The Rusticated Duchess (15 page)

“Hands behind you, just like before,” he whispered against her ear, biting the lobe gently. Gloria shuddered, unresisting as the tremors shook her. He used the moment to press her palms to the desk behind her and bent his head and suckled at her nipple again until she moaned. Instinctively she began to close her legs, but Clare—fully dressed still—had already stepped between them, and his hand was fiddling with the knot in her garter.

One by one, he pushed down her stockings, removed each one and her slippers, never once giving her the opportunity to conceal herself. Whenever she began to sit up, he took his large hands and ran them over her body, palming her breasts and plucking her nipples until a fresh burst of moisture burned between her thighs.

Then, even her feet were bare, and his fingers were lifting them and exploring.

Gloria could hardly deny that she was fascinated by the carnal sensuality that had taken residence in her muscles and burned in his eyes. The cacophony of sensations he drew from her body was difficult to manage—rational thought was impossible, but she understood he welcomed the raw energy that paralysed her mind and sunk her in bliss. Having her like this—nude to his clothed state, in a place intended for business and not intimacy—only deepened the sense of illicit wickedness. But when he drew away from her breasts to kiss her stomach and nibble at her navel, Gloria was so shocked that she struggled to sit up.

Clare’s hands went to hers and held her in place. “Stop thinking, angel,” he grunted, his lips moving against her skin. “Just feel.”

What she felt was Clare’s mouth trailing lower. Too low.

“You taste like heaven itself,” he murmured. “I want to do this for hours, Glory. Watch your beautiful body respond to my touch.” His mouth moved lower, and his tongue danced against the crease where Gloria’s thighs and torso met. “Taste this delicious skin and feel you shudder under my lips.” He stroked his fingers through her curls and Gloria felt her eyes roll and her body seize in surprise, especially when his fingers moved lower and pressed harder.

Hard on the heels of surprise came a flood of pleasure that ripped up Gloria’s spine and exploded in her brain. Gloria arched, gripped Clare’s shoulders between her thighs, cried out in startled passion. Her bottom spasmed before she lifted it off the desk and Clare’s hands slid beneath her, cupping the plump flesh. His lips dropped farther to nuzzle at the base of her curls and Gloria moaned.

“Your skin is luscious,” he growled, squeezing her bottom cheeks in his large palms. “I could never tire of touching it.” He lowered himself to one knee in front of the desk, draping Gloria’s knee over his shoulder. He was still fully dressed, and Gloria’s heavy eyelids opened to stare down at his head as he bent forwards. “The music that comes from your mouth is music from heaven.” He demonstrated effectively by pushing her thigh higher and nipping and sucking on the back of her sleek limb. Gloria couldn’t help her response and another strangled moan formed in her chest and ripped from her vocal chords. His hands held her firmly open, her knee locked on his shoulder, his lips caressed inward until he found the intimate inner folds of her vulva.

Gloria sobbed, her head falling back. She struggled but Clare was too strong and she couldn’t fight him and her own body’s betrayal. It responded to him perfectly, softening and opening for his lips and tongue, while her throat issued a series of sounds she couldn’t seem to contain. The warmth of his tongue probed and nibbled through her secrets until he found that magic place at the peak of her slit that had flung her into the abyss earlier.

Blissful oblivion claimed her again when he sucked it into his mouth. Pulsing waves swept over her and she collapsed back against the desk.

In the dim moments after, she felt Clare gather her up in his arms and move to the settee, settling her body against his. She found herself straddling his thighs, her bare skin rubbing against the rougher material of his clothing, though his hand moved between them, unbuttoning his trousers until his hard form pushed into her stomach.

The wet fabric of his shirt chilled her nipples and brought them back to flaring life. She flushed and started to pull away, but he simply tightened his embrace, winding one hand into her hair and loosening her pins as he brought their chins together, their lips barely touching, her eyes staring into his.

The feel of his hand on her scalp reminded her of their earlier encounters—of their first kiss, of being trapped in the parlour window, pressed against the column in the gazebo. Arousal flooded her at the memories, even more at the simple helplessness. Even above him—her hands, arms, legs and torso free to move as she wished—he could keep her near him by the simple expedient of holding his hand to the back of her head. Desire ripped through her body and coalesced in her vaginal walls, and her hips rolled against him, rubbing the tender skin of her thighs and pubis against his hot, hard erection.

