When Seducing A Duke (22 page)

Rose never would have fancied Grey the kind of man given to enjoying picnics, but there he was, lounging on the blanket beside her. Propped up on one elbow, his long legs stretched out, he popped a grape into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, his gaze seemingly fixed on the fountain just a few feet away from them at the front of the garden.

He looked good in the sunlight—so rugged and hale. The scar only served to give him a dangerous edge, one that she found dastardly appealing. Without it he would be a devastatingly handsome man, but honestly she thought she preferred him with it. It kept him from being too perfect.

He didn’t wear his mask as often anymore. But then, he never had worn it much around home from what she could remember. Only at Saint’s Row, when there was a chance of being seen.

Perhaps he liked the air of mystery it gave him. Perhaps it attracted women drawn to an anonymous lover. Well, there would be no more of that!

Or perhaps he only wore it when he wished to hide.

“Ruined Ryeton.” What drivel. He wasn’t ruined. He was merely…damaged. An awful thing to think of one’s husband, no doubt, but ruin couldn’t be repaired. Damage could.

Now, if only she could sort out just how to make that happen, all would be perfect.

He wasn’t a monster as he seemed to think. She remembered him wanting her to look at him while they made love the night before. The vulnerability in his eyes as he looked at her. He had been as affected by their union as she, so much so that it was difficult to meet his gaze after revealing so much of herself. Perhaps that was why he seemed to find the fountain so fascinating as well.

She didn’t try to push him into conversation. She was happy to sit there, nibbling on the banquet Cook had prepared, and watch him. He watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking. What did he think when he looked at her? Regrets? No, she couldn’t see any of that in his expression. He looked at her as though he couldn’t quite figure her out. And oddly enough, sometimes she thought he looked at her as though he was a little frightened of her.

But that was just foolish. Wasn’t it?

“When Heathcliff is old enough to leave his mother, I would like to bring him into the house. Is that agreeable to you?”

Palming a bunch of grapes, Grey turned his head to smile at her. Oh, that smile. “Of course. He’s to be your pet and friend. I expect him to become one of the family.”

One of their family. The thought caught the breath in her throat. They would have a family someday. She could be pregnant now for all she knew—last night they hadn’t used a condom. Was it wrong to hope that she wasn’t with child? Of course she wanted to be a mother one day, but not right away. She wanted time with Grey first. After years of wanting him to notice her, she wasn’t keen on the idea of sharing his attention with an heir.

So, of course, Rose decided this would be a good time to discuss such matters. “I would also like to know if you know ways to prevent pregnancy.”

He choked on a grape. She lurched toward him, but he coughed and spat the villainous fruit on the grass. He wiped at his watery eyes with the back of his hand as he turned his face to her once more. “That will teach me not to chew sufficiently.”

Rose smiled shakily, her heart skipping. “You scared me.” What if he had choked to death right there in front of her?

She couldn’t even begin to contemplate life without him.

“You stunned me. That’s not exactly something you bring up out of the blue.” His eyes twinkled. “Was it the mention of your puppy? Are you frightened of having a litter?”

When he looked at her like that—like they were friends and so much more—it made her insides feel like leaves blowing in the wind. Her gaze slid to her lap. “I would like us to have some time together before we have children.”

Some of the tenderness drained from his expression. “I should have taken precautions last night. I’m sorry. I didn’t think of children, only…”

“Only what?” If it made his eyes warm like that, she wanted to know what he’d been thinking.

His gaze locked with hers, so sharp and hot. “I thought only of how it felt to be naked inside you.”

A hard throb pulsed low and deep inside her, bringing sexual awareness speeding to the surface. It had been different without the “French Letter.” It had been better than the times at Saint’s Row, even though she wouldn’t have thought that possible. But that difference wasn’t entirely physical, she knew that. “And how did that feel?” Lord, was that warble really her voice?

Grey regarded her from beneath heavy lids. “Like heaven.”

Dear God, the man knew exactly what to say to her. She was already leaning toward him, pulled by some invisible string. “Really?”

He reached out, cupping her jaw with his warm hand. His thumb brushed her lower lip, pulling it just a little. “Really. And if we weren’t out in the open I’d show you.”

“I’d let you,” she replied breathlessly.

The air between them seemed to crackle. If lightning struck the ground between them it wouldn’t surprise her.

