Authors: Jane Goodger

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Historical

When a Duke Says I Do (16 page)

BOOK: When a Duke Says I Do

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“That’s good?” she gasped as one finger slipped slightly inside her. He kissed her and began moving his finger in time to the subtle shifts of her hips, in and out, in such a primitive, carnal way she found herself letting out small sounds of pleasure.

And then he did something purely wonderful. He touched the spot where all the pleasure seemed to pool, a place she hadn’t known could evoke such intense feelings. She shifted on the bed, digging her heels into the soft blankets, flexing her hands on his shoulders, not knowing what to do, what was coming, only knowing that never in her life had she felt so wonderfully, beautifully out of control of her own body. He moved his hand against her, making her throb, making her jerk her hips against his, making her nearly scream out with the pleasure of it. And then it came, an intense wave that radiated from between her thighs to her toes to her breasts, leaving her mind blank and her body at the mercy of the man she loved. Her hips jerked uncontrollably as he held her against him, murmuring that he loved her over and over as she relished the feeling of her body contracting, throbbing in her release.

When she finally came back to the guest bedroom, where she lay nearly naked with the man she loved, Elsie laughed. “That was lovely,” she said. “Truly.”

He kissed her and she could tell he was smiling. He ought to be rather proud of himself, she thought, after what he’d done to her. She could never forget this, never forget how his hand touching her could send her to heaven and back.

Alexander had never in his life felt such intense joy as he did watching his beloved in the throes of passion. She was as responsive as she was innocent, and that somehow only made his feeling more powerful. He would not think that another man might bring her such pleasure, he shut his mind down and simply felt her beneath him, all warm feminine softness. His Elsie.

With deft movements, he tugged at her pantalets and pulled them down over her still-stockinged legs. Then he slowly untied her garters and rolled the stockings down, kissing the exposed flesh as he went. She let out a contented, well-sated sigh, and he smiled down at her. Now she was truly naked and his only wish was that they’d had a candle or lamp to light so that he might see her completely.

“I’m going to put myself inside you, love,” he said, positioning himself between her legs. He gently pushed her legs apart, caressing her briefly with his fingers before easing himself into her slick, tight entrance. He gasped at the feel of her against him, hot and wet, and he pushed as slowly as he could even as his body screamed at him to enter her completely.

“It’s all right,” she said, looking up at him, her gaze direct.

She felt so good and it was all he could do not to thrust inside her, to feel her tight heat, to move again and again until he found his release. She moved her hips, driving him closer to her maidenhead, and he groaned.

“Kiss me, Alexander,” she said, and when he moved down, she thrust her hips up, making it impossible not to match her movement. He buried himself inside her, taking her sharp sound of pain in his kiss. He stayed like that for a long moment, his eyes pressed closed, his breathing harsh, as he felt her muscles contract around him.

“Don’t move,” he said, kissing her jaw, her mouth, her chin. “It is too much. Too good.” He hardly recognized his own pleas. He would not spill his seed inside her, but he might if she moved even the smallest bit. When he’d gained control of himself, he began to move, slowly, in and out of her, making her gasp.

“I’m hurting you,” he said, his voice raw.

“No. No, you’re not. It feels rather wonderful now.”

He kissed her again, moving faster, losing his tenuous grasp on control, thrusting in a quick frenzy of movement that she met by raising her hips to meet his. With a final groan, Alexander pulled out, spilling himself on the sheet he’d folded beneath them before collapsing on top of Elsie.

“I love you,” he said against her neck, tasting her salty skin. He moved to the side, dragging her with him, holding her tightly, still fighting the panicked knowledge that she would someday be another’s. He pushed away the sudden and almost painful rush of self-loathing.

Elsie let out a contented sigh, snuggling down until her head rested in the crook of his arm, her soft hair caressing his chest and shoulder. “I am officially a fallen woman,” she said, sounding entirely happy. Her words only made Alexander wince. At the moment, he was fighting fierce regret.

“Have you ever been in love before, Alexander?” she asked, kissing his jaw.

“No.”

“But you seem to be, well, knowledgeable. Or perhaps all men are as skilled?” He heard the teasing note in her voice but ignored it. She got up on one elbow and took his jaw in her hand, forcing him to look at her even though it was far too dark in the room for them to see each other’s expressions clearly. “I’m jealous.”

“Do not be. The others were meaningless.”

“Others?” she asked, emphasizing the plurality of the word. “Do tell.”

