The Rusticated Duchess (38 page)

The drive to see the emotion that would lurk in her eyes overwhelmed any gentle instinct. He tangled his hand tightly in her golden mane and tugged, dragging her off his cock. The organ rubbed hard against her cheek and over her breast as she scrambled for balance over Clare’s body. But he didn’t pause. Without concern for where her arms and legs tangled with him, he brought her over him and her mouth to his.

Glory, thankfully, adjusted quickly, her mouth opening to welcome his probing tongue. He could taste his skin and perspiration in her mouth but couldn’t bring himself to feel any emotion other than intense satisfaction that she was kneeling over him, blue silk pooling around their hips. He moved the hand on his injured arm, adjusting slightly, and found he was able to slide his hand over the side of her breast and squeeze the firm flesh.

The next mindless minutes were all he could have imagined, and more. He’d imagined teaching her to sit atop him and find a rhythm while her breasts bounced and his fingers gripped her hips.

It was all that and more. “Untie your gown,” he whispered into her mouth, and she took her hands off his hot skin to do just that, so that the lovely bosom of her negligee fell forwards and bared her chest. Releasing her head, he slipped his right hand under the glorious turquoise and blue fabric to grip her hip while his left hand pressed inward and cupped her nipple, pushing her to sit up on her knees.

“Scoot forwards on your knees and sit back on your heels,” he commanded, pleasure stroking through his stomach when her eyes found his and she began to obey him. Without the benefit of seeing her pretty pink labia spread and her channel open for his cock, he had to rely on instinct and his memories from their first few encounters.

She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, her eyes widened and her mouth opened as she came down on the head of his rigid cock. He arched his back, which lowered his hips and changed the angle, and slid a short inch inside a hot, heavenly cavern.

“Deeper,” he demanded, and she adjusted, sinking farther down onto his staff. Clare held back his instinctive urges, determined to have her as deep as possible before he challenged her. He had to know one thing before he let the angel have his heart.

Glory closed her eyes, moved her hands to his abdomen and tipped her body back, taking what remained of his length deep inside her.

“Yes,” he gasped while he held her hip tightly to keep her from rolling her hips about.

Confused by the unexpected delay, her eyes glazed with passion and pleasure, she stared down at him.

“Why didn’t you want to undress me?” he demanded.

She had to fight to open her eyes to stare at him, lust and wild abandon having taken over her body. Lying would be difficult now, as difficult as he found restraining his needy, hard cock and his hips that ached from waiting.

“I did want to,” she admitted, her tongue reaching out to swipe her lower lip as her body stilled. “But Arwyn needed to be helpful. I couldn’t deny him the opportunity to care for his father. I know what it’s like to not have a father. I won’t come between the two of you, no matter how much I want my hands on you myself.”

Shock spiralled through Clare as he took in Glory’s tender words and the soft hands that reached out between them to cup his cheeks in her hands. He’d expected some sultry comment about changing into the gown, or a teasing remark about making him wait for his pleasure. He’d even have been satisfied with a need to gather her courage to come to him for the first time.

But this emotional, compassionate,
caring
answer, this gift of understanding and acceptance of his identity and his responsibilities, moved Clare’s soul.

Waiting for her earlier, he’d imagined shooting his seed on her thighs after she collapsed on his chest. Instead, her lips lowered and caressed his mouth, then moved lower as she licked at his collarbone. Her hips rolled and thrust, moving his cock out and back in against her wet, clinging tissues. She repeated the movement again, then a third time, in a compelling rhythm, so that a longing erupted in Clare’s stomach. He wanted her, wanted to come so deep inside her.

But as much as he wanted that, he wanted to honour her as lovingly as she’d done him. “Pull back,” he choked out. “Or I’m going to come inside you.”

Glory simply rocked again and lifted her hips and thrust even harder until his cock was sheathed as deeply as he’d ever been inside her. The silk of her night dress slid over their skins, inflaming him further, though he wished he could see her thighs moving over his bare skin, too. “Yes,” she answered, gritting her teeth, staring into his eyes. “Inside me, Jeremy.”

The words were on his tongue, to ask if she was certain. But he couldn’t spit them out. He fought the oncoming orgasm, needing to be sure.

