eyes had regained their sparkle. “I was speaking of you.”

“Me?” She placed a hand on her chest. “I am honest.” Sort of. Mostly. Certainly as much as most brigands. Yet her dishonesty was for a good cause, to aid those in need. If the ton knew of her actions, she’d never be permitted to continue.

He lowered his gaze. “Do you remember kidnapping me? Or at least attempting so?”

She parted her lips. “You kidnapped me first!”

“But I was honest about it.” He shrugged. “It is always polite to provide advance notice of a kidnapping.”

This was the oddest conversation she’d ever had. “You cannot be serious,” she gritted out. “Next time I shall put a notice in the papers. Would that satisfy you?”

“It would help.”

“One of us has clearly lost our minds. Perhaps both.”

He didn’t deny it. “And what of your numerous escape attempts?”

“How was that not honest?” She held up her hands. “I made no secret of my desire to escape.”

“I suppose that’s true.” He studied her carefully, and his smile faded. “Yet you are hiding something. Some hidden activity or agenda perhaps?”

Her heart thumped. Was the goal of this outlandish conversation to get her to relax so she would share her secrets? Was he merely posturing, or had he discovered the truth of the Distinguished Ladies of Purpose ? “You’ve been reading too many stories of intrigue.” She tapped him on the shoulder. He reached out like lightning, capturing her hand.

“That was a non-denial if I ever heard one,” he murmured. “Tell me, do you hide secrets?”

This. Was. Not. Good.

If he discovered the truth of the guild, everything could be destroyed. It didn’t matter that they fought for a good cause, or that no harm came from their activities. He may expose them for revenge, misguided chivalry or both. “There isn’t a person in London without secrets. I am no different.”

Yet most ladies did not lead a double life, dancing in gilded ballrooms during the day, traversing the shadows at night. The ladies of the guild chose their own roles, from innocuous tasks like convincing lords to support the right measures, to riskier jobs such as scouring the poor areas for people to help. Sometimes they investigated . It was dangerous, and it was vital. And it was indeed a secret.

The suspicion burning in his eyes intensified. “It must be quite clandestine to inspire such concern.”

He was too clever by half. “You just admitted to not being forthcoming yourself. You cannot expect me to share all my secrets with you.”

“Yet you read my journal.”

How could she convince him she hid nothing of worth? Her eye caught on the papers that served as her temporary diary. Perhaps she could share some secrets to protect the one that mattered. “How about I show you my journal?”

“Your journal?” He rolled his shoulders. “You keep a journal?”

“Indeed I do. Since my regular one is in London–” She gave him a pointed look. “I’ve been making do. If I show you my personal wanderings, you will see there is no deep, dark secret.”

It was both true and a misdirection. While she wrote her thoughts, she was careful not to mention anything about the guild, especially after the theft of Priscilla’s journal. Some of the entries may be embarrassing, but they contained nothing life-shattering for either of them. “Would you like to read it?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Does it outline your revenge for the kidnapping?”

She smiled as she slipped off the bed and walked to the paper loosely bound in a book. Some of it was embarrassing enough she’d have to flee to America, or possibly the moon, yet surely she could find something innocuous. She flipped through the pages and held out an entry. “As you can see, no secrets.”

He grasped the book and read aloud, “ The impossible. I do not believe in the word, do not accept that which puts limitations on my dreams… ”

He read until the end, with a raised eyebrow at the last sentence. “ Who knows what he will do if he captures me? ”

He glanced at the bed. “Did the outcome meet your expectations?”

The heat started as a spark, transformed into fiery tendrils flaming up her neck. “That may have worked out better than I hoped.”

“I see. What else have we got here?”

She reached for the book, but it was too late.

He read, “How to get an untamed duke out of one’s mind:

Stop fantasizing about him naked.

Stop dreaming about seeing him naked.

Stop wishing you were…”

“That’s enough.” She grasped the journal, yet he held it higher. “It seems you do have some secrets.”

Flames turned into an inferno. She yanked the journal away and tossed it towards the table. Missed.