Grey rose to his feet and held out his hand. “Come with me.”

Rose put her hand in his, letting him help her to stand. He kept hold of her hand, twining their fingers together as he drew her into the garden.

“Where are we going?” Rose asked, heart beginning to thump in earnest. Her skin was tingling, tightening in all the right places.

“You’ll see.”

He led her to a small stone shed deep in the garden. It was covered with ivy and flowering vines, its windows stained glass like a chapel’s. The door opened easily, and Grey led her inside.

It was obviously the gardener’s shed, but instead of being dirty like she expected such a place would, it was neat and tidy. Not a cobweb or bug to be seen. The air smelled of earth and grass, sweet and warm.

Grey closed the door and propped a shovel under the latch. Then he turned to face her.

Knees shaking, Rose let him pull her into his arms, wrapping her own around him. She didn’t protest when he lifted her and set her up onto the smooth wooden table, and she didn’t utter a sound when he lifted her skirts and slid his hand beneath.

But she did gasp when she felt his fingers against her inner thigh.

“You’re not wearing drawers,” he accused softly—amused.

She smiled slyly. “I thought perhaps it might be better if I didn’t.”

He chuckled, the fingers of his other hand going to the front of his trousers as he stroked her naked flesh. “Darling Rose, you are the loveliest surprise I’ve ever been given.”

Given. As though she were a gift. Her chest tightened. And then he took her hand and guided it to the thick length of his erection and she forgot all about sentimentality. He felt like hot, hard satin against her palm and fingers.

“Stroke me,” he commanded.

Feeling naughty as he jerked in her hand, Rose leaned forward to lock her gaze with his. “Wouldn’t you rather be inside me? Feel me wet and hot around you?”

His eyes widened and he groaned, wrapping his own hand around the one that held him. She could feel him pulsing against her palm. It aroused him when she talked like that. Good, because it aroused her as well. She was already squirming, ready to beg for his fingers inside her.

“I will be inside you,” he growled, sending a shiver down her spine. “Later. Right now, I’m going teach you other ways we can please each other.”

The hand over hers began to move, showing her how to handle him, what felt good. Beneath her skirts, his fingers climbed higher, finally touching the damp curls at the apex of her thighs. He parted the lips, found her clitoris with his thumb and slid a long, broad finger into her welcoming wetness. Then a second.

And like the night before, their gazes locked, making Rose tremble in places she didn’t know existed.

“You are so tight,” he murmured. “Hot and wet. You taste so good like salt honey. Did you like having me eat you last night?”

He could bring her so close to the edge simply by talking. Rose lurched forward as his fingers curved inside her, finding a spot that made her clench her thighs in delight. “Yes.” She gasped, moving against his hand. Then she brushed his ear with her lips and whispered, “Did you enjoy spending in my mouth?”

Apparently she wasn’t the only one inflamed by words. His free hand grabbed her by the back of the head and held her while his mouth plundered hers. His fingers were ruthless inside her, his thumb almost brutal in it strokes. Sensing the violence of his need, Rose quickened her hand as well. Her finger wrapped tight as she roughly moved them up and down the length of him. A little slip of moisture from the head moistened her palm, lubricating her ministrations. Grey groaned in her mouth and she knew he was close. So was she.

She came first, but only by a second. As soon as she cried out against his lips, her internal muscles grasping at his fingers, Grey stiffened. He pulsed in her hand, emptying himself onto the table beside her.

He withdrew his fingers from her, but didn’t move away. He stood at her knee, his forehead resting against hers and pressed a handkerchief into her hand. She didn’t really need it, but she wiped what little stickiness there was away. Then he used it to wipe the evidence of their tryst from the tabletop.

“Thank you,” Rose murmured. “That was delightful.”

Grey chuckled, flashing a lopsided grin that made his eyes sparkle like aquamarines. “You make me feel…”

“Yes?”

He shook his head, surprising her with the degree of awe and self-consciousness in his expression as he drew back, and helped her down from the table. “That’s it. You make me feel.”

Rose smiled and kissed him. It wasn’t exactly a declaration of love, but he was getting closer.

It would do for now.

Like all good things, it was inevitable that their perfect day come to an end.

