The Duke (Daughters of Dishonour #2)

Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

K it had been dwelling on the choice of proposing to Elsie for the last twenty-four hours—he supposed he could admit it might be considered an abrupt one but to him, the decision felt like a blessing—and why shouldn’t he? As someone who had believed for far too long that he could never have such a lovely thing as a happy marriage, the possibility of children or the longed-for love, and it could all be achieved if he wed Elsie.

If she said yes. He needed her to, although his pride would not allow him to admit as such. It wasn’t honourable, his need to possess her, to feel as if she was his and his alone, but there it was, a hard and undeniable feeling riding through him. There would be such a relief in having a person who was his own, a solace too long denied him—a form of comfort that forever had seemed out of reach.

Hoping to tip the scale, with Elsie looking down at him in what appeared to be mild confusion, he stood up and slipped the ring onto her wedding finger. It was a little large on her small hand, but the sapphire flashed brightly, and when he raised her hand up towards his lips, the jewel stayed in its place pointing forwards.

Having kissed her fingers, he moved onto her mouth, capturing her lips in an all-consuming kiss. Immediately the heady sweet scent of her filled his nostrils, and the feel of her breasts pressing against his chest ruined his original aim. He wanted her, here and now with no hesitation. On the desk? In the chair? On the floor again if need be… it did not matter. All that mattered was continuing to deepen this kiss, not breaking their connection, until both of them were breathless and sated. Then and only then would he be able to confess the tumult of thoughts that ran roughshod through him.

This had been despite all the good intentions he had begun to kiss Elsie with. Just a sedate and tentative nibble of her lips was what he had envisioned, but all of it quickly vanished when Elsie threw her arms around his neck, her body arching up into his, eager for him.

Of all his half a dozen previous paramours, not one had ever clung to him so closely, seemed so attuned to his passion. In truth, the mere memory of those women faded entirely, blurring, and becoming an indistinct mass of limbs, voices, soft hair—little more. All that mattered now was kissing Elsie.

Lifting his hands, he dragged his fingers through her curls, delighting in the sensation of the silky strands against his skin. She was tugging at his shirt, her movements hasty, and her breath quick, a button popped off, and they both laughed before Elsie lowered her head and kissed the exposed area of his chest. The contact of her mouth left him feeling alive. She was life—vibrant, bright and, he thought with a dramatic flourish, able to end suffering—a tempest of feeling that he had always craved and feared but now knew he needed in his life, more than his next breath.

With hands that now shook at such a feeling, Kit moved lower to her dress, a demure piece he’d seen her in dozens of times, and when he dislodged the shoulder, leaving bare skin in its place the simplicity of the moment was heightened.

Still with one arm wrapped around his shoulders, they almost seemed to meld into one. His thoughts, worries, fears fled in her presence, but he was not lost—instead it felt as if he were more himself than ever—a unity of purpose, a sense of self, all when he kissed her. Of course, it transcended that when her hands skimmed over his skin. Heating his desires beyond endurance.

As a fumbling desperate pair, they stumbled away, pulling, and yanking at each other’s remaining clothing, into the corner of his study. His free hand slammed against the wall to stop them from falling over, and Elsie laughed, the sound bright and alive, against every other dark thing that rushed through the manor house. She was the most vibrant presence he could imagine.

Kit moved his fingers to cup her face as they staggered backwards into the window seat, nudging against the hanging curtains. As a unit, they practically seemed to fight against each other in, hands touching, caressing, lingering, and listening keenly for a gasped reaction. It would be a joyous thing to learn and relearn every inch of Elsie’s body, now and in the future, and it was entirely possible since she would have to say yes to him.

He landed hard into the seat when Elsie rolled on top of him, his hands sliding into her hair to keep him steady. Elsie’s small body was held against his, her dress hanging around her hips, with only her half corset and the chemise remaining as he happily kissed her collarbone, the gentle swell between her breasts, the small beauty spot on her neck. With his tongue, Kit licked the small circular mark that enhanced the perfection of her skin, and Elsie clung to his shoulders, keeping him pressed close to her as she let out a breathy sigh.

“Will someone see us here?” Her voice was in his ear. Not reluctant, closer to laughing at the idea. The question played close to his skin, driving him wilder. But then again, any touch, breath, movement of hers was liable to create a similar reaction in him. Having her close did that to him.

“Would that concern you deeply?” he asked teasingly. A brief but sudden image occurred to Kit of the intruder who might have seen them in the ballroom, before he saw the faint slight of Elsie’s smile, and the memory was dismissed out of hand.