Clare lifted his head and brushed his mouth over hers, then gently bit her lower lip. “You are as beautiful as any angel ever born. You taste like a divine nectar, and the good Lord help me, every time I have you in my arms, your sweet pea scent reminds me of heaven itself.”

Gloria’s heart thumped hard as tears formed.

“In fact,” he murmured against her ear, “if it was up to me, you’d stay as bare as you are right now until you believed it.”

Gloria shivered, but Clare was hardly deterred. If anything, she felt him swell against her labia and press into her skin, seeking a haven as if his cock had a mind of its own. His lips trailed down to her neck, and he pulled her head back so he could bend and nuzzle against her breast. Gloria squirmed, frantically attempting to communicate her own desires by clutching blindly at his clothes.

She wanted to touch him.

With a husky chuckle, Clare denied her. “Oh no, beautiful angel, this afternoon isn’t about me. This afternoon you’re going to learn a very important lesson. You are going to learn how intoxicating you are. And I think it’s better if my clothes stay on for the duration of it.”

An hour later, Gloria was convinced she’d learnt something, though she couldn’t have said what the lesson had been. She ached. Her skin tingled everywhere—her eyes drooped with heavy fatigue.

Clare had kept his intentions and remained dressed, but Gloria was slumped on his lap, one arm wrapped around him and the other fisted in the lapel of his jacket. “Again?” he murmured, his thumb lodged inside her vagina. He’d inserted it there before the last set of contractions had racked her and had kept it in place.

“Please no,” she whispered, her eyes closed against his shoulder. “No more.”

“I’m proud of you, angel,” he responded against her forehead. “Now rest. You’ll feel better when you wake.”

Gloria couldn’t summon an objection. Clare had proved his point several times over already. She knew he was perfectly content to have her nude body in his lap, even though he’d come inside her several orgasms ago.

* * * *

When she woke, later, she was alone on the settee, covered with a light blanket. She blinked, disappointment coursing through her until she opened her eyes. Clare sat in a chair next to her, his booted feet on an elegant red velvet footstool, a book in his hands.

Clare was decidedly rumpled. A small smile curved her lips at his apparent ease with the condition. His hair was disarranged, and he’d obviously run his hands through it in lieu of a brush. His jacket, waistcoat and shirt were creased from her helpless clutching at him and his clothes stained with the dark red wine she’d thrown at him. Before, when his lips and chin had glistened with her arousal, he’d stared her in the eye and lapped her cream from his lips and growled appreciatively. Gloria couldn’t tell if he’d washed or if the substance had merely dried—she had to suppress the sudden urge to lick his chin to find out.

Then he looked up and saw her eyes open and his lips curved to match hers. The book fell to his lap and he examined her face carefully. “Glory. How are you?”

Despite all that had passed between them that afternoon, Gloria still flushed. But instead of flustering and clutching the blanket to her defensively, Gloria licked her lips and stretched her legs and considered. “A little sore,” she admitted. “Why did you call me that?”

Clare watched her, his green eyes darkening almost to brown before he answered. “Because I’ve seen you in your true glory and it is a privilege I intend to enjoy frequently.”

Gloria caught the innuendo and blushed. “I do need to go home,” she whispered.

He nodded after another moment of considering her. “But I will see you again. Tomorrow,” he countered. “Tonight you will soak in a warm bath.”

She drew a deep breath, then frowned. “I don’t like taking orders,” she fussed before acquiescing with a nod.

“I want you to enjoy tomorrow as much as you did today,” Clare returned, unperturbed by her mild show of defiance. He set the book aside and stood before whipping the blanket off her. “Now then, up you go before I change my mind and decide to keep you here, willing or not.”

Gloria frowned at him, but to her credit did not try to cover herself. Instead, she let Clare help her dress, even permitting him to tie her garters and sneak appreciative caresses of her curves as he fastened her underclothes and gown.