Grey and Rose were in the library after dinner, sharing a glass of wine as they lay on opposite ends of the sofa reading. Rose had her feet in Grey’s lap and he rubbed them with one hand as he perused the newspaper he hadn’t gotten around to reading that morning. Likewise, Rose was reading her mail.

It was said mail that brought reality crashing down around them once more.

“Hmm,” she said.

That was all it took for him to jerk his head up and turn his attention to her. Never mind that there were Indian uprisings in America or unrest and fighting in Turkey. “What?”

She glanced at him over the top of what appeared to be an invitation. “Oh, just an invitation to a party next week.”

She was as transparent as water, God love her. “If you would like to go, you should accept.” He forced a smile, even though dread crawled up from his stomach and left a bilious taste in his mouth.

There was no surprise in her expression. A little disappointment, but nothing at all what he expected. “I didn’t think you would want to come.”

What did she mean by that? Of course he didn’t want to go, but she made it sound so…cowardly that he didn’t. Or rather, that was how it sounded in his ears. Although, if he was pressed he would admit that there was nothing in her expression or tone to support that theory.

“That doesn’t mean that you should not go if you wish.”

She seemed to ponder that for a moment, then flashed him a mischievous grin. “I would like to see what it is like to be received as a duchess.”

How could he not chuckle at that? How could he not be acutely relieved that she didn’t press or pout?

So why was he strangely dissatisfied all the same?

“Then we shall have to make certain you are dressed like one. Would you like an appointment with Mr. Worth? I’m sure he can be persuaded to have a new gown ready for you in time.”

Her eyes widened in delight. “Do you think so?”

“I would bet on it. Remind me to show you the combination for the safe in our bedroom. The Ryeton jewels are yours now.”

If she grinned any wider her face would surely split. “Our bedroom. I like the sound of that.”

Grey shook his head with a smile. She was more excited about sharing his bed than she was about diamonds. Interesting, funny girl.

The humor faded from her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He kept his voice calm.

Her brow puckered ever so slightly. “What should I tell people if they ask about you? Before I could plead some kind of ignorance, but as your wife…”

She shouldn’t have to ask these things. It shouldn’t be a burden for her to bear. “Tell them I’d rather slit my own throat than associate with them.”

Rose looked horrified at the thought—so much so that Grey’s heart pinched. She really was adorable. “Or, you could tell them that you have thoroughly exhausted me in bed and I am unable to draw the strength needed to rouse myself.”

That brought a sparkle back into her eyes. “I rather fancy that. It would certainly set tongues wagging, wouldn’t it?”

It certainly would, Grey allowed with a mental grimace. Unfortunately, wagging tongues wasn’t something Rose was going to be able to avoid as his wife. People were going to talk—to her and about her.

“Rose, you might hear things about me—”

“I don’t doubt it. I’ve already heard about your legendary escapades.”

This time the grimace showed. “I hate to admit it, but some of those stories are true.”

She arched a brow. “I wager a great deal more than ‘some’.”

Adorable and cheeky. “I…” He scowled. Christ, he was an idiot. “I would hate for you to be hurt by gossip, however factual it may be.”

To his surprise, Rose set her correspondence aside and leaned forward to place a long, slender hand on his thigh. “These stories, they’re about your past, correct?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“I believed you when you told me you would be faithful to me. Did you lie?”

“Of course not!” If he didn’t deserve to be asked, he would have demanded an explanation. “I may not be a saint, but I’m not a liar.” Not generally. Not in that respect.

She shrugged and took up the glass of wine from the table in front of the sofa. “Your past cannot hurt me, Grey. I’m sure there are things you have done that would…unsettle me, but you are mine now, and mine alone. I will endeavor to have faith that you are made of better stuff now, and ask that you believe that I am not as spleeny as you may think.”

“Spleeny is not a word I would ever use to describe you,” he replied. Amazing perhaps. Incredible. Shaggable—if that was even a word.

She smiled, took a sip of wine and placed it on the table. Then, she moved to slide her body up his. “Have you ever made love in this room, Grey?”

“No.” He hadn’t. He had in the front parlor, and in the music room, the blue drawing room, and once in the pantry, but never in this room.

His naughty wife grinned. “Neither have I.”

His laughter was cut short as she kissed him. And as her curious fingers found their way to the hard ridge in his trousers, he actually felt hopeful. Maybe being married to him wouldn’t be so horrible for Rose after all.

He could always hope.