Waking Up With the Duke (30 page)

He curled one hand around her neck, holding her in place, while his mouth continued to plunder and the talented fingers of his other hand began to loosen the pearl buttons on her nightdress. She worked off his jacket and unfastened the buttons of his waistcoat.

He peeled back her nightdress and his burning mouth trailed down her throat, over her shoulder, along the swell of one breast and then the other. Wherever he went, he coated her skin in dew.

“I have missed the taste and feel of you,” he said, his voice raw with desire.

“You shall never have to do without again.”

Straightening, he grinned down on her. “What a vixen you have become.”

“I was taught by an exceedingly talented lover.”

“How fortunate for me.”

He returned his mouth to hers. She could not fathom that she had been so silly to deny them before the simple pleasure of a kiss. It increased the intimacy and stoked the fires of passion. He slid the gown off her shoulders completely and it slithered to the floor. He only removed his lips from hers when he needed to. Otherwise, he was there conquering what he had already won.

Then she was standing before him naked and proud. She saw the appreciation in his smoldering gaze. He bracketed her hips.

“Your hips are wider.”

“To accommodate the birth of your son.”

He went down on one knee and pressed a kiss just below her navel. “I do like the changes to your body.”

Unfolding his own, he took her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He shed the remainder of his clothes and stretched out beside her, once more his mouth blanketing hers.

She scraped her fingers up into his hair, holding him near, kissing him deeply. Her hands explored the familiar contours of his body. He was exactly as he’d been before. Still firm. Still sculpted. Lean and muscled. A great sinewy cat moving over her.

She would have him for the rest of her life.

His talented hands roamed over every dip, peak, and valley. His mouth left hers, to journey along her flesh, trailing across her neck, teasing the delicate underside of her chin. Lower, to her shoulders. A nip here. A love bite there. Lower still to her breasts, heavy in his palms. His tongue circled her nipple, his breath coating it in dew.

With her thighs, she squeezed his waist. With her fingers, she rubbed his shoulders. She felt the deep rumble in his chest vibrating against her stomach. There was no purpose in their coming together tonight, no pressure to get her with child.

Just like his kiss, their lovemaking owned itself. It was pleasure simply for the sake of pleasure. It was giving and receiving in equal measure. It was what it should have been all along, and she suspected that for him, it was what it had always been: a generous gifting of passion.

His mouth whispered a path to her other breast, giving it the same ministrations as it had the other. She lifted her hips, imploring him to hurry, but he would not be swayed from his quest to reexplore all that he’d once known.

“Ainsley, you’re driving me to madness.”

He chuckled low. “Good.”

Lower he went, kissing her intimately. A swirling of his tongue, a tug on her sensitive flesh. She whimpered, moaned, dug her fingers into his arms. She wanted to fly, but not without him.

Every touch ignited sensations, and she was soon writhing beneath him, crying out for him, urging him nearer.

Rising above her, powerful and determined, he plunged into her and went still. A soft moan from him, a deep sigh from her.

It had been so long, and yet everything was so familiar, as though they were two pieces of a puzzle that had been misplaced and were suddenly found and snapped back together. This was where she belonged, she realized. Beneath him, beside him, near his heart.

“I love you, Jayne,” he said in a raw voice before returning his mouth to hers.

As his body rocked against hers, as the passion built into a fervor, he kissed her hungrily. Each powerful thrust carried her higher. His kisses elevated her even higher than that.

Until there was nothing except the sensations, nothing beyond them. Just them. Moving in a fluid, familiar rhythm, his mouth latched to hers.

When the crescendo came, he captured her screams and she swallowed his groans.

Afterward, she lay snuggled against his side. “I like when you kiss me during . . .”

“I like when I kiss you. I enjoy kissing very much. Even when it’s not . . . during . . .”

Laughing, she rubbed his chest. “You told me on the terrace that long ago night that a kiss need not be the start of anything, that it owns itself.” Lifting herself up, she met and held his gaze. “I think the kiss that night was the start of us, Ainsley. You woke things in me that had long been asleep.”

