Page 26 of To Defend a Damaged Duke (Regency Rossingley #2)
In turn, the duke regarded them one by one.
“You are all being so terribly generous. I am truly humbled and grateful. At the same time, I am thoroughly humiliated that I lack the sufficient tools to remove myself from this circumstance without relying so heavily on the help of others.” He directed the next part to Mr Angel.
“Some of whom, I barely knew until very recently. And another whom”—his eyes dropped to the floor—“I…I have wronged but intend to spend all my waking hours putting it right.”
“I think I speak for all of us,” said Rossingley kindly, his gaze skimming to Tommy, “when I say there is no need to apologise for anything, Ashington.”
“Be that as it may,” the duke responded, “but for one error of judgement, I vow to apologise until the end of time.”
He addressed the room once more. “What I am trying to say is that you have all done so much for me already, and as Rossingley has so charitably remarked, I might humbly admit to having a modicum of expertise regarding matters of horseflesh. So, I’d like you all to leave the issue regarding Lyndon and my stables to me.
I have the beginnings of a plan, and I’ll wager it will surprise everyone. ”
*
“HOW ANYONE IMAGINES they can transform me into a rake is the devil’s own guess.
You’d have more luck with the Archbishop of Canterbury!
” Flopping into a seat, the duke peered down his body.
He plucked at his immaculate (but funereal) charcoal tailcoat in disgust. “Look at me! I’m the very essence of all that is dull and proper! ”
Then it is fortunate that I’m not , Tommy nearly replied.
And he was looking. Aside from Mr Angel’s damned hypnotic coins, he’d hardly looked anywhere elsewhere all evening.
As the others took their leave, he’d felt tempted to express interest in the fine etchings hanging above the fireplace as a flimsy excuse to linger awhile.
But Tommy’s desire for this diffident man had become too noisy and insistent a voice to waste time delivering pretty speeches about art.
Actions spoke louder than words, and he’d craved an assortment of those ever since that surprise kiss in his study.
And some actions, thanks to his inglorious past, he excelled at.
Covering the short distance to the door, Tommy turned the key. He then returned to where the duke sat in what was clearly, from how he appeared so at ease and how a side table was perfectly positioned with his brandy balloon within reach, his favourite armchair.
The duke stared beyond Tommy at the door. “You have locked us in.”
“So I have.” Tugging on the cuff of his tailcoat, Tommy slipped his arm out of the tight sleeve with the practised ease of a man long accustomed to surviving without the services of a valet. “Do you wish me to unlock it, Your Grace?”
When he performed the same manoeuvre with the other sleeve, letting his coat drop in a crumpled fwhump at his feet, the duke’s shy eyes widened.
“Um…no. I don’t believe I do.”
Tommy’s light fingers tripped down the elegant buttons of his waistcoat, hesitating over the bottom one.
He rolled it under his thumb. The duke’s restless gaze tracked the movement before dropping lower to where Tommy’s swelling member made its presence felt at the fall of his breeches. Ashington shifted in his seat.
“Now, what was I doing?” queried Tommy, abandoning his slow undress. “Ah, yes. Delivering your first lesson on turning you into a rake.”
The duke scraped together a rough laugh. “Currently, you are turning me into a puddle of want.”
Tommy grinned as the duke wrenched a finger inside his own neckcloth, loosening the knot a fraction. “Then the battle is half won.”
With unmistakeable intent, he sauntered towards the duke’s armchair.
From somewhere over his shoulder, a longcase clock marked out the passage of time, each earnest tick failing to drown out the hammering in his chest. He wanted this man, he realised, more than he’d ever wanted anything or anyone else.
A few inches beyond the triangle of Ashington’s long legs, he paused.
The duke hauled his dark gaze away from the outline of Tommy’s stiff prick. He licked his lips. “You…I…” He made a hopeless gesture.
Again, Tommy circled the lowest button with the tip of his forefinger. “What would a rake do now, Your Grace?”
“He…he’d unbutton your waistcoat.” The duke’s voice rasped as he stumbled over the words. He gestured towards the garment. “May I ask you to—”
“ May I ? There’s no place for prettily worded demands here, Your Grace.” Tommy shook his head in mock disappointment. “Caution in this enterprise is fatal. Do your worst.”
Ashington huffed a breathy laugh. “Come closer, man, so I can bloody well get my hands on you! Better?”
Tommy stifled a smile. “Excellent.”
With a little sway in his step, he moved forwards until he stood close enough for the duke’s delicious cologne to reach his nostrils. “Now, seduce me.”