“Women of the aristocracy have few morals,” he said, then realized, too late, that he was in bed with one of those women who clearly shouldn’t be in bed with him. “I didn’t mean you,” he added quickly.

“Well, I am one of them,” she said, sounding far too cheerful for a ruined woman. “How many meaningless women were there?”

“Enough.”

She giggled. “Who was your favorite?”

“You.”

Elsie gave him a playful swat on the arm. “Other than me, of course. I had no idea you were such a rogue.”

Abruptly, he sat up. He didn’t want to talk about other women when he was in bed with the only one he’d ever loved. “The other women were nothing, as I said,” he said angrily.

She was silent for a long moment, then said quietly. “I was teasing you. And I
am
curious.”

He let out a long and beleaguered sigh. “The Countess von Zinnen. She was very young and married to a very old man. I met her when I was sixteen in Italy.”

“Did she love you?” Elsie asked.

He let out a short laugh. “No, she loved what happened in the bed, but not me. I realized this fairly quickly.”

Elsie wrapped her arms around his torso, pressing her soft breasts against his back, and he let out another laugh because his male parts were getting extremely attentive to her every movement. “Did you speak to her?”

He lay back down, and she returned to her position in the crook of his arm, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. “Yes. She was quite disappointed. I was like a little pet to her, I think. A novelty. And when I spoke, she was angry. I believe now that she thought I could tell her husband or someone else what she was doing. I imagine she thought she’d found the perfect lover, someone who could satisfy her needs and never be able to talk about it.”

“That’s terrible.”

It was a pattern that had repeated itself more than once before he’d learned to keep his mouth shut. “Yes, it was at the time.”

Elsie tightened her hold on him. “You haven’t had enough happiness in your life, Alexander.”

He was silent.

“I wish ...”

“Don’t,” he said.

“But I do wish, just the same.”

And then, so quietly he wasn’t even certain she heard, he said, “As do I.”

Chapter 15

For the next three days, Elsie lived a double life. In the daytime, she was a devoted daughter planning for her birthday ball at which the Duke of Kingston would announce her engagement to Lord Hathwaite. She played with Mary, ran the household, solved the little day-to-day problems that arose. A maid discovered a large hornet’s nest in the attic, another maid spent hours polishing the wrong service for the ball, then burst into tears when Mrs. Whitehouse informed her of the mistake (Elsie calmed her down by insisting on using the polished set even though the pattern was quite old-fashioned). And through it all she floated about the manor as if on a cloud, filled with love and pushing aside with brutal determination any thought that threatened to ruin her mood. The very smell of paint and turpentine that permeated the air outside the ballroom made her think of Alexander and sent a warm frisson of happiness through her.

Her nights were spent in Alexander’s arms. She’d wait for him, her knees tucked under her chin, then leap from the bed and throw herself into his arms the moment he softly clicked the door shut. They made love with a frenzy that left them both laughing and out of breath, only to make love all over again. They talked and laughed and made love as if nothing would ever change. They didn’t talk about the mural, which was nearly completed, the ball, which would end their idyll, or anything that touched upon the reality of their situation. Each knew, of course, that what they were doing would only end in heartache, that reality marched on outside that guest room door, but they silently and firmly shut out that reality when that door snicked closed each night.

On the fourth night, Elsie ate her supper early, foraging in the kitchen for anything that would fill her stomach so that she could spend an entire evening with Alexander. That’s where her father found her, swinging her legs on the tall stool that was usually tucked beneath cook’s large preparation table, munching on a slab of ham and warm, buttered bread.

“You won’t have an appetite for supper tonight if you eat all that,” her father said, eying the large portion of ham in front of her.

“This is my supper,” she said after hurriedly swallowing.

“You’ve forgotten, then.” At Elsie’s blank stare, he added, “Sir William’s ball. When we received the invitation you were beside yourself.”

Elsie pulled a face. “I’d completely forgotten.” She had, though she didn’t know how that was possible. When they’d received the invitation to Sir William’s masquerade a month ago, she’d talked of nothing else. The annual event was always fun and the only masquerade she’d been allowed to attend, for the guests were a small, select group of people whom she’d known for years. It was always great fun trying to determine whom everyone depicted. Masks were discouraged, as that was considered a bit scandalous, but a few more daring people—usually the gentlemen—continued to wear them. This year was most important because it was the first fancy dress ball her father was attending since her mother’s death three years before. Elsie, out of mourning, had attended the last ball wearing a deep lavender gown, decorated with fall flowers, going as Autumn. This year she’d planned to go as Luna, wearing a luminescent gown of satin and silk that shimmered as she moved.