When she was pleasantly tingling, though respectably attired and with her hair re-pinned, Gloria turned to Clare and smiled. “I should show myself out,” she declared, her eyes sweeping him from foot to head and back again.

“Are you ashamed of me?” he asked, raising a slow eyebrow.

Gloria laughed. “No, but you are hardly fit to be seen in front of the servants,” she decreed.

Clare chuckled, lifted a long envelope from his desk and handed it to her.

Gloria stared at it, her brow knitting in confusion, but habit had her taking it.

“It’s a letter for your uncle, including an offer to buy Blessing Cottage,” Clare said calmly.

“What?” Gloria gasped, and outrage swept her as all her old suspicions and distrust came back. “Is
that
what this is about? Wanting me to move into the Castle? All this concern for my safety? Seducing me? So you can buy the cottage for yourself?”

Throwing the letter down on the desk, she glared at him, daring him to disagree.

He rose to her indignation, his smile disappearing and his face darkening as she finished. “Is that what you think? That I’ve been manipulating you—
us
together—for the sake of a damned building that’s sat empty for twenty years, though I was able to discover the owner within two days of bothering to inquire?”

Gloria blanched. She knew immediately she had jumped to an inappropriate conclusion and spoken without thinking, seriously offending him in the process. Guilt swept her and she reached out for the envelope, but Clare was faster. He snatched the envelope before she could retrieve it.

“Let me tell you something, Lady Gloria Jane Swenson née de Rothesay,” he said in an ominously quiet voice. “In more than twelve years, you are the first lady I have brought into my home—any of my homes. And yet you stand there and question my honour?”

Gloria felt faint. “I’ll take the letter,” she managed, but he shook his head.

“Just leave,” he grunted. “Before I say something I will regret. Before I
do
something I will regret, like spank you until your suspicious untrusting soul has all the evidence it needs to condemn me.”

Gloria whirled around. Head held high, determined not to let anyone know her distress, she refused to cry—at least not until she was alone.

And she didn’t. As she’d been formal with Clare at lunch, now she was restrained before the servants, her composure perfect and her manners flawless as she thanked them one by one, already knowing each of their names. Neither Colman nor Mr Pitcher appeared to suspect a thing. She smiled at Brody and Mrs Sinclair and peeked at a sleeping Eynon before retiring to her chamber in the cottage.

But then she was alone. She shot the lock and felt the tears form in her eyes, so she walked across the chamber to her window and stared out at the Castle.

Clare was inside those walls, as angry with her as he’d ever been, and hurt too. Worse yet, she deserved his anger. She’d driven him away.

Once again, Gloria was alone. And this time, it was her own damn fault.

Chapter Eleven

Gloria did not venture outside the cottage the next day. The dull ache inside her from an hour of crying turned into a ferocious headache, which was as good an excuse as any to stay in bed most of the day and beg for the household to leave her be. The following morning, however, Gloria woke to a blessedly clear sky and the temperatures were rising.

“I need to walk,” she said simply to Brody, and he accompanied her. They set out away from the Castle, with Gloria keeping her head down as they passed through Kilchet. As soon as was practical, Gloria insisted they leave Shore Road for a side lane, not wanting to risk an encounter with the Revenue soldiers on watch from the Castle or Clare’s staff or Clare himself. She’d never survive such an encounter with her composure intact.

So she walked on, refusing to think of anything but the road and the steps before her.

Gloria had no idea of the time when Brody finally dared to approach her. “We need to turn back,” he insisted, gesturing to the sky. “It’s almost noon. They’ll be worried. I’m worried.” He peered at her and frowned. “Is the decision to go to Italy really that hard?”

Gloria stared at him, despair spreading through her. Brody was wrong, and right. She hadn’t been thinking of fleeing to Italy at all, but of course it was the logical solution. There was no reason to stay in Ireland now, no reason to look out of her window at the Castle and wonder. Italy was unquestionably safer, and explaining the debacle she’d made of her first attempt at her own personal affairs to her sisters seemed like an impossible task.

“Of course you’re right. Italy would be best,” she agreed, and she turned away from Brody’s surprised face and set her path towards home.