The Duke in Disguise Page 22

  She only shook her head. If she thought he'd been tense before, she didn't know the true meaning of the word. His body came alert, and a shock of passion seemed to jump between them.

  He took a step closer. "You have to tell me, Meriel. Tell me what you want."

  She closed the gap between them, and her corseted breasts brushed his coat. "Can't I show you?"

  He closed his eyes and shuddered. "Will my heart be able to handle it?"

  Her own heart gave an answering ache.

  Any thoughts of embarrassment were long gone as she slipped her hands within his coat and placed them on his chest. She slid them up the warm, hard muscles, then pushed back his coat at the shoulders until, with a shrug, he let it fall to the floor. This time she wanted to see him, to know if he took the same wild pleasure in her touch as she did in his. The buttons of his waistcoat were tricky under her trembling fingers, but soon that garment was on the floor, too.

  He was breathing heavily; his heart pounded beneath her hands, and his brows were lowered over dark eyes that seemed to burn into her. She felt the tiny points of his nipples, and when she caressed them through his shirt, he caught his breath.

  Suddenly impatient for more of him, she quickly untied his cravat and stock and tossed them to the floor. There were only a few buttons at his throat, and then she pushed his shirt up, and he obliged her by pulling it off over his head.

  His chest startled her again with how very different it was from hers, all hard, rippling muscle.

  "You didn't get this from investing," she whispered, then lifted her head to look at his face. "Boxing?"

  "Keeps a man trim," he murmured.

  His arms came around her, and he started unhooking her gown in the back. It came loose slowly, but even then she was still restricted beneath several layers of clothing. He pulled it down the front of her, revealing her corset over her chemise, and the several petticoats tied at her waist.

  When the gown was on the floor, he said, "It's like opening a Christmas gift."

  Her laugh sounded strange, all throaty and deep. "Do you need help?"

  "I'll manage."

  And he did. Her petticoats came off one by one, and then he was forced to turn her around so that he could unlace her corset. To her surprise, she faced a long mirror, and she could see herself all rosy-cheeked with excitement. He pulled the corset up over her head, and then made short work of the pins in her hair, scattering them everywhere. She watched her own blond curls fall about her breasts and shoulders and back.

  From behind, he looked at her in the mirror, gathering her hair gently and drawing it to the back. The chemise she wore dipped into her cleavage, and was just translucent enough to reveal a hint of her nipples.

  Richard groaned and buried his face in her hair. "I didn't know governesses wore such fine undergarments."

  "Maybe they don't. I bought my chemises when I had no spending limit. I like pretty things."

  "Thank God," he said hoarsely.

  He knelt down behind her, and she gasped when she felt him lifting her hemline. Sliding his hands up her calves, he removed her shoes, garters, and stockings. All she had left beneath her chemise were her drawers. Richard didn't bother with those. He simply came to his feet, bringing the hemline with him, then drew her chemise over her head. For a moment, he stood still, looking through the mirror at her breasts.

  She had once imagined she'd feel like covering her nakedness, but not now. Now she wanted to lean back against him and beg for his touch. She loved the look of admiration and desperation on his face as he watched her.

  "There, we match," he breathed, turning her around and pressing her against him.

  His skin was hot against hers, both on her chest and on her back, where his large hands held her to him. He leaned down and kissed her, and she put her arms around his neck to keep him with her. As their tongues mated, his hands slid up her sides and cupped the edges of her breasts. She groaned into his mouth. His thumbs moved between their bodies, rubbing her nipples in slow little circles that drove her mad.

  "Please," she whispered against his mouth. "I want more."

  She put her hands on his trousers and unbuttoned them, just as he unlaced her drawers. They each pushed garments down the other's hips, until their clothes pooled on the floor. She leaned against him, his penis hot against her stomach, caught between their bodies. It seemed to throb, as if it had a life of its own. She had rubbed herself against it the other day, taken her pleasure and denied him his.

  Tonight they would revel in sharing their passion.

  She tried to pull him toward the massive four-poster bed, but he stopped her.

  "Boots," he said apologetically, even as his gaze continued to rove her body with hunger. "I should have thought this out better."

  With only one hop, he was able to sit down in a chair. Meriel went to stand by the bed, leaning back against one of the posts to watch him. The bed curtains hung at her back, tickling her bare skin. She felt far too wicked, standing so brazenly before a naked man.

  Then he was walking toward her, and she hungrily watched the way his muscles moved in beautiful motion. His penis hung heavily toward her, and she wanted to touch it, but didn't know how to ask.

  He didn't give her a chance. He lifted her up and swung her onto the bed. As she reclined amid the half-dozen pillows, he stopped just to look at her again.

  "Meriel, the sight of you there— " He swallowed. "Every night I've dreamed of this."