“You’re going as Robin Hood again?”

Her father gave her a sheepish grin. “It’s the only costume I have and your mother always said I looked quite dashing in it.”

“So you do,” Elsie said, her heart contracting a bit at the mention of her mother. She noticed lately that her father had been able to bring her mother into a conversation without his eyes taking on that dark look of despair.

“I’m going as Luna, but I fear I haven’t time for the elaborate coiffure I’d planned,” she said with an easy shrug. Her father gave her a strange look, and Elsie felt a flush grow on her cheeks. Normally, planning for a ball was her only concern, and the fact she wasn’t running about planning every last detail was highly unusual. “I think it’s planning my own ball that has distracted me so,” she said, her cheeks growing even more red with her lie. The truth was that nearly every waking moment had been consumed with thoughts of Alexander, of the time they spent together. It was almost as if she’d shut her mind away from all else, including their inevitable separation. “What time is it?”

“We must be leaving in two hours if we’re to arrive before nine o’clock. Will that give you enough time to prepare?”

“Oh, goodness,” Elsie said, leaping up. “That is a sharp challenge. I’ll go fetch Missy.”

Elsie hurried away, but instead headed toward the ballroom, knocking lightly on the door and praying it was Alexander who answered, not Monsieur Desmarais. Fortunately, Alexander appeared in the door’s crack.

“Meet me in our room,” she whispered, and hurried off.

In minutes, Elsie was in Alexander’s arms, kissing him and wishing she had nowhere else to go that night. She pulled away with real regret, for she wanted nothing more than to lie with him talking, making love, holding one another. Any feelings of guilt or shame were firmly pushed aside. She simply refused to think about them and ignored the persistent sick feeling in her stomach that hit her occasionally, the one that reminded her she was lying with a man she was not married to, one she knew she would likely never marry. That she was engaged, even if not formally so, and was conducting herself shamefully. No, she would not think of these things; she would only think about how much she loved Alexander and how he loved her.

“I fear I cannot be with you tonight,” Elsie said. “I’m forced to attend a masquerade.”

“Horrors,” Alexander said, giving her a mock shiver.

“It is not so bad as that,” Elsie said, smiling up at his horrified expression. “I would look forward to it, except I don’t want to miss a night with you. We have so few left.”

“No,” he said, kissing her lightly. “Go to your ball and come to me afterwards.”

“I do wish you could go, too. Masquerades are such fun.” At his look of disbelief, she said, “They are. You can be anyone you want. It’s a lovely sort of freedom. Not that I am shy, as you well know. But I’ve actually seen the Picket sisters dancing with men who would never have noticed them if not for their costumes. I’m very sorry to say that I absolutely adore balls and dancing and seeing friends. It’s quite isolating here, you know, especially since my mother died. I feel a bit guilty enjoying myself sometimes, but I know my mother would want me to have fun. It’s hard to understand someone who doesn’t like to dance.”

“I like to dance, I just don’t like to dance with people about,” Alexander said.

“That quite would put a damper on any ball, then,” she said, letting out a laugh. “It would be just yourself, dancing with a ghost partner.”

“No. With you.”

Elsie smiled. “We could hire an orchestra and they would play only waltzes and we would dance all night.”

“Now that sounds like a ball I could enjoy.”

It did sound lovely, but also quite lonely, and something in her eyes must have given her thoughts away.

Alexander’s expression turned serious. “You really would like me to go?”

“Oh, no. I would never ask that of you. I know how difficult it would be for you.”

Alexander’s expression became set, almost angry. “It would be difficult. It shouldn’t be. I’m a man grown. I should be able to attend a party or ball without becoming physically ill.”

“Perhaps,” Elsie said, keeping her tone light, “but you are that rare male who dislikes balls.” Elsie laughed. “I think the secret is that all males feel very much like you do. Except, perhaps my father. He enjoys balls and masquerades. At least he did before my mother died. I think he is starting to miss socializing.”

Alexander pulled her to him and tucked her head beneath his chin. “I wish I were not so afflicted. I wish I could make you happy.”

“You do, silly man. Happier than I can express. I love you.”

She felt him heave a sigh and kiss the top of her head. “You may go,” he said imperiously. “And you may dance. But I do not want you to enjoy dancing with anyone under the age of, say, sixty.”

Elsie pulled back and lifted one eyebrow. “My own father is only forty-six. Am I not allowed to dance with him?”