“Yes, come inside me now, Jeremy,” she repeated in a rush. Unable to resist that last plea, Clare squeezed her breast with his left hand and allowed his orgasm free rein.

When he surfaced, she reclined on the bed beside him, studying him, her eyes anxious. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she asked, gesturing to his limp arm at his side.

Clare blinked. “Heavens, no. Even if you did, I’m too satisfied to quibble.” He studied her, noted that she bit her lower lip. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes I did,” she disagreed, then flushed. “If I did something wrong—”

“God no,” Clare interrupted. “No, it was perfect. Bloody perfect.”

“Oh,” Glory whispered. She flushed. “Your skin tastes like the richest wine imaginable.”

If he hadn’t been so sated, those few words would have sent Clare over the edge. Instead, desire shuddered through him again, followed by a fierce desire to have her silken skin in his arms.

“Take that scrap of silk off and come here,” he demanded. Glory looked down at her gown. “I want to fall asleep with you beside me,” he explained, “and wake up with your skin against mine.”

His words must have pleased her, because she smiled at him and did just as he asked.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Gloria awoke to his hand on her bottom, rubbing her warmed skin with the tips of his fingers. They scraped the flesh at the base of her cheeks, and nuzzled into the heated crevice where her thighs pressed together. She moaned and shifted, opening her thighs so that the pads of his fingers rubbed back and forth on the glistening, moist flesh. They probed into the exposed tissue and Clare’s voice echoed through her scalp.

He bent his head and spoke with his lips against her hair. “You are going to come for me, my lady.”

With the words, he pushed his long middle finger inside her sex and the walls of her vagina throbbed in response. She shuddered involuntarily, moving her hand from his abdomen to spread over his chest. She pressed her palm higher to cup his jaw in her hand.

Gloria gasped when he adjusted beneath her head, but his finger slid deeper inside her and stroked against her inner wall even as his index finger stretched to stroke the guarded pearl at the head of her labia. “As soon as my arm can bear my weight again, I’m putting you back in this bed on your back and fucking you until you faint.”

Gloria gasped, rocking against Clare in the rhythm he demanded. Her breath shortened and she melted altogether when Clare’s thumb pressed between her bottom cheeks and just barely stroked her rear rosebud.

Waves of heat rushed over Gloria, then, and a helpless whimper escaped her as the pleasure that Clare had taught her to expect flooded her womb and spread up her spine.

In the aftermath, she fell asleep again at Clare’s side, and slept.

The sun was high when she woke, streaming through the gaps in the draperies to shine arrows of light across the floor. The room was still, too still. Her heart in her throat, she turned to the side.

Clare was not in the bed. She sat up, and the sheet fell away around her hips. She gasped, searching among the bedclothes for her gown, and slipped it over her head.

He wasn’t in the suite, or in hers, so Gloria rang the bell for Astrid and walked behind the screen so she could wash and relieve herself. Mechanically, fuming, she relieved herself and began to wash away the evidence of her morning orgasm.

She froze at the blood stains on her rag.

Gloria’s lungs seized. She wanted to be relieved, to thank the fates for sparing her the tribulation of pregnancy and childbirth and the ensuing fine balance that would thereafter be necessary to balance life between the Swenson and Blessing men. She wasn’t relieved.

Astrid arrived and Gloria grimly prepared for the day, then headed out of the door. Her hands shook as she stopped in the nursery, listened to Mrs Pitcher tell of an early morning visit from Clare and Arwyn and sat on the floor for a few minutes while Eynon played in her skirts.

But the day would not get shorter, so Gloria cuddled the boy against her and handed him to Jenson and left the nursery.

Mrs Flannery brought a pot of tea to the morning room with toast. Gloria invited her to sit, so the housekeeper did, and to Gloria’s astonishment looked over her face carefully. “His Grace says ye are more capable than a giggly bonny lass, and that ye ruled a duke’s residence in London.”

Gloria straightened her spine. This was the moment in which the dignified woman before her would judge her competent to be mistress of the keep. “I was daughter-in-law to His Grace, the Duke of Lennox,” she said, meeting Mrs Flannery’s gaze. “Before my late husband died, I ran Lennox House and was His Grace’s hostess. However, I have never managed a country residence or a Castle. I should think there will be some similarities but will appreciate your guidance.”