  She reached for him. "You've been in my dreams— it's only fair that I've become part of yours."

  As he crawled onto the bed, his long body took up so much room. He slid to her side, then pulled her back up against his front. He snuggled in behind her, his erection nestled by her buttocks. She found herself arching back, and he groaned and rocked himself against her.

  "Not yet, not yet," he murmured, letting his hand trail up her thigh.

  She moaned and shivered as he drew her hair away and kissed the back of her neck and around beneath her ear. He moved his attentions back to her hip, his palm sweeping down over her stomach, his fingertips just brushing the curls between her thighs.

  She caught her breath, then almost groaned her disappointment when he slid his hand back up her torso. He chuckled into her ear.

  "I'm enjoying myself immensely," he whispered.

  And she was enjoying everything he did to rouse her passion. He trailed the back of his hand up her stomach, then circled the lower curves of her breasts with his fingers. She wanted to grab his hand and move it where she wanted it, but that was only her sense of control trying to exert itself. There was freedom in allowing him to do whatever he wanted, in waiting expectantly for each shiver of pleasure.

  And he didn't disappoint her. He finally cupped her breast, kneading it gently.

  "Yes," she whispered. "Oh please."

  His fingers found her nipple and began to tease, circling and rubbing and tweaking. He gave equal attention to both breasts, and soon she was shivering with the rising hunger that was taking over her mind, her very soul. She realized her hips seemed to be moving of their own accord, rocking, circling, and that he was enjoying it as much as she was.

  Then he slid his hand back down her body and between her thighs, cupping her, pressing against her. She gasped and held her breath, the tense expectation making her rigid.

  "Bend your knee," he said against her ear.

  When she did so, he had even more access to the hot depths of her, and he rewarded her by sliding his fingers up and down her wet folds. She cried out, unable to control her panting gasps as the pleasure rolled over her, taking away her very thoughts. She existed in the world he created for her as he played her body.

  He delved deeper, circling, plucking at the tiny nub that seemed like a switch turning on her body. Rising up over her shoulder, he pushed her torso flat to the bed. Then he started licking her, up the mound of her breast to the very peak, circling it, sucking it, licking it in long, flat strokes.r />
  She was mindless now, so close to the summit of pleasure that all she could do was concentrate on it.

  And then he took his hands away. Before she could even react, he moved over her body, sliding between her thighs. She lifted her knees, trying to fit herself against him, even as he held himself up so as not to crush her.

  And then he pushed inside. The pain she'd heard whispers of was only a minor irritation, quickly forgotten in the pleasure of him so hard and deep. He withdrew and surged inside her again, and then she understood it. The pressure of his body against her very womanhood aroused her quickly once again. She held him and moved with the rhythm he taught without words.

  And then the sharp stab of pleasure-pain engulfed her again, and she shook with the ever-decreasing tremors. Only then did she watch his face, see his concentration as he joined her in climax.

  Richard barely kept himself from collapsing on top of Meriel. His mind was numb, his muscles trembled, but he was aware enough to know that never had he felt so joined to a woman before Meriel.

  He didn't want to leave her body, didn't want to imagine the repercussions of this passion they'd shared. He knew he could not even think of losing her, of losing this rare closeness.

  Coming up on his elbows, he smoothed the hair from her face. She was studying him, and he smiled.

  "Ah, Meriel, you have to examine everything, don't you."

  "No, I— " She shook her head, then shrugged. "I don't know what to think. I never thought I would…give in to this temptation."

  He rocked against her gently, still feeling the tremors of completion. "Do you regret what we did?"

  "No."

  He was grateful that she didn't hesitate.

  "Although I don't know what to think about it, either," she continued. "But no, never think I blame you, not when I wanted this."

  "Don't you think I wanted this just as much?"

  She smiled then, squeezing his hips with her thighs. "I can tell."

  With a sigh, he slid off her to the side. He wanted to cuddle her close, but instead she sat up and tried to gather the blankets about her.

  "I know this is foolish," she said, obviously embarrassed. "You've seen…all of me. But— "

  "No, please, a woman's modesty is not a trivial thing. Shall I fetch your dressing gown from your room?"

  "No, I can just slide my dress back on. I should go."

  "Meriel."

  He took one of her hands, while the other held a blanket to her chest. "This was something we didn't plan. I don't expect more than you're ready to give to me."

  She smiled and closed your eyes. "Your problem is that you're too good to me, Richard. It makes it hard to keep my distance."

  "Then don't," he whispered, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

  He could feel her hesitancy, yet she remained still beneath his gentle kiss, almost like a delicate bird caught between fleeing and staying.

  "I must go." She met his gaze. "But what is our next move in regard to Charles?"

  "We can't move against him, so we remain on guard and wait. He could be playing with me, hoping I might panic and do something foolish."