“Relations are the exception.” Suddenly, he pulled her to him and kissed her fiercely. “In truth, I cannot stomach the thought of you in another’s arms, even for a dance.”

Three hours later, Alexander stood outside the very crowded ballroom of Sir William Fenton’s manor house, a sturdy-looking house located just a thirty minute ride from Mansfield Hall. In one gloved hand he held his mask. The other hand was occupied holding the contents of his stomach in or alternately wiping the sweat from his glistening forehead.

He stood in the shadows trying to gather the courage to go into the ballroom and ask the woman he loved for a dance. Just one. One dance to prove to himself and to her that he was a normal man, that he could dance at a ball, that he could conquer this thing that had slowly destroyed his life.

Elsie had been easy to spot, for her hair fairly glowed in the ballroom’s soft gaslight. In fact, the entire manor was illuminated, a bright and cheerful sight in the black night surrounding him. He could stay there, watch from afar, wish it were he holding Elsie in his arms. He could pretend he was with her and perhaps that would be enough. But he’d come all this way, ridden a horse even though he hadn’t been in the saddle for years, wearing a ridiculous costume he’d thrown together. He was Michelangelo, sans beard, wearing a simple black mask, flowing black overcoat and holding a paint-smattered pallet. He felt as ridiculous as he felt ill.

He could clearly hear the music, clearly see Elsie dance again and again. It was no less torturous than the last time he’d watched her—perhaps even more. For now he knew she loved him and he loved her and still they were separated by his great and childish fear. What was wrong with him? What was it that made him physically ill at the thought of walking into a room of strangers. Good Christ above, sometimes he hated himself.

He watched her walk to a table laden with small treats and punch, watched as a footman handed her a glass, which she took with a brilliant smile. The footman grinned at something she said, and Alexander realized he would have given anything to have heard what it was. She had a way of making everyone around her relaxed and happy, an effervescent quality that could not be practiced or faked.

Taking a deep breath and swallowing down the bile in his throat, Alexander walked up the stairs to the balcony outside the ballroom and entered the doors, acting for all the world like he belonged. A stranger looking at him would see only a stiffly-held, tall man, looking slightly bored, as he strolled toward the refreshment table, black coat billowing out behind him. They would have no idea he was trying his utmost not to flee, not to vomit on his finely polished shoes.

“Beg pardon, Miss. Would you honor me with the next waltz?”

Elsie turned quickly, her eyes flashing in recognition and unadulterated joy.

“Careful, my love, you do not know me and have no reason to look so overjoyed,” he said, his voice low and full of warning.

“Oh, Alexander, how did you...why...oh, you are the most wonderful man on earth. You truly are the bravest man I know.”

Alexander was embarrassed beyond words. He had done nothing more remarkable than attend a masquerade uninvited and ask the woman he loved to dance. And yet she was treating him like some returning war hero.

“Is there another waltz?” he asked, ignoring her reaction.

She grew serious, but her lips twitched suspiciously. “I’m afraid we haven’t been formally introduced,” she said in her haughtiest voice. And then, her eyes flew open again as she glanced over her shoulder. “Aunt Diane,” she hissed. “Oh, goodness. You are Lord Firth of Lancashire. Your father knew my father at Eton. We met five summers ago at the Bellingham house party.” She turned, smiling brightly. “Aunt Diane,” she gushed. “You remember Lord Firth? We met his family at Bellingham’s.”

The aunt hardly spared him a glance. “Yes, of course. Elizabeth, I need to speak to your father. It seems that I may be forced to leave for Bamburgh, of all places. Of course I’ll be back in time for your wedding, but I did promise Lord Braddock to chaperone his niece and a minor problem has developed.”

“Oh?”

“The girl refuses to leave her home, even though it’s been sold right out from under her. It’s quite a tragedy, as I understand it, and she needs a woman’s firm hand. Lord Braddock is beside himself and now must travel all that way himself. It’s practically in Scotland!”

“Poor Aunt Diane. And, poor girl. She must be very frightened,” Elsie said. “I’m sorry, Aunt, but I haven’t seen Father in a while. Did you check the library? I understand several of the gentlemen are there playing faro.”

Diane nodded. “I did. Oh, there he is. On the dance floor,” she said with some surprise. “He’s dancing with Mrs. Goodall.” Her surprise was slowly replaced by a smile. “I do like her,” she said.

Elsie frowned heavily. “Just because he’s dancing with her doesn’t mean he’s going to marry her.”

Diane simply nodded and smiled again, leaving Elsie frowning adorably.

BOOK: When a Duke Says I Do

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