Page 21 of Wedded to the Duke of Sin (Dukes of Passion #2)

CHAPTER 21

“ F or a man who claims indifference, you look ready to commit murder,” Gregory observed as he eyed Dorian’s white-knuckled grip on his glass. “Though I am not sure if it’s Treyfield or Lord Somerby who’s the intended victim.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Dorian’s eyes remained fixed on the dance floor, where his wife was being guided through a perfectly proper quadrille by that simpering puppy.

“No?” Gregory’s smile was insufferably knowing. “So you haven’t spent the last ten minutes glaring daggers at the poor fellow’s hand on Her Grace’s waist?”

“I was merely observing the dance.”

“With the same expression you wore when Treyfield had the audacity to breathe in your direction?” Gregory signaled for fresh drinks. “I must say, old boy, for someone so determined to maintain a marriage of convenience, you’re displaying a remarkable amount of?—”

“Choose your next words carefully.”

“Territorial instinct.”

Dorian finally turned to his friend. “That insufferable boar Treyfield is up to something. The way he looked at Alice?—”

“Ah yes, let’s discuss Treyfield.” Gregory’s eyes danced with mischief. “Much safer ground than admitting that you want to tear Lord Somerby limb from limb for daring to make your wife smile.”

“She’s welcome to smile at whomever she pleases.” But even as he said the words, Dorian watched Somerby lean in and whisper something that made Alice laugh.

Something dark and primal twisted in his gut.

“Of course she is.” Gregory sipped his wine. “Though I’ve noticed that you’ve positioned yourself with a perfect view of—good God, man, try not to break your glass.”

Dorian watched as Treyfield made his way through the crowd.

The man preened as he moved among Society’s elite, accepting their deference to his position with poorly concealed satisfaction. Each time someone addressed him by his title, he seemed to puff out his chest like a peacock.

“He’s certainly embraced his role as Earl,” Gregory observed quietly. “Though one might think he’d show more grief for his nephew’s passing.”

“Four months of mourning were apparently sufficient.” Dorian’s voice held barely concealed contempt as he watched Treyfield pause to regale Lady Jersey with what seemed to be an entertaining story.

The man’s expansive gestures and strutting manner were a far cry from Lawrence’s quiet dignity.

“First the spies in London, now these veiled threats.” Gregory kept his voice low. “He knows that something has changed. Your marriage has complicated matters.”

“Which makes him unpredictable.” Dorian tracked Treyfield’s progress through the ballroom, noting how the man kept glancing their way between conversations. “And men like Treyfield become dangerous when they feel threatened.”

“Have you considered telling her the truth?”

“And risk putting her in danger?” Dorian shook his head, remembering Lawrence’s desperate final words. “The less Alice knows about my suspicions regarding Lawrence’s death, the safer she’ll be.”

“Yes, you’re right to be concerned.” Gregory waved his hand toward Alice. “Though perhaps not as concerning as the way Lord Somerby just kissed Her Grace’s hand. Quite lingeringly, I might add.”

The glass in Dorian’s hand actually cracked.

“For heaven’s sake.” Gregory plucked it away before it could shatter. “Just go claim your wife for another dance before you destroy Lady Rothbury’s entire crystal collection.”

“I don’t—” Dorian broke off when he saw Alice move away from the dance floor. Alone. Toward the library. “Excuse me.”

“Try not to murder anyone,” Gregory called after him. “Blood is dreadfully difficult to scrub out of ballroom carpets.”

Dorian stalked through the crowd, which parted instinctively for him. The same Society hens who had been watching Alice dance now tracked his progress with avid interest. He caught fragments of their whispered observations.

“Did you see His Grace’s expression?”

“Well, what did Her Grace expect, dancing so intimately with Lord Somerby?”

“I haven’t seen the Duke look quite so forbidding since he first came to London…”

His reputation for cold fury had kept most men from crossing him over the years. Now, as he watched his wife maneuver around a group of young ladies, Dorian found himself itching to demonstrate exactly why he was considered one of the most dangerous men in London.