Elsie gave a throaty laugh at his query, her skin prickled with heat before she turned and pulled the curtain closed around them, shielding them from view. With the shield of soft curtains and the window behind him, the thick glass against his shoulders. “I think I prefer this—just the two of us.” Elsie’s eyes met his, innocent and hopeful, and Kit pushed away the feeling of not being worthy of her.

More than anything Kit wished he could echo the sentiment, offer up all the reassurances to Elsie that she deserved to hear, hell—the words of love, he longed to tell his fiancée, but the fear welled up in him, and instead he kissed her. Slipped his tongue into her mouth, stroking their mutual desire, kissing her again and again, stroking her back, before pulling her body tightly against him, over his straining erection, in lieu of voicing the strength of his feelings for her. It seemed that the physical came far more easily than admitting precisely how he felt.

The movement now hitched Elsie higher, and together, they pushed the layers of her skirt up and out of the way, exposing her pale limbed legs. Kit found himself pressed back against the window frame and glass. The pinning motion could have been uncomfortable, but instead, all he could focus on was Elsie. Her grip kept him in place, and he realised she wanted to control this encounter. The idea filled him with excitement. Reaching beneath her dress, he adjusted her hips over his erection, unbuttoning the folds of his trousers to give her access, and provide her with the ability to take charge.

Elsie looked questioningly into his face, and then she grinned, grasping his intention as she shifted her hips, her wet curls nudging against his cock. Sensation rocked through him, and he smirked at her as a groan slipped out of Kit’s mouth as, with slow and deliberate movements, Elsie eased herself lower, tantalisingly close to encasing him. He could remember from their last frantic coupling how wonderful she’d felt, and the memory throbbed through him once more.

“Please,” Kit muttered. One of his hands was on the middle of Elsie’s back, clutching, flexing into the material of lowered chemise, the other beneath her skirts, digging into the gentle curve of her backside, urging her downwards.

“Patience.” Her own voice sounded gruffer than normal, warmed by a matching need.

Leaning in and down, Kit brushed his mouth over the tops of Elsie’s exposed breasts, his tongue dipping into the valley before bringing his lips to the rosy nipple and softly sucking—she was not the only one who could tease. The scent of her, this close and dear, washed over him, the sweet delicate smell—blending together a heady scent of warmed bread, honey, and summer flowers. Glancing up to Elsie’s beloved face as he moved his mouth, licking greedily at her breast, he marvelled at the flushed sight of her. Gloriously pink cheeked, her mouth reddened, and her eyes flooded with excitement and need. Her breath was shaky as for one moment she glanced at him, before she smiled graciously, and put them out of their misery.

Then she lowered herself onto him, and for one blinding moment, Kit feared he was lost. Her hands skimmed against his shoulders and arms as she righted herself, getting a deeper angle, while her warm, wet sheath held him snug. It was heaven. Better than that, Kit thought of cursing himself with the blasphemy.

Her slim, smaller body moved tentatively at first as she learnt what felt best. The muscles of her legs pulsing as they moved, the uncertainty giving way to a more practised movement that brought a smile to both of their faces.

“I’ve never—” He wasn’t sure what she was about to say— admit that she’d not made love in this position before, or say she hadn’t imagined this previously—but it didn’t matter, he leant closer, and their mouths met, kissing furiously, delighting in the stirring of feeling their kisses created.

The sensation of her hips shifted, changing momentum as her hand moved from gripping his shoulders, to lower, flattening against his open shirt, seeking out his exposed skin, coming to rest against his heart. Kit forced his eyes open; he had been so caught up on the wondrous feelings of her motions. Elsie was riding him, her head thrown back—lost it seemed on the onset of waves that had overcome her, crashing now through her body. She arched in response, unable to control how her release reached its peak. Shudders echoed and convulsed through her body as Elsie clung to him. The feeling grasped him too as her movements squeezed and shook his captured cock, triggering his own culmination. His cock jerked upwards, his hands clasping her to him more tightly as he lost himself inside her.

With a cry, Kit wrapped his arms around her as the sensation crashed through him—bright stars, and that summer scent of Elsie in his nostrils—as every other worry, fear, experience was wiped away from him and replaced with nothing but pleasure. Bone deep, and heavy within him.

When reality came back to him, Kit found Elsie resting her head against his chest, nestling there with true trust, as if he could offer safety. Gently, Kit eased her back so that she sat comfortably in his lap, and the two of them stayed in a leaning embrace. He placed a gentle kiss on her soft mouth. The little enclave they were hidden in was not broken by the movement, and Kit had the lightest of fancies that they were really locked away from the manor in this hidden spot.

“So, I suppose I can safely say we are engaged then?”

A laugh played over Elsie’s face for a moment, and the tiniest fraction of doubt he thought he caught in her eyes faded as she nodded. “My father is many miles away. ”

“And you would like me to seek his permission?”