  "What if he goes to the police about your brother's death?"

  "That would be too awkward for him, even though I look like the criminal. And besides, he's getting a sick amusement out of his games. We'll give him a chance to make a mistake."

  She looked into his eyes. "That's such a risk you're taking."

  "I have more guards now. I'll keep Stephen safe. Are you worried about me?" he asked softly.

  "Of course." She glanced away. "But right now I have to go. Stephen can't find me here."

  "Would you stay otherwise?"

  She smiled. "Probably not, even though I've become your mistress in fact now. I can't lie to myself about that."

  "Meriel— "

  She let the covers drop and went to pick up her garments.

  "Let me help you," he said.

  "No." She held up a hand. "I don't trust myself."

  Richard pulled the blanket over his hips and just watched, unable to play the gentleman and turn away. Seeing that beautiful body covered was almost a crime.

  When she had the gown on, it was obvious she usually had a maid's help with all the buttons. She hesitated, and he waited. Finally she walked to him and turned her back, saying nothing.

  He grinned and buttoned her up. She gathered all her undergarments over her arm, and after giving him a small smile, she fled up the staircase.

  He knew it would be a long time before he was able to sleep. He couldn't stop thinking about her last comment, that she couldn't trust herself. He knew she wasn't talking about his desirability. What had given a competent, intelligent woman such an opinion about herself?

  She seemed to trust him more than herself, even though he'd lied to her. Did it have something to do with why a prosperous London family would be forced to send its daughters out for employment?

  Unlike Meriel, he was a man who'd only ever had himself to rely on. He'd made his own way in the world, trusted no one but himself.

  Masquerading as the duke, a position he once would have thought very solitary, had made him learn to depend on so many people: the silence of servants, the worship of his nephew, and the intelligence of Meriel Shelby. He had more help than he was used to, and he felt humbled by it.

  Now he had to help his brother one last time. Richard would have justice, so that Cecil could rest in peace.

  Chapter 22

  Through the night, part of Meriel berated her weakness where Richard was concerned, while another part of her longed for his touch. The rest of the time, she was just confused.

  She had breakfast with Stephen in the schoolroom as usual, and to her surprise, Mrs. Theobald herself came up to clear away the tray of dishes. Meriel stared at her, wondering if Richard had found the time yet to tell the duke's loyal servants that their master was dead. Something of her worry must have shown in her eyes, because after Stephen ran off to play with his nurse, Mrs. Theobald sat down beside her.

  Meriel sighed, giving the older woman an assessing look. "You don't usually come to clean up the nursery, Mrs. Theobald."

  The housekeeper only shrugged.

  Meriel touched the woman's hand. "Please don't worry about me. I know what I'm doing. I'm helping Stephen."

  "It is far too kind of you not to care about your reputation for the boy's sake."

  Meriel felt a twinge of guilt— and though she knew she had to keep Richard's counsel about the duke's death, she could not lie to the housekeeper about anything else. "Mrs. Theobald, although you will think less of me, I must tell you that I'm no longer playacting the part of the mistress."

  Mrs. Theobald nodded silently, and the condemnation that Meriel expected didn't happen. Meriel sighed as some of her tension seeped away.

  Mrs. Theobald gave a small smile. "It is a relief to say such a thing?"

  "To someone I trust, yes. And you know Richard, so perhaps you can understand why I…why I'm drawn to him."

  "He is a good man."

  "Yes, oh yes," she whispered, then her excitement grew as her thoughts coalesced. "I've spent so much time berating myself for those feelings that have been growing within me, but maybe for once I should have been listening to my own intuition."

  "For once?" Mrs. Theobald echoed with obvious curiosity.

  But Meriel didn't want to talk about her past. "Did you know who he was from the beginning?"

  "No, although I knew something was wrong."

  "And I did as well! Because I was so attracted to him, almost from the first. And I hadn't felt that way when I interviewed with the real duke. I should have trusted myself then; instead I was appalled by my poor judgment. But don't you see, I was right!"

  Mrs. Theobald smiled indulgently, and Meriel blushed at how she must sound.

  "He's not the duke," Meriel continued. "He's not an arrogant man who seduces the women of his household on a routine basis. Richard is nothin
g like his brother, Mrs. Theobald."

  "You don't need to convince me of that, my dear."

  "Of course, of course, but this is such a revelation to me. I was never attracted to the duke, but to Richard, not a nobleman, but a noble man who is trying to protect his nephew. Am I wrong to finally trust that my emotions can guide me down the right path?"

  Mrs. Theobald rose to her feet and lifted the tray. "Miss Shelby, it sounds to me like you already know the answer to your own question. Why such a smart girl as yourself should ever doubt her own capabilities— well, it makes no sense to me."