“Then why forbid me from kissing you?”

“Because it terrified me. What you made me feel. I thought as long as you didn’t kiss me, I’d be able to keep my distance from you. But each moment with you only drew me nearer. The feelings I have for you still terrify me. They are so grand, so intense.”

“That’s good, because the love I have for you terrifies me as well. I’ve never loved anyone, Jayne, not like this. There is nothing I will not do for you.”

“Will you kiss me again?”

“I shall always kiss you again.”

And he did.

Epilogue

Grantwood Manor

Christmas Eve, 1865

A
insley had invited his family to spend Christmas at his estate this year. Jayne had seen that everything was done to perfection: the tree, the trimmings, the meals. She was a gracious hostess, and he couldn’t deny the pride he felt at her accomplishments. Holding his soon to be two-year-old daughter, Annie, on his lap while his son, nieces, nephews, and recently acquired dog played around him, he thought he’d never known such contentment.

When they went to London for the Season, they always hosted a ball. In the beginning, they had been the talk of the Town. Their hasty marriage had been the fodder for gossip. His claiming Tristan as his son sparked further rumors. But as he’d predicted, everything eventually died down, and now he and Jayne were discussed as though they were the characters of some fairy tale who lived happily ever after—if they were spoken of at all.

Other gossip reigned. Miss Brown married a viscount who made it clear that he would see her daughters properly situated in society. Ainsley and Jayne had attended the wedding. He could say with absolute certainty that Miss Brown had chosen well. She was happy and loved.

His mother alighted gracefully in the chair beside his. “I’m not certain when you boys were growing up that Christmas was ever quite so jolly. My sons seem to have a gift for bringing joy to others.”

“It’s easy enough to do when one is happy in oneself.”

“I would be much happier if someone were to tell me what Leo is giving me for Christmas. Obviously the size and shape tells me that it is a painting, but a painting of what exactly?”

Of the entire family circled around his mother. Leo had done it bit by bit with such skill that it was impossible to tell that the family had not all been gathered in one place but had their individual portions done within their own homes.

“Surprises are good, Mother. They keep you young.”

“Leo keeps me young.” She glanced around the room. “I had no idea, at the age of sixteen, when I was so terrified at the thought of marrying Westcliffe’s father that I would take such a wondrous journey and acquire so much for which to be thankful.”

“It wasn’t always easy.”

“No, but then it makes everything that much better when we acquire all that we want. And right this minute, Lady Annie, I need a curious child to come look at the tree with me.” With that his mother was up and snatching his daughter from his arms. Annie squealed with delight.

“Do
not
have her unwrap your gift,” Ainsley commanded.

“I cannot control where small children’s fingers go.” Before he could issue another order, she was strolling away.

Rising to his feet, he chuckled when he saw Leo halt her progress. Her husband knew her too well. Ainsley suspected the gift would be peered at later tonight after everyone had gone to bed. Leo would be with her when she first saw it. Ainsley had no doubt she would cry, and Leo would hold her. His mother was a fortunate woman to have in her life a man who loved her so much.

“Was she trying to get you to reveal what the portrait is?” Stephen asked as he and Westcliffe came to stand beside him.

“Indeed.”

“Mother’s never been good with secrets,” Westcliffe said.

“With having them kept from her,” Stephen clarified. “She’s damned good at holding them herself.”

“She told me she’s writing her memoirs,” Ainsley said.

“Good God,” Stephen uttered. “Not sure I want to read those.”

“I don’t believe they’re for us. I believe they’re for her grandchildren.”

“No,” Westcliffe insisted. “My children do not need to know about their grandmother’s exploits.”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I think maybe it’s a good thing not to take everything to the grave.” He would be forever grateful that Walfort had confessed his role in causing the accident. Although he still wasn’t certain he believed him. But that night no longer haunted him. Although there were times when he did miss Walfort terribly. He knew Jayne had similar moments because a faraway look would come into her eyes. Then she would smile at him and everything would be all right again.

