School For Heiresses 2- Only a Duke Will Do (29 page)

His cock swelled, and he was seized by an urgent need to take her here, like this. “Face the mirror,” he commanded her.

When she started to take her foot off the stool to turn, he said, “No, leave it there. I want to see every part of you. I want to watch me touching you.”

Though her face flushed, she did as he asked, shifting her body around until she faced the mirror, with one foot propped on the stool and the other on the floor, exposing her tender flesh in all its dewy glory. His mouth went dry. He yanked her nightdress off over her head, then shrugged off his dressing gown. Moving behind her, he reached around to fondle her breast with one hand while he fingered the delicate flesh between her legs with the other. Her face turned pink as her privates, yet she let out a moan of pleasure that stiffened his cock to iron.

“Sometimes, Louisa,” he ground out, “I desire you beyond all reason.” He rubbed his erection up and down the cleft of her buttocks to let her know just how hard she made him. Her gaze turning sultry, she reached back as if to fondle his cock.

“No.” He brushed her hand aside. “Put your hands on the table. I want to take you like this, from behind, while you watch.” With his mouth against her ear, he continued in a harsh whisper, “I want you to see what I see when I drive inside you.” He nipped her earlobe. “I want you to see the intoxicating picture you make, the one that consumes me day and night.”

Her eyes a smoky black, she did as he said, leaning forward to plant her hands in front of her. Her hair cascaded down before her, hiding her breasts, so he gathered it up and looped it over one shoulder to allow him to look his fill of her.

God, what it did to him to see her like this in the candle’s dim glow. Her face alive with her blushes and her breasts dangling between her arms like ripe fruit, she looked vulnerable and sweet and so erotic, it nearly drove him mad.

Never let a woman lead you by the cock.

He shoved his grandfather’s voice from his head, then roughly pushed her legs farther apart, exulting in her little gasp of surprise. Deliberately he turned that gasp into a groan by reaching around to rub her slick flesh. And when she pressed herself against his finger, craving more of his touch, he felt a swift surge of triumph. Perhaps she did affect him too much, but at least he did the same to her. Then her eyes slid closed. “No!” he growled against her neck. “You have to watch me take your beautiful body.”

Her eyes opened to fix him with a mutinous glance. “I want you inside me.”

“Not until you cannot bear it anymore,” he said, then tormented her tender little pearl, laving it, stroking it, just the way he knew she liked it. “I want you begging, Louisa.”

She smiled at him in the mirror. “You will never last that long,” she said, a minxish taunt. And when she swiveled her hips back to angle her sweet little derriere against his rigid cock, he feared she might be right. His erection lay painfully heavy in the cradle of her delicious behind. But he refused to let her win this round. After his time with the brothel whores paid by his grandfather, he knew how to regain control over his willful cock, and ruthlessly he did so. “I can last as long as it takes, my tempting little Cleopatra.”

Let her have her sponges if she must, but he would have her begging for him, admitting that he was not the only one in this marriage who was besotted. He would master her—and himself—if it took him hours. So he caressed her breasts, first one, then the other, thumbing the nipples to taut peaks, then delicately scraping the smooth pebbles with his thumbnail until she cried out and thrust her breasts against his hand.

“I am the head of this house, do you hear?” he choked out, the vision of her writhing beneath his hands almost more than he could bear. But the voice of his grandfather haunted him, making his own voice harsh as he added, “You have your sponges only at my indulgence, understood?”

She groaned, but nodded.

“No more of these covert rebellions,” he bit out. “I will not have my wife make a fool of me.”

“I never meant…” she whispered. “I would never—”

“Swear it,” he demanded as he fondled her repeatedly between the legs. “Swear you will be honest with me from now on.”

“Yes, Simon, I swear.”

He dipped his finger inside her, just enough to tantalize, then jerked it out.

“You belong to me,” he rasped as he pulled her hips farther back. Sliding his cock up between her legs, he caressed her velvety softness with it. “Say it. Your body, your mind, your will…they belong to me.”

“And you?” Her eyes suddenly flashed. “Do you belong to me?”

“I have always belonged to you,” he said, the admission ripped from him before he could stop it.

“Then take me now,” she hissed. “I beg you, husband…show me that we belong to each other….”

So he did. Shifting his angle, he thrust so deeply inside her that she jerked, then released a heartfelt sigh of pure, sweet pleasure.