Even before the duke touched him, Tommy felt the caress of his lover’s fingertips.
Raw intent was written in the smokiness of his eyes, his heated cheeks, the part of his lips.
Fabric whispered under his exploring fingers as he walked them, tentatively at first, over Tommy’s narrow hips before drawing them along the slippery satin edge of his waistcoat.
On reaching the line of buttons, the duke pulled each one apart clumsily.
The most seductive thing about it was the desperate desire banked up behind his trembling fingers and in the tip of his moist tongue, poking out from between his lips.
“God,” Ashington chuckled, “these were a rotten invention.”
Tommy smiled at his fumbling, unable to resist. “Patience is a virtue with which you were clearly not blessed.”
“It’s a virtue I’d like to slap in the face! Ahh.” The last fastening fell open. “Finally.”
Cool air draughted across Tommy’s belly as the duke tugged the snowy linen of his shirt from his breeches.
His skin pebbled; he shivered, then let out a hiss as Ashington’s palm, like a hot brand, smoothed the goosebumps away.
The duke tilted his head back, his imploring dark eyes gazing up at Tommy.
Bunching the linen in his hands, he gave it a tug.
“I want you down here. I need to kiss you.”
Tommy didn’t move, but God, how he wanted to fall on him and never clamber off. “Rake,” he whispered. “Show me, don’t tell.”
A sharp jerk on the waistband of his breeches found Tommy tumbling onto the duke’s lap with an undignified yelp. The man’s predatory smile snatched the air from Tommy’s lungs. “Like that?”
Their lips crashed together, Tommy’s answer forever swallowed in a kiss. With urgency unbound, the duke prised his mouth open. His hot tongue plunged inside, his hands twisting in Tommy’s hair, pinning him in place. Nipping, sucking, owning the kiss. Owning Tommy.
A vice-like arm took possession of Tommy’s narrow waist. His gut clenched with want as a hand roamed under his shirt.
An obscene heat grew between his legs. A raw, guttural sound came from the duke’s throat, suffocating the thud of their combined heartbeats, strangling any last lingering resentment Tommy held for this man.
A man who, with nothing more than this unstoppable kiss, was making him feel more alive than anything he’d known before.
Eventually, reluctantly, Tommy pulled away to catch a much-needed breath. Under him, Ashington nipped at Tommy’s neck, moaning his disapproval.
“See, already I have you making disreputable noises,” Tommy panted.
“And you look…” He tailed off as the duke burrowed into the sensitive hollow behind his ear, emitting another rudimentary noise, laden with unholy promise.
You look like my raven once again was on the tip of his tongue.
My beautiful, raven-haired lordling . “You resemble a debauched rake.”
In reply, the duke groaned. “How is your scent so sweet, Tommy?” He nosed at Tommy’s jaw, his cheeks, his damp hairline. “I fear I am already bewitched by it.”
Laughter ran through his gravelly voice, and he arched his hips, shamelessly pleasuring his clothed prick against Tommy’s.
His exploratory hands took a new path up the front of Tommy’s loose shirt, pausing to scratch at a nipple.
Tommy winced with the exquisite pain of it. “Rakish like this, Tommy?”
Not stopping for an answer, the duke’s lips landed once more on Tommy’s, and Tommy felt the press of a smile. As his other nipple took a turn for a scraping, it was Tommy’s turn to utter a coarse groan.
“You’re going to be an insufferable rake, Your Grace. I fear I have unleashed a monster.”
They kissed deeply again. The rocking of the duke’s solid prick became more insistent. As Tommy glided his palm across the jutting outline, pure mischief filled the duke’s dark eyes.
“No, the monster is still caged,” he whispered. Moaning with pleasure, he rolled his hips again.
“Oh God.” Tommy almost giggled. “You believe yourself to be amusing, don’t you?”
The duke tipped his head to one side, pretending to consider. “One tries not to fly in the face of public opinion.”
This time, Tommy did giggle, a boyish, joyous sound he hadn’t believed himself capable of.
Taking his wrist, the duke oh-so-very gently circled it with his finger and thumb before he dragged it across to his hip, over where the fall of his breeches lay. His mouth wore a cocky smile, and Tommy uttered a despairing moan.
“Where has my timid duke gone? I want him back.”
His Grace’s sweet mouth met Tommy’s as Tommy’s nimble fingers made light work of the fastenings.
“He’s still here, Tommy,” the duke whispered into his mouth. “And he’s scared to death. But he’s also fuelled by brandy and a desperate want for the beautiful creature in his lap, so he’s saddling up anyway.”