She nodded. “You might think I’m very silly, but years ago my grandmother—my father’s mother was very angry, she was embarrassed by me. I was a wanton, she told me. Worse, she told my father I would only ever bring shame on my family. That no man would ever wish to wed me.” Elsie’s voice wobbled, and for the first time, Kit could envision throttling a woman. He could easily seek out this grandmother of hers and make the woman suffer. Elsie’s voice brought him back to himself. “Is it wrong that it is rather pleasing… that it is a duke who might ask for my hand. I hope you know that it is not your title I am saying yes to. I would have agreed to your proposal whatever your position…”

“It should bring someone some joy,” Kit said, his mouth tracing the damp shape of her curl against her brow as Elsie nestled closer. “But I hope you will let me tell Flora of our intentions.”

“Of course,” Elsie whispered sleepily, and he realised his fiancée was nodding off. Kit stayed still, their clothes half torn off them, tangled and a mess, letting her sleep, revelling in the feeling of holding her. When he lowered his own lids, letting rest wash through him, he could not remember a moment in his life when he’d been more at peace. If this was what his marriage was going to be like, he would be a happy man.

The next day and a half was a whirlwind of packing and planning. Kit was perhaps disappointed he had so little time to see Elsie, or even his sister, but he was certain both would understand once the three of them had departed Tintagel. The important thing was to have everything settled with the manor and ease their leaving. It was very strange because despite numerous letters dispatched to Town, no response had come from London or his family’s lawyers. It could not be helped—Kit was done with having himself, Flora, and his beloved Elsie be tied to this place for a moment longer—it was time to go.

Without wishing to leave on a long journey with Flora in ignorance as to the engagement, on the morning of the departure, Kit slipped from his chamber early, and hurried along to his sister’s room. When he knocked and the door opened, it was to see Flora and the rescued dog, Lancelot, both wide-eyed as they watched him.

“Are you ready? All packed?” He had informed Flora the night before that they would be off at eleven in the morning, thinking it best to let her know but not wishing that she had too long to dwell on the matter.

His sister nodded, pushing the door wider as Kit slipped inside. He was excited. It was bubbling through him—emotion at leaving, excitement at seeing Town, love only just being admitted to himself for his affianced bride. Not that he would dream of showing that to his little sister.

“I have some news that I wish to share with you.”

“You don’t mean to leave me here, do you?”

“God no,” Kit said hastily. He reached forward and took Flora’s hand, giving it a squeeze, hoping it reassured her. It was his duty to provide for, to protect her, and all too frequently he had failed her. Going forward Kit’s intention was never to let that happen again. If he could help it, he did not want her distressed by anything, ever again. “We are departing this manor today. No, my news is unrelated. I mean. That is…” words seemed to stick in his throat as he tried his best to formulate the sentence. “It is hard to find the right way…”

“Has it something to do with Miss Keating?” A perceptive look overcame Flora’s little face, and Kit lowered his gaze. Sometimes he forgot how clever his sister was. Or perhaps neither Elsie nor he had been especially careful.

“Indeed,” he muttered. Had he been so obvious that everyone in the household had realised the depths of feelings? If so, perhaps he should feel shame, but none manifested in him.

“I am happy for you, that you should be wed…” Flora returned the touch of his fingers, a light smile gracing her mouth. “I think you will be well suited to one another.”

“I know it is a risk for us, given what our family…”

“What father always spoke of—honour, ghosts, a curse we could not shift, none of it was tangible. But you fought off Peterson and his threats. I think if we leave here, we will be free.”

The sense of her sentiments engulfed him, and Kit nodded. “I should have listened to you long ago.”

“I do not think I saw it clearly until—” she trailed off as she studied his face and expression. “We are both indebted to Miss Keating.”

“Just as well—” whatever he’d been about to say was lost when there was a flurry of footsteps outside. There was a knock on the door, but before either of them could speak, it swung open to reveal Miss Keating’s maid. The young woman was around Flora’s age, but she appeared to be in great distress. Her garb and hair were in disarray, having entirely lost her mob cap, and she had clearly run through the manor as if the very dogs of hell were on her trail.

“My—Your Grace—” She looked at Kit and then at Lady Flora, her face reddening as she staggered forward, her fingers reaching out towards him. Instinctively Kit put out a hand to steady her. She collapsed into his arms and gazed up into his face. “My lady—that is Miss Keating—she’s vanished.”

Kit started forward, his fears and furies pulsing beneath the surface as he grabbed the servant’s arms. “How do you know?”

“Brother.” Flora was holding on to his shirt, her face pleading, and he loosened his hold on the poor maid, who immediately started crying.

Through her sobs, the girl said, “If you see her room—I know she’s been taken.”