Without breaking his stride, he caught Alice’s elbow and smoothly steered her toward the library.

Let them gossip about this .

At least they’d be speculating about a husband’s right to claim his wife’s attention, rather than watching her dance with every fortune-hunting lord in London.

Without a word, he placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her inside, closing the door behind them with perhaps more force than strictly necessary.

“Your Grace?” She turned to face him with a raised eyebrow. “Is something wrong?”

The sight of her—cheeks still flushed from the dance, a tendril of copper hair escaping its pins—nearly undid his careful control. She belonged to him, damn it. His wife. His Duchess. The thought of another man’s hands on her, the thought of Somerby trying to make her laugh…

Every protective instinct Dorian possessed roared to life. He wanted to erase any trace of another man’s touch, to remind her exactly who she had married. To hell with propriety and careful distances. To hell with everything except the need to claim what was his.

“Wrong?” He let out a mirthless laugh. “Why should anything be wrong? I merely thought we should discuss your sudden interest in dancing with every eligible bachelor in London.”

“I danced with one man.” She lifted her chin in that defiant way that always made him want to kiss her senseless. “As is perfectly proper for a married woman.”

“Proper?” He backed her toward the nearest bookshelf. “Was the way he held you proper? The way he leaned in to whisper God knows what in your ear?”

“Are you actually jealous?” A hint of satisfaction crept into her voice. “How fascinating.”

“Jealous?” He braced one hand against the shelf beside her head, effectively caging her in. “I do not share what’s mine, sweetheart. And you” —his other hand curved possessively around her hip— “are very much mine.”

“Am I?” Her breath hitched as his fingers flexed. “You seemed to have forgotten that these past few days.”

“Trust me.” He lowered his head until his lips barely brushed her ear. “I haven’t forgotten anything about you. Especially not the way you sound when I do this…”

His mouth found that sensitive spot beneath her ear that always made her gasp. She didn’t disappoint.

“Dorian…” Her fingers clutched at his lapels. “We can’t… not here…”

“No?” He gently nipped her neck. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have let another man put his hands on you.”

“I didn’t—oh!” She gasped as his teeth grazed her collarbone.

“Didn’t what?” His hands slid up her sides, remembering every curve. “Didn’t enjoy his attention? Didn’t laugh at his witty observations? Didn’t let him kiss your hand like a lovesick schoolboy?”

“You’re being ridiculous.” But her voice had gone breathless as his mouth moved lower. “It was one dance.”

“One dance too many.” He cupped her face in his hands, finally claiming her mouth in a kiss that held nothing of propriety and everything of possession.

She melted against him, giving as good as she got, her clever fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer. The kiss turned molten, desperate, months of pent-up tension finally snapping between them.

“Still think I am being ridiculous?” he murmured against her lips.

“Completely.” But she was already untying his cravat. “Though perhaps I’m not entirely opposed to your… ridiculousness.”

His laugh rumbled deep in his chest as he caught her wandering hands. “Careful, sweetheart. That’s quite improper for a duchess.”

“Says the duke who has me pressed against a bookshelf.” She nipped his lower lip. “Besides, I seem to recall that you rather enjoyed my impropriety the last time we were together.”

The reminder of that night sent fire through his blood. “That was different.”

“Was it?” She arched into him deliberately. “Because I distinctly remember you being far less interested in propriety when I?—”

He cut her off with another searing kiss, his hands sliding down to grip her hips. “You’re playing with fire, wife.”

“Perhaps I want to burn.” Her fingers traced his jaw. “What will you do about that, husband?”

A growl escaped him as he lifted her, pinning her more firmly against the shelves. “Is this what you wanted? To drive me mad with jealousy until I couldn’t think of anything but having you?”

“I didn’t plan it.” Her legs wrapped around his waist. “But I can’t say I am disappointed with the results.”