“Well, hopefully, it’ll be some time before Mother’s making that trip to the grave,” Stephen said.

His brothers strolled away to join their wives.

Glancing around, Ainsley spotted Jayne. She was difficult to miss in her vibrant red. He loved the way she looked in that shade. But then he loved the way she looked in anything. Or nothing at all.

Catching his eye, she smiled at him and walked over. “What mischief were you and your brothers up to?”

Leaning down, he bussed a quick kiss over her lips. “None whatsoever.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“We were discussing Mother and hoping she lives to a ripe old age.”

“I don’t think she’d allow any other outcome to her life. She used to terrify me, you know. She was always so strong and bold. Not afraid of anything.”

“Very much like you.”

“You make me strong,” she said, sidling up against him and slipping her arm through his. “I like celebrating the holidays here.”

“I enjoy the noise of the place when everyone is underfoot, but I must confess to looking forward to getting you alone later.”

She gave him a saucy look that boded well for what would transpire later.

“Claire informs me that Ralph Seymour has announced his betrothal,” Jayne said.

“Jolly good for him.” Since acquiring the titles, he’d proven himself to be a worthy marquess—much to Ainsley’s surprise.

“I find I rather like him,” Jayne said with a sigh.

“You sound disappointed.”

“Not really. It’s just that sometimes I remember how I almost denied him what was rightfully his—and in so doing, I would have denied our son his rightful titles. What a stubborn wench I was.”

“Still stubborn.”

Playfully she slapped his arm.

“Uncle.”

Ainsley glanced down, not as far as he once had. “Nephew.”

Viscount Waverly expertly arched a brow at him. He’d mastered the gesture only a few months earlier. “I believe we should all be allowed to unwrap one gift before going to bed.”

“Do you now?”

“I discussed the matter with my brother and sister, as well as my cousins, and they are all in agreement.”

“We do not run a democracy here, Nephew.”

“No, but you are outnumbered.”

“Thinking of going into the military, are you?”

“No, but Rafe probably will. He likes to play with his soldiers. Is that what you got him? More soldiers?”

“No.” He’d purchased telescopes for each of the children. Small ones that would fit in their hands. The one he had inherited from his father he would give to Tristan someday. But not yet. “Tell you what, Waverly. If I am allowed to select the gift to be unwrapped, then one gift shall be opened tonight.”

The lad narrowed his eyes and then nodded.

“Then let’s get to it. You may open the gift from your aunt Jayne and myself.”

A
n hour later, each child had unwrapped his or her telescope. Bundled in their coats, with their parents guiding them, they were now gazing at the heavens in wonder, searching for falling stars. Nearby his mother—still holding Annie—stood with Leo, all of them with smiles as bright as the moon.

Ainsley knelt beside Tristan and helped him peer through his telescope. “Do you see the moon?”

“I could touch it.”

“Not quite, but almost. Now search for the stars.”

Standing, he smiled as Jayne wandered over to him.

“I believe the gifts are a success,” she said.

“Hopefully they’ll learn that there is so much they can reach for.”

He glanced around at Westcliffe holding Claire, Stephen with his arm around Mercy, and his mother snuggled against Leo’s side. They’d all taken different journeys to arrive here, but here they were. And he was glad of it.

“Uncle?”

“Yes, Nephew.”

“I spied one. A falling star. What do I do now?”

“Why, lad, now you think about what your heart desires and you wish for it.”

“Will it come true, Papa?” Tristan asked.

“Absolutely.”

“You sound quite sure of yourself,” Jayne said.

Wrapping his arm around her, he drew her in against his side, where she belonged. Where she would always belong. “I have proof. The first time that we gazed at the stars at Blackmoor, I wished that you would love me.”

“Oh, I think that would have happened without any wishes. I love you so much, Ainsley.”

While the children gazed at the heavens, he sought his own heaven, lowering his mouth to Jayne’s and kissing her deeply. He no longer had a need for wishes, because he already possessed everything his heart would forever desire.