That only enflamed him more. He drove into her again and again, stroking her dewy pearl in front as he slid in and out of her slick passage from behind. He sucked at the smooth slope of her shoulder, then nipped at the delicate nape of her neck, wishing he could devour her whole. The harder he pounded into her and fondled her, the more her breath quickened and her gaze burned into his in the mirror, until they were both panting, struggling like two wild animals fighting for dominance, each determined to make the other lose control first.

In the end, they came at almost the same moment. Her body stiffened before she let out a piercing cry and collapsed in his arms. An instant later he reached his own rapture and poured his seed into her. His seed that would never take root.

The errant thought dug into his consciousness even as he strained against her, filling her, his heart beating a frantic cacophony in his ears. He thrust the thought from his mind just as quickly. Time. She needed time. He could give her time if he must.

It took several seconds for his breathing to slow, and several more for his sated cock to slip out of her. But as soon as she felt it, she turned so she could slide her arms about his waist and hold him close. He kissed her, plundering first her mouth, then her ear and the hollow of her throat.

“That was very…interesting,” she murmured as he ravaged her neck. “I never imagined…making love in quite that way.”

“There are a hundred ways to make love, and I mean to have us try every one.”

Even as excitement leapt in her face, she eyed him thoughtfully. “Where did you learn this assortment of lovemaking techniques? During the youth you spent in a brothel?”

He started, then remembered what he had revealed in anger. “I suppose,” he said evasively, bending his mouth to kiss her.

She turned her head aside. “Why would you spend your youth in a brothel and then…be celibate in India?”

“I’d had my fill of them by then,” he admitted.

If she ever learned the full truth about that time in his life, she would know the weakness that remained in him, despite his grandfather’s cursed training. And then she would use it to control him. He had no doubt of that.

“Most men—” she began.

“—do not discuss their ill-spent youth with their wives,” he finished. Lifting her in his arms, he headed out of the dressing room. “It was long ago, hardly worth discussing. I sowed my wild oats like every other young man. But now I am old enough to want to sow something more fruitful—”

He broke off with a groan. “Forgive me,” he murmured as he carried her through her bedchamber and headed for his without pausing.

She buried her face against his chest. “It’s not you who needs forgiveness. I’m the one who—”

“It’s fine,” he said tersely, not wanting to think about her sponges.

“I just want you to know how I regret being a coward and not telling you.”

“It’s fine,” he repeated. When she winced, he softened his tone. “We can wait a while to have children, sweetheart.”

Reaching his bed with the turned-down covers, he laid her on it, then slid into it beside her. “But I do want one thing in exchange for my indulgence.”

She turned toward him, her face instantly wary. “Oh?”

“No more separate beds, all right?”

Breaking into a smile, she cuddled up next to him. “If that’s what you wish. I only did it so—”

“Yes, I figured that,” he cut in, not wanting to hear one more word about how she had been sneaking out to deal with her sponges. “Do whatever you must in your dressing room. Just return to my bed when you are done.”

A teasing light shone in her eyes. “What if my bed is more comfortable?”

“Then we will move into your room.” He caressed her cheek. “As long as we sleep in the same bed, I do not care which one it is.”

That brought a soft smile to her lips that sent his blood into a stampede. Tenderly, she brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. “You are not the sort of husband I expected you to be.”

Catching her hand, he pressed a kiss into the palm. “Oh?”

“I never guessed you’d be so…possessive. Not after you had what you wanted from me, anyway.”

What he wanted from her? He had nothing close to that. What Grandfather had never beaten out of him was his darkest weakness—his craving for the sweet affection and abiding love that he had seen the Trusbuts show each other.

But that would always elude him. Grandfather had made him incapable of giving love, incapable of feeling anything but lust and obsession. And what woman would show him the love he craved when all he could give her was passion?

“Does my possessiveness bother you?” He held his breath.

“Sometimes,” she admitted. Then, with a sensuous smile, she ran her finger down his chest. “And sometimes it arouses me.”

He hardened instantly. “Does it?” he choked out.

Her hand dipped down to his abdomen. “Oh yes. I may not have inherited Mother’s need for variety in men, but I certainly inherited her…urges.”

“Thank God,” he rasped, as he covered her mouth with his.

Perhaps passion would be enough for them.