The grey-headed figure compressed her lips and nodded. “We’ll start today, if ye are willing. ’Tis been a long week or so for ye, what with the travel and the wedding and that shameful incident yesterday.”

Gloria drew a deep breath. “After I see Lord Clare, then.” Mrs Flannery inclined her hand, pouring the hot water into the teacup so the tea leaves and herbs could steep. Gloria watched the steam rise. “In the meantime, please share a cup of tea and tell me about the Castle.”

Mrs Flannery smiled. “I believe I will. I have been the housekeeper here for decades but you must be fully in command before I retire.”

Gloria grimaced. “I wasn’t anticipating your quick exit,” she objected. “Lord Clare values your service and the Castle is clearly well-maintained and organised.”

“Aye,” the housekeeper murmured. “But I age. And you have a very capable woman with you that I’ll be training as my replacement if you have no objection. Your maid’s mother, I believe?”

“Mrs Sinclair was the housekeeper in my little cottage in Ireland.” Gloria smiled, pleased. “But you should not feel obliged to stage an exit.”

“Mr Flannery and I have a cottage along the river a bit where we’ll be pensioned off happily, close enough to be consulted. And our nephew is His Grace’s under-butler in London—he’s perfectly capable of taking over here. But I imagine it will be some months yet.” She stirred Gloria’s tea for a moment, then looked at it as she served it to her mistress. “The master says ye are to have this when it’s time. The little Welsh girl said today is the day. I don’t usually question the master, nor His Grace of course, but I do want to know ye are in agreement on this. ’Tis a dangerous thing for a babe, if ye should only drink a bit, or fail to drink it at times and conceive. If ye want a child, ’tis better to say so. I’ll leave out the potion and we’ll share the tea, and I’ll carry yer woman’s secret to the grave and lift up any child to the vagaries of fate. Ye hear me?”

Gloria stared at the dignified woman, sitting primly there in the late years of her life. She and her spouse had devoted decades to the Blessing family and Norham Castle and were, to all who knew them, great guardians of the duke and his family.

And yet she had just offered to trick Clare into having more children.

Gloria forced herself to speak evenly, the vision of Clare as he’d appeared the night before forming before her. “Lord Clare is indulging my reservations for the moment. After my son is a bit older and our lives have settled, we will reconsider the matter.”

She lifted the tea to her lips and sipped. It was aromatic and rich with spice, but not offensive, so she listened as she drank. Mrs Flannery gave her an outline of the day’s work and gathered up the dishes.

Moments later, Gloria stood and took a moment to prepare herself.
Gird my loins
, she thought of the ancient phrase, for it did seem rather as if she was going to battle, although it was purely an instinctive notion on her part. He had no business leaving their bed before dawn and had doubtless been out and about for hours already. She would find out, she told herself, how much pain he was in even if she had to throw something else at him to get his attention.

Clare did not seem at all surprised to see her. In fact, when she opened the door to his study and walked inside as she intended to always do—without knocking as though she were subservient, as he appeared in her rooms—Clare rose easily from his desk. Gloria looked him over, noting that he’d left off the jacket and wore shirtsleeves and a waistcoat only, which allowed space for the bandage to remain hidden beneath his clothing. He seemed in no hurry, but neither was he outwardly uncomfortable.

Noticing her regard, he smiled, and Gloria saw then that the smile lines around his mouth seemed deeper, more wearied. “Glory—”

“You should be resting,” she broke in, gliding across the room, hands on hips. “You’re vulnerable to infection—”

He frowned and stared back at her. “Sit,” he ordered.

“You should be in bed.”

“Now,” he bit out, and this time Gloria recognised an implacable voice, though why he should be irritated by her concern was beyond her comprehension.

She glared back, not at all fearful of his temper. “I’m the one who is upset—”

“Sit down right now, damnit.”

Gloria’s mouth opened in surprise, as sudden understanding struck her. What had
she
done? As though he recognised her shock and confusion, Clare stalked towards her and took her by the wrist. Tugging her to the chair before his desk, Gloria found herself sitting quite without knowing how he’d manoeuvred her into it. Perhaps he’d only pressed closer until she’d sunk back, or perhaps the fury he’d revealed when he’d lost his temper had addled her brains.