Papers scattered across the floor. “Blazes!”

She rose at the same time he did, and they both reached for the paper.

He got there first.

“Ways to escape an untamed duke:

1. Hide all his clothes while he is sleeping and run. Problem: Likely he’ll chase you anyways. Unexpected Benefit: The view will be interesting.

2. Sneak out while he is in the bath. Problem: Likely he’ll chase you anyways, only wet and naked. Unexpected Benefit: The view will be even more interesting.

3. Tie him to…”

She grabbed the paper.

She needed to turn invisible. Or him to turn invisible. Ideally, they would both turn invisible. Not permanently, but until her mortification died down, in about two (or three) decades.

They stared at each other for two (or three) decades. She gripped the paper tightly, crumpling the thin sheet of disaster. Then, as if he hadn’t just learned how interesting his naked body was, she notched up her chin. “As you can see, I’ve been very honest with you.”

His lips twitched, and he stared for another two (or three) decades. Finally he cleared his throat. “Have you? I had no idea you wanted to see me–”

“If you finish that sentence, I may do something I’ll regret.” Unwittingly, her gaze drifted over his naked form. She tried to look away.

Failed.

“You’re not very good at hiding your thoughts,” he mused.

“I am quite good at hiding my thoughts.” She sniffed.

“Do you think so?” He leaned closer, bringing the intoxicating scent of amber and bergamot. “You’re thinking how very much you like seeing me naked.”

“That’s not true.” She was thinking how much she liked seeing him wet and naked. And whether he would notice if she poured the pitcher of water over his muscles and enjoyed the view. For two (or three) decades.

Perhaps she could improve at hiding her thoughts.

Yet she admitted nothing as she returned to the bed and pulled up the covers. He sat down next to her, not bothering to hide his nakedness.

If she was really, really, really, really pleased, that was another truth she’d never admit.

He placed a possessive hand on her side. Even through the thick fabric, her skin jumped. “I knew you would try to escape, although I didn’t realize the methods you would be willing to try.” His lips twitched. “I shall take more precautions in the future.”

Did that mean he would be naked less? Because he’d just started the practice, and it was even better than she hoped. At least he was no longer thinking about her secrets.

“Of course, it doesn’t mean you’re not hiding something.”

Perhaps not.

She forced out air, bunched her hands on the soft mattress. What could she do to convince him? “I let you read my diary. Surely that proves I have no secrets.”

“Of course it doesn’t.” His eyes sparkled. “You only showed me a portion of your diary. Your secrets could be written on a different page, or not at all.”

She should have known he was far too intelligent to deceive. “You read more than I intended.”

He chuckled. “I’ll give you that. I especially liked the part where you said–”

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

Not only did showing him the journal prove nothing, but now he knew she imagined him naked. And wet. And naked and wet.

She needed another plan.

“How about I tell you a secret?”

He leaned back, flexing his muscles. “A secret?”

Even though they were quite alone, she lowered her voice. Time for a distraction he wouldn’t be able to resist. “Seeing you naked was even better than my fantasies.”

His lips stretched into a slow, wide smile. He grasped the cover she held up to her chest. “May I?”

Oh. Yes.

He fisted the cover, tugging the silky sheet away from her. Her skin prickled as it came into contact with the cool air, even as his smoldering gaze warmed her. Ever-so-slowly he drew the fabric down, revealing her swollen breasts, her stomach and the secret she no longer wanted to hide. Rose-hued color bloomed on every spot he uncovered, and soon she was bathed in it. Hot and cold, she was both and then neither, as he forced a thousand sensations.

Then the cover was gone, and they were flush against each other. So close, yet not touching. He reached out with a single finger…

And traced.

He trailed curves and angles, limbs and crevices . His lips followed, as he kissed every inch of burning skin, exploring, testing and tasting. Yet she was no passive party to his plundering, taking her fill and more. And when they finally joined, it was even better than the first time, for he remembered every little thing that made her gasp. It was…

Glorious.