But later, as she lay sleeping beside him and the night stole into the room she had finally agreed to share with him, he stared up into the quiet and once again wished for something more, something deeper. Something he knew he could never have.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Dear Cousin,

I had no idea you were capable of being such a tyrant to your poor wife. Do you even have a wife, or is this the opinion of a bachelor who fancies that he can bully any woman into doing what he pleases? Your surprised relation,

Charlotte

T wo days later, the London Ladies finished interviewing their potential candidates. As Louisa sat with Simon, Mrs. Harris, and Regina in his study, she couldn’t help feeling relieved to have it over with. Raji swung about the room from shelf to shelf, but none of them paid him any mind. The same had not been true of their candidates. Simon had purposely kept Raji in the study for the interviews, one of his little tactics for throwing the men off guard so he could get some honesty out of them. Unfortunately, the honesty he’d elicited from Mr. Duncombe was rather unexpected. Raji’s antics had prompted the man to make disparaging remarks about the Indians Simon had governed. Obviously Mr. Duncombe had thought to ingratiate himself to Simon with such slurs. Little did he know.

“Well?” Simon asked her now. “What do you think of them?”

She sighed. “Obviously Mr. Duncombe is out of the question. I think we can all safely agree that he was

…well…”

“As dumb as they come?” Simon suggested helpfully.

While the other ladies struggled to hide their smiles, Louisa shot her husband an arch look. “I would have said he showed himself to be—to use Miss Crenshawe’s term—an ‘ass,’ but I suppose ‘dumb’ fits him well enough.”

Chuckling, Simon turned to the others. “The rest of you agree?” When they nodded, he added, “So Duncombe’s out.” Simon sat back in his chair, but wouldn’t look at her. “And…er…what did you ladies think of Godwin?”

She scowled. “You know perfectly well what we think, you smug devil. We’re not fools. It was painfully evident that in person, Godwin is too fiery even for my tastes. Fielden was more level-headed and sound in his opinions, by far.”

“Good of you to admit it,” Simon said, a hint of relief in his voice.

“How could I not, when Godwin suggested such tactics as our forcibly taking over the prison to illustrate our determination to improve the conditions?”

“It was an interesting idea,” Mrs. Harris said, gamely defending her friend.

“It would have got you all shot.” Simon glanced at his wife. “And much as I support your aims, I really don’t want to become a widower just yet.”

She shot him a look. “Go ahead. You may now officially gloat.”

“I am not gloating,” he said, though a smile hovered about the edges of his lips. “I am merely congratulating myself for my good sense in marrying such an astute and clever female. And one who is honorable enough to own up to being wrong, even when it pains her.”

“If you think that flurry of compliments will turn me up sweet…” She gave him a small smile. “Then you are probably right, you cocky devil.”

“So what happens now?” Mrs. Harris put in. “I’ve never been part of a political campaign.”

Simon explained the process, then added, “We’ll have to make sure that Fielden’s speeches have the proper focus. And if we get him mentioned in the press—”

“You keep saying ‘we,’” Louisa put in. “Does that mean you’ll help us?”

Simon glanced around at their hopeful faces, then sighed. “Yes. I suppose it does.”

“Good,” she said. “Because he made it very clear that he would only run if you and I throw our support behind him.” And it warmed her heart that her husband would do so. Indeed, his answer had quite astonished her.

As their political discussion turned to small talk, she admitted that Simon had been astonishing her often of late. First there’d been his shocking agreement to her sponges. Then his adept handling of the interviews and amazing willingness to help them with their campaign. What was she to make of it? It contrasted sharply with the darker side of him she sometimes saw, like when he left their bed to spend hours hunting through letters. His obsession with finding out the truth about Mr. Hunt was disturbing. She began to think it was more than just his way of atoning for his perceived error. It had to do with thwarting his grandfather, as if doing so would purge some pain in his soul. She’d asked Regina about the Earl of Monteith, but Regina could tell her little. The man had apparently only paid attention to Simon. Regina had said, however, that Grandfather Monteith had never spent one minute with Simon without instructing him—how to act, how to stand, how to speak. Louisa glanced to where her husband talked with the ladies with his usual easy charm, and a chill struck her. As surely as Simon crafted his whittled creatures, the earl had crafted Simon’s smooth statesman’s manner.