“Minx.” He traced the neckline of her gown with one finger. “Tell me to stop.”

“No.” She pulled him closer. “Never stop.”

Dorian let out a low growl, gently set her down, then spun her around. He undid the tie to her gown and then peeled it off her. He kissed her shoulder, and she turned back and pulled his lips down to hers once more.

His hands moved to her thighs as his lips trailed down to her round, plump breasts. As his fingers parted the soft nest of her curls between her legs, she let out a small gasp. His thumb circled the center of her pleasure, and without thought, her legs parted.

He pushed her against the shelves and wedged one strong thigh between her legs. Releasing her momentarily, he unfastened his trousers. Without hesitation, Alice reached down and took him in her hand. She wanted nothing more than to feel him inside her.

“I want you,” she whispered, afraid to meet his gaze.

“Are you sure?” Dorian’s voice was husky.

He slid a finger inside her, and she writhed helplessly against him. When she was finally able to control her breathing, she cried out, “Yes!”

As his fingers moved inside her, his thumb found her pearl. He circled it slowly, pressing it rhythmically as pleasurable sensations continued to grow inside her.

When she was unsure she could take much more, he pushed himself inside her. A cry escaped her lips before she realized what was happening.

He immediately stopped. “Breathe, sweetheart. The pain will ease in a moment.”

His fingers strummed and massaged her tight bud, and the pain eased slowly. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the sensations coursing through her body. The rhythmic motion of his fingers caused her insides to clench.

Slowly, he began to move again. This time, there was no pain, only pleasure. She opened her eyes to meet his gaze. There, in the depths of his eyes, she saw desire.

The pain had transformed into something beautiful, like liquid fire coursing through her veins.

“Don’t stop,” Alice said.

Without hesitation, Dorian thrust into her. Alice arched into him to urge him to go deeper. Suddenly, his movements became faster.

Alice held fast to him. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as she allowed the sensations to ripple through her. Her hips moved to meet his. Every nerve was on fire. There was only this. This feeling. This bliss.

Pleasure coursed through her body like warm honey spilling over a lattice of branches, slow and irresistible, pooling into every hollow and crevice until she could do nothing but yield to its sweet, all-encompassing tide. She was utterly lost to the sensation he was eliciting from her body.

When her walls clenched around his manhood, he let out a muffled roar and thrust harder into her. Lights burst behind her eyelids, and she let out a cry of pleasure.

She clutched at him as their breathing slowed.

Dorian pulled out of her and drew her to him. He cradled her against his chest, pressing a kiss to her temple as she trembled slightly in his arms.

“Well,” she managed finally, a breathless laugh escaping her. “That was not at all what I expected when I came to the library.”

“No?” His chuckle vibrated against her cheek. “And here I thought that all ladies visited libraries for such scholarly pursuits.”

Alice lifted her head to glare at him, though the effect was somewhat spoiled by her flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips. “Oh my. What if someone heard us?”

“Impossible.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “The music is far too loud. Though perhaps next time we should choose somewhere more private than the Rothburys’ library.”

“Next time?” But she was already smiling as he helped her stand on shaky legs.

“Turn around, sweetheart.” His fingers made quick work of her laces. “Let’s make you presentable again.”

“Is that even possible?” She fretted as he restored her gown to order. “Everyone will know.”

“You look perfectly proper.” He tied the last lace, then spun her around to face him. “Though perhaps a touch more satisfied than before.”

“Dorian!”

“There’s my scandalized Duchess.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Though I must say, perhaps we should avoid libraries in the future. They seem to have a rather inflammatory effect on you.”

“On me?” She raised an eyebrow even as he pulled her toward the door. “I seem to recall you were the one who?—”

He silenced her with a quick kiss. “Come, wife. Let’s return to the ball before someone comes looking for us. Though I cannot promise to behave should you decide to visit any more libraries this evening.”

His wicked smile made her blush all over again.